Page 7

The sun was higher in the sky now, warming the meadow with its early spring light.

Natalie moved alone through the sanctuary, following the dirt trail that wound its way behind the aviary and around the enclosure fencing.

She carried a small bucket of chopped produce Olivia had handed her, carrots, apples, and a few boiled eggs for the foxes.

The path beneath her boots was soft with pine needles, and birdsong descended from the treetops like a welcome.

She was beginning to relax into this rhythm, into the breath of the forest, the hush of leaves. Her shoulders didn’t sit quite as high, her breath didn’t feel quite so shallow. There were moments, even just slivers, where her thoughts weren’t knotted around Giles.

The trail meandered through a corridor of towering conifers, their trunks thick and ancient, their branches knitted tightly overhead to form a green canopy that dappled the sunlight into gold and moss.

The air was rich with the scent of loam and woodsmoke.

Every so often, she’d catch a glimpse of a deer trail breaking into the underbrush, or the blur of a rabbit bounding out of sight .

She paused by the enclosure’s outer gate, resting the bucket against her knee while she reached for the latch.

And then her phone buzzed. A single vibration, low and long in her coat pocket.

Natalie closed her eyes before she even pulled it out.

She didn’t need to see the name. Somehow, she already knew.

Still, she looked. Giles. Her thumb hovered over the screen.

The message preview sat like a rock in her stomach.

I’ve been thinking. Can we talk? I made a mistake. I went back to the house. You’ve gone.

She stared at it for a long time. The trees around her were silent now, or maybe it was just her.

The birds, the wind, all of it seemed to fade into the background.

She sat down on a wooden stump beside the enclosure, the bucket forgotten.

The ache bloomed again. Hot and wide and slow.

She didn’t cry. But her hand trembled. What did he want from her now?

Forgiveness? A return to the cold, threadbare life she had finally stepped away from?

Was it guilt? Regret? A moment of weakness?

The sanctuary had felt like a clean slate, a place outside of time.

But that message dragged her back to everything she was trying to forget.

The wind picked up slightly, rustling the trees with the sound of gentle hushes.

A raven called from somewhere deeper in the forest, its cry long and guttural.

Were the wild things trying to tell her something?

She turned the phone over in her hands and placed it screen-down beside her. Not now. Not here.

"You planning to feed those foxes or just give them a sermon?"

The voice came from behind her. Rough, low, edged with dry humor.

Natalie stood quickly, brushing her palms against her jeans.

A tall man approached from the trail, dressed in a dark green work shirt and heavy boots dusted with dried mud.

His jaw was covered in stubble, his hair pulled back into a loose knot at the base of his neck.

He carried a tool belt slung over one shoulder and held a wire crate filled with empty water bowls.

He looked like he belonged here. Weathered.

Self-contained. There was something almost feral in the way he moved, silent, economical. Like the land itself had shaped him.

"Sorry," Natalie said, stepping aside automatically.

He set the crate down near the gate, his expression unreadable. "Didn’t mean to startle you."

"You didn’t. I just..."

She trailed off, gesturing at the bucket.

He glanced down at the food, then back at her. "You’re the vet Olivia mentioned."

"Natalie Carrington."

"Mason Bennett."

They shook hands briefly. His grip was firm but not aggressive, his hand rough with callouses.

"You’re new to sanctuaries?" he asked.

"Not to animals," Natalie said. "But yes. To this."

He nodded once, then crouched by the gate and unlatched it. "Just make sure the red one doesn’t get too close," he said, stepping inside. "She nips when she’s nervous."

Natalie followed, the bucket in hand. Inside the enclosure, two foxes emerged from the underbrush, their coats sleek, eyes bright and wary.

Natalie crouched low, placing a few pieces of apple and carrot onto a flat stone.

The smaller of the two, a dusty orange with a white blaze down her chest, crept forward and sniffed at the offering.

Mason didn’t speak for a while. He moved around the enclosure with quiet confidence, refilling water bowls, replacing a worn scratching log.

His movements were precise, confident. She noticed how the foxes responded to him, not with fear, but caution.

