Page 8

The sanctuary's rhythm had started to seep into Natalie like a second heartbeat.

Each day began with a quiet that wasn’t total, but something deeper.

It was a hush that belonged to wild things, to dew-soaked earth, to the flutter of wings at dawn, to breath taken before sound.

Morning light filtered through the pine canopy in golden shafts, dusting the sanctuary in brilliance.

The paths wound like lazy thoughts through the trees, linking the cabins to the animal enclosures and the medical barn.

Three days had passed since the rescue. Natalie still remembered the tension of it, the quick decisions, the push and pull between instinct and training.

And Mason, she remembered Mason most vividly.

The way he watched her. The way his hands moved like they belonged to the landscape.

She hadn’t seen him much since then, only glimpses at a distance.

But something had shifted. Not forgiveness, perhaps, but the start of begrudging acknowledgment.

The wolf, now named Argus by one of the volunteers, had made it through surgery.

Natalie had spent hours bent over him, cleaning the wound, setting the bone, and meticulously stitching the gashes.

She stayed late that night, keeping watch from the corner of the clinic as Argus slowly regained consciousness.

She talked to him in whispers, told him stories about the city, about the time she once treated a stray dog who refused to leave a child’s bedside.

The rhythm of care was something she knew. Something she could hold onto.

Now she stood by his enclosure in the animal care wing, clipboard in hand, noting his temperature, his breathing, the healing of the sutures.

Outside, the breeze stirred through the pine trees and brought with it the pungent scent of resin.

Sunlight caught in the dust motes that floated lazily from the beams as it cutt through the open windows.

"You always hum when you work?”

Natalie turned. Mason leaned against the doorframe, his shirt damp with sweat, sleeves rolled to his elbows.

His hair was tied back in a tighter knot today, a few strands clinging to his temples.

He carried a water bottle and a folded towel in one hand.

He looked like he had just come from chopping wood or hauling feed, strong and windburned and entirely unbothered by the chill in the air.

She flushed slightly. She hadn’t realized she was humming.

"I guess I do. Occupational habit. Helps keep my hands steady."

He walked over slowly, his boots thudding softly against the floorboards.

"He looks better."

"He is. Clean break. Good muscle tone. He’s fighting."

Mason crouched beside the crate, watching the wolf’s chest rise and fall. Argus opened one eye, then the other, but didn’t move.

"Most wouldn’t have made it."

"He’s obviously not most."

They stood in companionable silence for a moment. The old tension was still there, but it no longer buzzed like a threat. It had softened to something else, wariness, maybe, or simply unfamiliarity.

"You want to help me with the hawks next?" he asked, after a pause.

Natalie hesitated. Then nodded. "Yeah. I do."

They walked together up the path that led to the raptor rehabilitation center, a long narrow building set against a slope of trees.

It was quiet but alive with a predatory edge, a place of feathers and talons, of sharp eyes and sharper memories.

Inside, the air was cooler, still laced with the smell of straw, antiseptic, and raw meat.

Rows of enclosures lined the walls, some draped in cloth to keep the birds inside calm.

Three red-tailed hawks rested in separate sections. One was missing flight feathers on her left wing. Another, smaller and younger, had a bandage wrapped around its chest. The third stood tall and alert, his head twitching from side to side as they entered.

Mason handed her a thick leather glove. "They remember pain. That’s the hardest part."

"People do, too," she said, slipping the glove on.

He gave a slow nod. "We’re not so different then."

As they continued through the space, Natalie noticed how carefully Mason moved. He didn’t speak to the birds, but his body language was low, slow, measured. He didn’t reach unless invited. And when he did, it was with the kind of steady confidence that only came from time.

"You grew up around wildlife?" she asked, wrapping a fresh dressing around the young hawk’s wing.

"My grandfather was a tracker. I spent summers with him up north. Learned more in those woods than I did in school."

Natalie glanced at him. "You don’t talk much about yourself so that’s quite a revelation. "

"Neither do you."

She chuckled softly. "Fair."

"What made you leave Boston?" he asked, not accusing, just curious.

Natalie was quiet for a moment. Her hands paused over the gauze. Then she resumed the wrap, slower this time.

"Sometimes, places start to break you."

He didn’t press. Just nodded.

"I get that," he said.

When they finished with the hawks, Mason led her outside. The wind had picked up, rattling the pine branches. They walked toward the ridge trail, boots crunching against the gravel path.

"There’s a spot up the ridge," he said. "Observation deck. We watch releases from there. Want to see it?"

"Sure."

The trail climbed gradually, winding between towering evergreens and stands of aspens just beginning to bud.

Wildflowers had started to appear along the edges, early purple violets, yellow trout lilies, tiny white blossoms like lace against the forest floor.

As they hiked, the conversation turned easy.

"What did you think of me that first day?" Natalie asked, half-laughing.

Mason gave her a sideways look. "You want the truth?"

"Always."

"You were sharp- tonged. Stubborn. Attacking in defense. Too quick to assume the lead."

She laughed. "You left out bossy."

"Didn’t want to be rude."

They reached the top of the ridge, and the view spread out before them.

The valley unfurled in greens and golds, the sanctuary a quiet jewel nestled among the trees.

The wind tugged at her hair. The sun warmed her face.

Natalie stepped to the edge of the observation deck and leaned on the railing.

Below, she could see the raptor center, the fox enclosures, the curved roof of the clinic where Argus rested.

"It’s beautiful," she whispered.

"It is," he said. He leaned on the rail beside her, his arms folded.

They stood in silence, and something loosened in her chest. She wasn’t healed. She wasn’t whole. But in this place, on this ridge, beside this man who said little but meant every word, she felt the smallest thread of peace stitch through her.

