Page 11

The night air carried the soft rustle of wind through pine branches, and the distant call of a night bird echoed across the sanctuary.

Stars blinked against a velvet sky, scattered like diamonds over a dark quilt, while the moon, thin and neat as a sliver of bone, cast a silvery light across the ground.

The chill had returned with the night, crisp and clean, wrapping the forest in a cold embrace that only made the warmth inside the rehabilitation facility more sacred.

Inside, the click of heaters and the rustle of straw under restless paws created a soothing, rhythmic backdrop.

Lanterns glowed in the corners of the room, casting a golden hue on wooden beams and wire-mesh enclosures.

The soft smells of cedar bedding, fresh hay, antiseptic gave the space a living warmth.

Even the animals seemed to settle into the atmosphere, silent, still alert, but comforted.

Natalie moved between pens with practiced ease, her steps soundless despite the creak of old floorboards.

She checked temperature readings, adjusted feeding bowls, and whispered quiet reassurances to the animals.

Her body was tired, but her mind was sharp, attuned to the familiar rhythm of care.

It was her sanctuary as much as theirs. She paused at Argus's pen. The young wolf they’d rescued during the storm.

He blinked at her sleepily, his golden eyes following her every movement.

"You're a fighter," she murmured, crouching to slide a fresh blanket beneath his crate. His injured leg was still stiff, wrapped with gauze, but he was eating again, and that gave her hope. "You remind me of someone."

Behind her, she heard the door creak open. The cold air swept in briefly as Mason stepped through, his silhouette familiar and solid in the dim light. He carried a tin thermos and two enamel mugs, his presence grounding, dependable, and increasingly welcome.

"Thought you might still be here," he said, setting the mugs on the counter near the heater. "Figured you hadn’t eaten."

Natalie turned, offering a tired but genuine smile. Her hair was pulled into a loose braid, wisps escaping to curl around her cheeks. "I lost track of time."

"So did I. That seems to happen a lot around here."

He poured the drinks, strong black tea steeped with a hint of honey and handed her one.

The warmth seeped through her chilled palms, grounding her.

She breathed it in, the steam settling on her face, a comfort all its own.

They sat together on the old leather sofa tucked into the corner of the facility, the one Olivia insisted they keep despite its fraying edges and creaking springs.

The cushions were worn, the blanket tossed over the back smelled of cedar and campfire.

It was an imperfect, mismatched scene but it felt like home.

Through the wide windows, they could see the outline of the sanctuary beyond.

Rows of raptor cages nestled beneath protective tarps, the fox dens hidden in the shadow of firs, and the owl enclosure bathed in moonlight.

Somewhere far off, a wolf howled a long, mournful sound that was both eerie and utterly beautiful .

For a long time, they said nothing. The silence lingered comfortably between them, filled with the breathing of animals and the hush of the night.

Then Mason spoke, his voice low and thoughtful. "I used to think quiet was just a lack of noise. Now I know better. It’s a kind of peace. Or maybe it’s the space to finally hear yourself think."

Natalie looked over at him, her features soft in the lantern light. "What do you hear, Mason? When it's quiet like this?"

He hesitated, a muscle ticking along his jaw. Then: "Regret. Mostly. But lately... not just that."

"What else?"

He turned the mug slowly in his hands. "Hope, I guess."

She let the silence settle between them again, comfortable now. She sipped her tea, the warmth mingling with the flicker of something unfamiliar—something like anticipation.

"I’m married but it’s over now," she said finally. Her voice was steady, but there was a tremble in her hands. "You probably figured that out."

He nodded. "You don’t have to talk about it."

"I want to. I need to."

She stared into her mug, watching the steam spiral away.

"We were good at first. And then we weren’t.

He started disappearing in small ways, missing dinners, forgetting conversations, pulling away.

I blamed myself. Thought I wasn’t enough.

But it wasn’t about me. It was about what he wanted that I couldn’t give. Or wouldn’t give up."

