Christa and her wolf
As the last remaining echoes of the kids’ excited shouts and chatter faded away up the trail, I breathed a sigh of relief. The other leaders were taking them into Brockenhurst village for the afternoon, and I was free to enjoy my time off at last. I was 20 that summer, about to start my second year at UCL, and working over the holidays at a children’s activity camp in the New Forest. I’d taken the job primarily because I needed the money, but also because I had been anxious to...