The Patch on His Vest
The biker squeezed Avery’s hand weakly.
The sirens were getting closer.
But not close enough.
Not yet.
Then—
Avery noticed something beneath the mud.
Partially hidden on the biker’s leather vest.
A patch.
Covered in dirt.
She carefully brushed it clean.
The biker’s eyes widened.
“No…”
His voice was barely a whisper.
But Avery had already seen it.
A silver wolf.
Howling at the moon.
The little girl gasped.
“I know that!”
The biker looked at her in confusion.
Avery reached into her jacket pocket.
Pulling out a folded photograph.
One she carried everywhere.
She held it up.
In the picture stood her grandfather.
Smiling beside a motorcycle.
And on his vest—
the exact same wolf patch.
The biker stared.
His breathing caught.
“Where did you get that?”
Avery looked down at the photograph.
“My grandpa.”
The biker’s eyes filled with tears.
Because he recognized the man instantly.
An old friend.
A brother from the road.
Gone for many years.
The forest seemed to fall silent.
The sirens growing louder now.
Then Avery pointed at the photograph.
“He always said if I was scared…”
“…look for the wolf.”
A tear rolled down the biker’s muddy cheek.
He managed a weak smile.
Then gently squeezed her hand again.
“Your grandpa was a good man.”
Avery smiled through her tears.
The flashing emergency lights finally appeared between the trees.
Safe.
Close.
Real.
And as the rescuers rushed toward them—
the biker realized something.
The little girl hadn’t just found an injured stranger.
She had found one of her grandfather’s last brothers.
And somehow—
that made both of them feel a little less alone.
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