Mason’s brow furrowed. "What did he want you to give up?"

"My work. My passion. He said it was childish. That I’d never make a real difference with animals. That real life required letting go of dreams."

Mason’s jaw tensed. "That’s on him. Not you."

"I know that now," she said softly. "But it took losing everything to see it. To come here and start over. "

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I lost someone too. Not to death. But it felt that way. She left when things got hard, when I started to pull away. I didn’t even realize how far I’d drifted until she was gone."

Their eyes met in the low light.

"You blame yourself?" she asked.

"Some days, yeah. But then I see what we’re doing here. The animals. Olivia. Davey. You. And I start to think maybe there’s still good in me worth showing."

Natalie reached out, her fingers brushing his. Her skin was cool, his warm, and the connection made her chest ache.

"There is, Mason. I see it every day."

The touch lingered. Neither of them moved to break it. Outside, the forest exhaled under the stars. A soft snow began to fall, barely visible in the moonlight but brushing the windows with silver.

Mason shifted, his voice quieter now. "When I was a kid, we moved every couple of years. My dad was military, and my mom... well, she did her best, but it was hard on all of us. I was the quiet one. Found more peace in the woods than in the house. Started bringing home injured birds and squirrels. My mom tolerated it until one day I brought home a fawn with a broken leg. That’s when she said enough. "

Natalie smiled gently. "You were a rescuer even then."

"I think I’ve always needed to fix things. Even people. Maybe because I didn’t know how to fix myself."

She turned to him, touched by the vulnerability in his voice. "You’re not broken, Mason. You just carry your pain like a coat you forgot how to take off."

He let out a soft laugh. "You’re good with words."

"Only because I’ve lived them."

She shifted slightly, drawing her knees to her chest, the blanket now draped over both their legs.

"I grew up in a small town outside of Asheville. My mom ran a bakery. My dad worked construction. We didn’t have much, but there was a little wood behind our house, and that’s where I always went.

I found an injured barn owl there when I was eleven.

Nursed it back to health in a cardboard box in my closet. "

"Did your parents know?"

"Eventually. My mom cried when I let it go. Said I had a gift."

Mason smiled. "She was right."

Natalie looked away, blinking quickly. "She died not long after. Cancer. I think that’s when I knew I wanted to dedicate my life to giving second chances. To animals. To people. To myself."

He reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You’re doing that now."

They sat in the glow of the lanterns, their childhood memories unraveling into the quiet, into each other. And when Natalie rested her head against Mason’s shoulder again, she felt not just warmth, but understanding. The kind born of shared pain and quiet resilience.

The hush of the forest outside was broken by the sudden creak of the rehab facility’s door.

Natalie and Mason looked up, their shared warmth folding into a ripple of alertness when they heard movement.

Davey stood in the doorway, his hood pulled up, shoulders tense, cheeks red from the cold.

He looked between them, gaze flicking from Natalie’s hand still close to Mason’s on the blanket, then back to their faces.

"Sorry," he said, but there was urgency behind his breath. "Mom’s upset. She wants to see you both. It’s important."

Mason was already rising, grabbing his coat from the hook by the door.

Natalie stood more slowly, her heart sinking. "What happened?"

Davey shrugged but the stiffness in his voice betrayed the answer. "It’s the council. The conservation thing. It’s getting worse. People are talking. About shutting us down."

They hurried through the cold, late spring snowflakes tumbling gently through the beam of Mason’s flashlight as they made their way up to the main lodge. Inside, the heat was turned up, and the scent of herbal tea clung to the air.

Olivia was in the armchair by the hearth, wrapped in a quilt, her injured leg elevated and cushioned by pillows. Her face was pale, lips drawn tight, a clipboard of notes resting beside her untouched.

She looked up when they entered. "Thanks for coming. I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t serious."

Natalie stepped forward first, crouching beside her. "What’s happened?"

