Autumn sunlight dripped gold down the valley, and Libby’s town square glowed like something out of another lifetime. Stalls lined both sides of the cobbled street — baskets of apples and pears, jars of preserves, bolts of salvaged fabric, hand-carved tools gleaming under strings of colored lanterns. The smell of roasted meat, baked bread, and warm cider hung in the air like a memory no one wanted to end.
Marta stood at the head of the square with her hands on her hips, surveying her kingdom with the proud squint of someone who’d pulled off the impossible. “I don’t care what anyone says,” she told Hank, “it’s still a miracle seeing this many people in one place who aren’t trying to shoot each other.”
Hank grunted, half amused. “Let’s not jinx it before dessert.”
At noon, a ripple of murmurs rolled through the square as Sable and her wolves appeared from the forest road — thirty strong, pale shapes glinting under the sunlight like living ghosts. Sable herself walked at the front, white fur bright as snow against the autumn colors. The sight of her alone would’ve frozen any sane raider in their tracks.
Marta waved. “Welcome, friends!” Her voice rang out, confident and warm. “You’re just in time for the market and the feast. There’s plenty for everyone.”
Sable nodded politely, but Thane caught the faint tension in her shoulders. Her wolves fanned out — wary, cautious, unused to so many humans so close. Some of Libby’s citizens backed away at first, instinct giving them that half-step of distance, but Marta’s cheer never faltered. She grabbed two pies off a nearby table and marched straight up to the nearest feral.
“Apple or cherry?” she asked.
The young wolf blinked, utterly lost.
“Cherry it is,” Marta decided, handing it to him like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Eat up before it cools.”
He sniffed, hesitated, then took a bite. His ears shot up. “Sweet fruit,” he said around a mouthful. “Tastes like… joy.”
The crowd laughed, and just like that, the tension broke.
Gabriel leaned close to Thane, a grin tugging at his muzzle. “You see that? Marta’s got more guts than half the pack.”
“She’s an alpha in her own right,” Thane said quietly.
Within minutes, the market buzzed with chatter and movement again. Ferals sniffed at bread loaves, touched jars curiously, and marveled at the colors of woven blankets. Townsfolk explained barter rules with exaggerated patience, happy to trade small goods for stories or help lifting crates.
At one corner, Gabriel taught a pair of curious young wolves how to juggle apples. “Don’t look at the fruit,” he said, tossing three into the air. “Look at the rhythm.”
The apples hit the ground within seconds, and one wolf dove after them like a hunting strike. Gabriel laughed so hard he nearly fell over. “Alright, new rule — juggling’s a two-paw operation, not a full tackle.”
Near the roasting pit, Mark and Rime shared a bench, comparing tools. Rime held up a blacksmith’s hammer, puzzled. “Heavy. But feels right.”
“Good weight,” Mark said, nodding. “You swing that right, you could knock sense into a generator. Or a raider.”
“Same difference,” Rime said, and they both chuckled.
By late afternoon, the feast tables were set — two long rows stretching down the square, piled high with food. Roasted deer, loaves of bread, fresh butter, mashed potatoes, even a few pumpkin pies. Humans and wolves sat side by side, the murmur of conversation mixing with laughter and the occasional playful growl.
Thane sat near the center beside Sable, who ate slowly, eyes sweeping the scene. “Your town,” she said, “they don’t fear us now.”
“They’ve learned,” Thane said simply.
One of the younger ferals — the same white-speckled male who’d challenged him weeks before — watched a child offer him a piece of bread. The wolf hesitated, then took it carefully. The girl giggled and ran back to her mother. The wolf looked at the bread like it was gold.
“See?” Gabriel whispered, nudging Thane. “We’re making progress. Next week they’ll be trading casserole recipes.”
Thane smirked. “Don’t push your luck.”
For a long while, everything was peaceful. Plates were passed, cups refilled, and laughter rolled through the crisp air. Someone even tuned a guitar, and a soft melody wound through the crowd like smoke.