As if they trusted his presence more than his touch.

It reminded her of how she used to move around Giles in the final months.

Measured. Careful. Like anything she said might set off a hidden trigger.

"How long have you been here?" she asked, glancing at him over her shoulder.

"Fifteen years give or take."

"That long?"

He straightened. "Long enough to stop noticing the quiet."

Natalie gave a soft, thoughtful hum. "I don’t think I’ll ever stop noticing it."

Mason looked at her then. His eyes were a deep gray-blue, the color of thunderclouds. He didn’t smile, but something in his expression shifted.

"Give it time," he said.

She watched him a moment longer. He looked like someone used to solitude, for whom silence wasn’t just comfortable, but necessary.

And yet, there was no coldness in him. Just distance.

As if his quiet was something earned, rather than built as a wall.

And then, without another word, he picked up the crate of water bowls and headed back toward the gate.

Natalie watched him go. She felt the text message burning in her pocket.

Her phone still sat on the stump, screen dark.

But her gaze lingered on the path where Mason had disappeared.

The air around her was shifting. Not a storm but maybe a change in the weather. And somehow, she wasn’t afraid of it.

The emergency call came in just after noon.

Olivia met Natalie outside the medical cabin, her face tense beneath her wide-brimmed hat. Her posture was taut, her hands tucked beneath her arms as though holding herself together .

"There’s a report of an injured wolf near Highway 39," Olivia said. "Solo male. Young. Looks like a trap injury. We need to go."

Natalie tightened her grip on the clipboard she’d been using to inventory supplies. Her pulse quickened, not with fear but with urgency. These were the kinds of moments she understood, action, assessment, response.

"Mason's already loading the equipment," Olivia added. "You’ll ride with him."

She nodded, though her stomach fluttered. She wasn’t nervous about the animal, that she could handle. It was the man. The quiet, watchful presence she’d only just met and wasn’t sure she understood.

The truck waited near the barn, an old but well-maintained Toyota with heavy tires and streaks of mud splashed across the sides.

The back was already filled with a steel crate, first-aid kits, a tranquilizer rifle in a padded case, and bundles of rolled gauze and splinting material.

Mason stood beside it, securing the tailgate with methodical efficiency.

His shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbow, revealing forearms crisscrossed with faint scars and old scratches.

His hands moved with unthinking precision, like he was assembling something he had done a thousand times.

He didn’t look up when she approached.

"Olivia said I’m riding with you," Natalie said.

Mason glanced over, his expression unreadable. "You good with field sedation?"

"More than good."

He nodded and gestured toward the passenger side. "Then get in."

She climbed into the truck. The interior smelled faintly of cedar, damp canvas, and something more personal, the clean musk of the woods that clung to Mason like a second skin.

The dashboard was clutter-free, utilitarian.

No music played. Just the rattle of gravel and the rhythmic chug of the engine as Mason turned the truck onto the main road, the sanctuary falling away behind them.

They didn’t speak for the first ten minutes. Trees whipped past the windows in towering blurs of green and brown, and occasional shafts of light broke through the canopy, striking the windshield in sudden bursts.

Natalie stared out the window, trying to steady her breath. The woods here were vast and ancient, pine needles carpeting the ground, fallen logs and hollowed-out stumps. She noticed how Mason gripped the steering wheel with one hand, relaxed but aware. A man used to emergencies.

"How far?" she asked finally.

"Couple miles off the highway. Hiker spotted the wolf near a gulley. We’ll need to move fast."

They parked in a turnout near the tree line, the tires crunching against gravel and dead leaves. Birds scattered overhead with startled cries. The forest stretched in all directions, its silence deep and dense. Mason grabbed the tranquilizer rifle and handed her a med kit.

"You lead," he said.

She blinked. "You sure?"

"You’re the vet."

Natalie adjusted the strap over her shoulder and stepped into the trees.

The air was cooler here, damp with the scent of moss and decaying leaves.

Dappled sunlight filtered through the canopy, and the sound of trickling water grew louder as they moved downhill.

Birds called above them, and somewhere nearby, the sharp, territorial cry of a jay rang through the branches.