Olivia handed her a folded email printout. Natalie read quickly, heart tightening.

Local Wildlife Management Board Considering Permit Review Amid Community Complaints

Mason scanned it over her shoulder. "They’re gunning for us."

"The town council is holding a hearing next week," Olivia said. "Word is, one of the newer board members thinks the sanctuary is interfering with natural population control. There’ve been whispers we’re ‘domesticating’ wildlife."

Natalie felt her jaw clench. "That's outrageous. We release every animal we can. They know that."

Olivia nodded, the firelight catching the sheen of sweat on her forehead. "It’s not about facts. It’s about perception. A few vocal residents who think wolves bring danger, who think we’re interfering where we shouldn’t."

She reached for the mug on the side table, but her hand trembled too much. Natalie moved it closer for her, concern evident behind her eyes .

"This didn’t start overnight," Olivia continued, her voice lower now.

"It’s been building for the past year. Complaints about noise, animal sightings near the town limits.

A farmer lost a goat to a rogue coyote, absolutely no proof it was one of ours, but they blamed us anyway.

Then last spring, a letter appeared in the local paper criticizing our ‘lenient attitude toward predators.’ It was signed anonymously, but I know who wrote it. "

Mason’s jaw was set. "Carson Bell."

Olivia nodded. "He’s been angling to run for the council chair. And this, attacking the sanctuary, it’s become his platform. He wants to ‘restore balance and safety,’ as he puts it."

Natalie could feel the heat rising beneath her skin. "And what have we done in response?"

"Letters. Reports. Open house days. I've met with council members, offered data, shown them release schedules. I’ve tried to stay diplomatic. But Carson plays on fear. He holds up a blurry photo of a wolf in the woods and says a child could have been hurt."

Davey made a soft noise, his brow furrowed. "That’s not fair. Wolves don’t attack people. Not unless they’re cornered."

"Fairness doesn’t win in politics," Olivia said wearily. "Fear does."

The room fell into silence, broken only by the hiss of the fire.

Mason stood with his arms crossed, his face unreadable. But Natalie could see the tension in his shoulders, the worry in his eyes. He was rattled, even if he wouldn’t say it out loud.

"The volunteers?" Natalie asked after a moment.

"They know," Olivia said. "Some of them have heard rumors in town. They're unsettled. But they’ve stayed. For now."

Natalie turned to Mason. "We can’t roll over or let fear undo all the healing you’ve done."

"We won’t," he said simply. "But we need a plan."

Olivia leaned forward slightly, wincing with the effort. "We need to get ahead of this. If the public hearing goes badly, our licenses could be revoked. That means no rehab. No releases. Not just for wolves, but for every animal."

Davey’s eyes widened. "Even the raptors? The fox kits?"

Olivia nodded. "All of it."

Natalie knelt by her again, gripping her hand. "Then we show them what we really do. Not just paperwork. We give them a reason to believe in us again."

Mason stepped closer. "A video campaign. Testimonials. Footage of the animals we’ve helped, the ones who’ve gone back to the wild."

"We organize a community day," Natalie added. "Invite families. Local reporters. Let them walk the trails, talk to the staff, see the animals that are recovering here. Let them feel what we feel."

Olivia breathed in slowly, her eyes glassy. "And if it’s not enough?"

"Then we go louder," Natalie said. "We fight. We call in national wildlife organizations, use social media, crowdfunding. We make sure no one forgets what this sanctuary means."

Davey sat up straighter. "I can talk at the hearing. I want to. I used to be embarrassed by this place. I thought it was some kind of pretend farm. But now... it’s everything."

Olivia’s eyes filled. She squeezed his hand tightly. "Thank you."

They stayed like that for a while, letting the storm inside them calm as the snow continued to fall outside. The glow of the fire lit their faces, their worry and their hope written on each.

They weren’t just a team now. They were a family. And families fight for each other.