Then came the sound.
Engines — faint at first, then growing louder, hard and angry. Tires on gravel. The laughter died mid-note. Thane’s ears turned toward the east gate.
The truck burst through the open archway with a roar, plowing straight into the square. Ten men clung to the sides, shouting, waving rifles and shotguns. The lead truck screeched to a halt beside the market stalls, bumper clipping a crate of apples that exploded across the cobblestones.
“Hands up!” one of the raiders yelled, stepping down with his rifle raised. “We’re taking your food, your fuel, and whatever else ain’t nailed down—”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Thirty feral wolves turned in unison. The humans nearest them froze; even the wind seemed to hold its breath. For a heartbeat, the raiders stood there, staring at a wall of fur, fangs, and muscle — wolves halfway between patience and predation.
The man nearest the truck whispered, “Oh… shit.”
Gabriel stood up from his seat, hands spread. “Fellas,” he said, “you might wanna rethink your life choices real quick.”
One of the raiders tried to bring his rifle up. He never got the chance. A gray feral slammed into him like a sledgehammer, sending both rifle and man tumbling. Another wolf tipped the truck with a roar of metal and shattering glass. Two more pinned the raiders beneath a hail of claws and snarls.
The humans of Libby watched, stunned — not one of them moved to help, and none needed to. Within seconds, the fight was over. Ten raiders lay on the ground, disarmed, terrified, alive only because the wolves hadn’t decided otherwise.
Thane rose from the table and walked forward with the kind of calm that makes even predators take a step back. Sable moved beside him, her white fur bright under the lanterns. The crowd parted as they passed, wolves holding their prisoners down but not harming them.
The raider leader — a broad man with a bloody lip and eyes wide as full moons — stared up at Thane as he stopped over him.
Thane bent, picked up the man’s rifle, and snapped it cleanly across his knee. The sound echoed like a gunshot.
“You picked the wrong town,” Thane said, voice low but carrying through the square. “And the wrong day.”
He gestured for the wolf pinning the man to step back, then grabbed the raider by his collar and dragged him to the feast table. When he let go, the man fell against the bench, shaking.
“You owe these people,” Thane growled. “And my pack. An apology.”
The man swallowed hard, glancing between the circle of wolves and the dozens of human eyes on him. “I—” He broke off, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for… interrupting your—your dinner.”
“Say it properly,” Thane said, leaning closer.
“I’m sorry!” the man blurted, eyes wet with fear. “I’m sorry for coming here! Please don’t kill us!”
Sable watched in silence, her gaze sharp as glass.
Thane stood, towering over the raider. “You’re going to walk. Leave your weapons, your truck, and whatever pride you’ve got left. If I ever hear you came near this valley again…” He didn’t finish the sentence — he didn’t need to.
The man nodded frantically. “Yes. Yes, sir. We’ll go.”
“Good,” Thane said. “Walk.”
The wolves stepped back. The raiders scrambled to their feet, leaving their guns in the dirt, and stumbled out the east gate under a hundred watching eyes.
When they were gone, the silence held for several long breaths.
Sable turned to Thane. “You could’ve killed them,” she said.
“I could’ve,” he answered. “But they’ll tell the story. Fear travels faster than bodies rot. Let them spread the tale.”
Sable’s gaze lingered on him, thoughtful. “Mercy as a weapon.”
“Mercy as a message,” Thane corrected.
Behind them, Gabriel exhaled. “Well,” he said, clapping his hands together, “that was dramatic. Anyone else hungry again?”
Laughter broke like a wave through the square. Tension melted into cheers and applause. Someone started the music again. Marta raised a glass and called out, “To the wolves — both kinds!”
“To the wolves!” the crowd echoed, and Sable’s pack howled in answer, long and strong, a sound that filled the valley and rolled into the night.
Under the lantern glow, humans and wolves returned to their feast, side by side once more — the world’s strangest family, stronger than fear and louder than the dark.