Page 205 of Knotting the Firefighters

Chief Tom navigates through the crowd, his expression carrying satisfaction that suggests he orchestrated more than just a professional announcement.

"Congratulations, all of you," he declares with genuine warmth. "On competition victory, on professional advancement, on—" He gestures vaguely at our clustered formation. "—whatever this situation is that seems to be working against all reasonable expectations."

Whatever this situation is.

Diplomatic phrasing for "unconventional pack dynamics that somehow function."

"Thank you," I respond for the group, recognizing that someone needs to maintain basic social protocols. "For the opportunity, for the support, for the public ambush that forced Aidric to accept reality."

Tom's laugh is warm, acknowledging his tactical approach:

"Sometimes people need external pressure to accept what they've already earned. Aidric has been ready for months—just needed official declaration to override his self-doubt."

Months.

He's been ready for months.

I succeeded in my mission faster than anticipated.

The realization brings satisfaction—professional validation that my training and mentorship achieved intended results, that I didn't just survive these months but actually contributed meaningful improvement.

Mission accomplished.

Pack formed, professional objectives achieved, personal happiness discovered.

Everything is falling into place with almost suspicious ease.

The evening continues—dancing resumes, conversations flowing, general celebration that will probably continue well past a reasonable hour.

But in this moment—surrounded by pack, accepted by community, celebrating multiple victories simultaneously—everything feels absolutely right.

This is good.

This is what life should feel like.

Not just surviving but actually thriving.

Aidric's arm tightens around my waist—a subtle gesture of possession and affection, a public claim that announces to anyone observing exactly where I belong.

His.

Theirs.

Ours.

Pack.

The music swells, lights sparkle, champagne continues flowing, and somewhere in the chaos of celebration, I realize this is our moment.

It was a night to remember.

HOMECOMING AND SANCTUARY

~WENDOLYN~

Consciousness drifts—half-asleep awareness that registers movement without fully engaging cognitive processing, body relaxed in arms that feel both safe and familiar.

The world sways with the gentle rhythm of footsteps, multiple voices murmuring above me in tones meant to avoid disruption. Cool night air brushes exposed skin, carrying scents of pine and earth and the particular crispness of Montana autumn.