"You like it here yet?" he asked.

Natalie took a long breath. "I think I do."

He nodded, and she saw it again, the quiet undercurrent of care, the steadiness beneath his guardedness. And for the first time, she didn’t feel like a visitor. She felt like she might stay.

And Mason, standing beside her with arms crossed and eyes on the horizon, didn’t seem so hard to reach after all. Not anymore.

Natalie turned slightly on the observation deck, brushing a strand of wind-tossed hair from her cheek.

The air smelled of something old and untouched, like moss and memory.

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing it in.

There was contentment in it, a fleeting, delicate thing she hadn’t felt in months.

Then the sound of boots crunching on gravel pulled her back.

Davey.

He appeared at the crest of the trail, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders hunched like he was trying to disappear into himself.

His expression was wary, but not quite sullen.

He looked like someone dragged out of the warmth of bed and into the unrelenting clarity of mountain light.

The wind pushed gently at the hem of his hoodie, revealing a faded band logo stretched over a long-sleeved shirt beneath .

"Mom said I can’t just sit around anymore," he muttered, coming to a stop just a few feet away. "Told me to talk to you."

Mason didn’t turn from the railing. He let out a low grunt, the kind that lived somewhere between acknowledgment and dry amusement.

"That’s usually how it starts," he said. "Her telling you to get off your ass."

Natalie shot him a look, the corner of her mouth twitching despite herself.

Davey blinked, uncertain. He shifted from foot to foot like the earth beneath him was somehow unreliable. "I don’t know what I’m supposed to do."

"Anything," Mason replied, still not looking at him. "Feed. Clean. Build. Doesn’t matter what. Just do something."

Davey snorted, kicking at a loose stone on the deck. "You make it sound easy, but you know the ropes, and everyone has their role to play while I feel like the spare part."

Mason finally turned. He looked at Davey with those weathered, gray-blue eyes, serious, calm, assessing. But there was no judgment in them. Only something measured. Quiet. The kind of look that reflected the person within, not just the words they spoke.

"I didn’t say it was easy. Starting something new never is but all of us have been there, on that day, feeling like the spare part. But we all got through it and so will you. Man, you’ve lived here all your life and if anyone is part of this, you are, so don’t over think it."

Davey crossed his arms. "And if I screw it up?”

"Then you learn by your mistake and try again."

Davey looked at him like he wasn’t sure if he was being tested or offered a lifeline. "Do you think I can do this? Learn to be useful and really help Mom. "

"I think showing up is the hardest part," Mason said simply. "You did that already."

Davey stared at him like he was waiting for the punchline.

When it didn’t come, something in his expression cracked open.

Not much. Just a fraction. But Natalie saw it.

The softening of his mouth. The surprise in his eyes.

Like he’d been given something he didn’t know he needed.

Mason reached into his back pocket, pulled out a pair of worn work gloves, and handed them to Davey.

"I’ll be by the fox enclosure this afternoon," he said. "Come find me. I’ll put you to work."

Davey took the gloves slowly, like they might vanish if he moved too fast. He turned them over in his hands, fingers brushing the leather. "You’re always chill about things? I wish Mom was like that."

Mason huffed a quiet laugh. "I’m more like your mom than you know. Just better at hiding it."

Davey smirked. "Fair."

He looked at Natalie then, and she smiled at him, warm and encouraging.

There was something about him that reminded her of the gang-kids she used to see on the city streets.

Tough on the outside. Hurting underneath.

It was in the edge to his voice, the way he spoke in short bursts, his reluctance to meet their eyes for too long.

He nodded to her, and then turned, heading back down the trail.

Mason watched him go. "He walks like someone who expects to be called back."

"He looks like someone who expects to be misunderstood," Natalie added.

Mason gave a thoughtful nod. "Same thing, sometimes."

When the trees swallowed Davey’s figure, Natalie let out a slow breath .

"You’re good with him," she said softly, still watching the place where Davey had disappeared.

Mason leaned back on the railing beside her. "He’s got something to prove. I get that."

She looked at him, her head tilted slightly. "You don’t strike me as someone who needs to prove anything."

"Maybe not anymore," Mason said, his voice quiet. "But I remember what it felt like. There was a time I was the one with the reputation for messin’ up, the guy who people expected to fail, and I have to say, I didn’t disappoint. I don’t want that for Davey or his mom."

There was a pause. The wind stirred again, lifting a few loose strands of Natalie’s hair and sweeping them across her face.

Without thinking, Mason reached over and brushed one behind her ear.

Her breath caught. It was a simple touch.

Gentle. Brief. But it lit something inside her that had been extinguished for a long time.

"You seem... different up here," she said, trying to steady her voice.

He half-smiled. "You mean less of a pain in the ass?"

She laughed, the sound soft and surprised. "No. Well. Maybe a little. But more... open."

Mason looked out at the horizon. The light touched his face in angles accentuating a cut across his cheekbone, the faint scar above his brow.

"It’s easy to be closed off when you’re always protecting yourself and it’s a habit I find hard to shake," he said. "Sometimes it takes the right people to remind you that you don’t have to."

Natalie was quiet, the potential meaning of his words settling gently in her chest.

"Do you think this place can really heal people?" she asked .

"I don’t know about people," Mason said. "But it’s healed a hell of a lot of animals. And me, I guess."

He looked at her then, really looked. "Maybe it’ll do the same for you."

Natalie’s eyes met his, and for a moment, the world felt narrowed down to that gaze. The wind. The hush of the forest. The unspoken question of what came next.

"Maybe," she said.

He nodded once, like that was enough. They stood side by side, the sky above them a riot of orange and gold. Below, the sanctuary pulsed with quiet life. And for now, that beat that was enough.