They moved quickly but cautiously. Mason's steps were soundless, his presence nearly absorbed by the forest. He was like a shadow beside her, more creature than man in the woods.

They reached the gulley after twenty minutes of weaving through brush and ducking under low branches.

The scent of blood hit Natalie first, faint but distinct, coppery and raw.

A trail of crimson drops led them downhill into a narrow depression where the terrain dipped into a shallow ravine.

The wolf lay there, half-concealed beneath a tangle of fallen logs and dry brush.

Its fur was a mottled grey with streaks of silver, dusted with dirt and pine needles.

Its left hind leg was twisted at a brutal angle, the fur matted with dried blood and gore.

The trap had lacerated deeply into the flesh, exposing raw muscle and torn sinew.

The wolf was young, maybe two or three years old, but already large. He raised his head slightly, panting, teeth bared. His eyes glowed a wild yellow in the filtered light, sharp and wary even through the pain.

"Trap wound," Natalie murmured. "Old, maybe a day or two. Infection’s starting."

Mason nodded, crouching low at a distance to observe the animal's breathing. "He’s holding on. Barely."

"Vitals look okay. You got a sedative?"

She pulled a syringe from the med kit and began preparing a dose with practiced hands.

"Use Telazol," she said. "Quicker onset."

Mason didn’t move. "I usually use Medetomidine and Ketamine. Less respiratory risk."

"Not with that much blood loss. He needs to be under fast, or we’ll lose him when we move."

His jaw tightened. "I’ve worked with wolves longer."

"I’ve worked in trauma longer," she replied.

The standoff stretched between them like a drawn wire.

Mason finally stepped back, just slightly. "Your call."

She administered the dose with steady hands.

The wolf flinched as the needle went in, gave one last defiant growl, and then slumped slowly, his breath slowing as the drug took hold.

They moved in together. Natalie steadied the animal's head while Mason inspected the leg.

Blood seeped slowly from the torn skin. The trap had fractured the tibia clean through.

"We’ll need x-rays," she said. "But this can be saved."

Mason carefully lifted the limb, his hands large but gentle. "We splint it here, or it won’t survive transport."

He reached for the bandages. Natalie watched his movements, sure, practiced, but rough around the edges. He worked by feel. Intuition.

"Not like that," she said. "You’re binding it too tight. You’ll cut off circulation."

"This isn’t a clinic," he snapped.

"No," she snapped back, "but he’s still a patient."

Their voices clashed in the stillness, sharper than the birdsong and louder than the wind.

They locked eyes. The trees stood silent around them.

Finally, Mason let out a breath, long and low, and loosened the bandage.

They worked in silence, tension thrumming in every movement.

Sweat beaded on Natalie’s brow. Her throat was dry.

But her hands didn’t shake. Not once. When the wolf was finally secured in the crate, his body stabilized, Natalie sank to a crouch beside the metal frame, her fingers brushing the animal’s thick fur one last time.

"You always take command like that?" Mason asked, his voice quieter now.

She wiped her brow with the sleeve of her shirt. "Only when it I have to, when it matters."

He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable.

Then, quietly: "It mattered."

They carried the crate together, step by step, muscles burning. The forest surrounded them like a cocoon of scent and hidden dangers.

When they reached the truck, they slid the crate into the bed and latched it down. The wolf inside breathed steadily, his body still.

Mason closed the tailgate and leaned against it, arms crossed over his chest.

"You handled yourself well."

Natalie sat on the bumper, staring into the trees. "You didn’t make it easy."

"I wasn’t trying to."

She glanced at him. The corners of his mouth lifted, just slightly.

They sat there, side by side, neither speaking. The tension had eased, but something remained. Not hostility. Understanding. Wariness. Respect.

And something else. Something just beginning.

They drove back in silence, the wolf breathing behind them.

The light was fading, and the mountains loomed tall against the sky.

Natalie rested her head against the window, watching the trees blur past. Her hands were still shaking.

But this time, it wasn’t from nerves, fear, or lack of confidence.

It was from adrenaline. From purpose. From something that felt very much like being alive again.