Libby’s town square still smelled faintly of roasted meat and apple pie from the feast a week before. The morning air was cool, the sun barely clearing the ridgeline, and the usual hum of quiet rebuilding work drifted through the streets. Somewhere near the center, a new sound joined the rhythm of hammer and saw — the steady gurgle-hiss of a percolator.
Gabriel stood proudly beside his portable coffee setup, sleeves rolled, tail twitching like a metronome. “Alright,” he announced to the small audience of ferals who’d followed Sable into town. “Today, my friends, you learn the greatest gift humans ever invented — coffee.”
Sable stood with her arms crossed, expression hovering between curiosity and suspicion. “You said this drink wakes you,” she said.
“Oh, it’ll wake you, alright,” Gabriel replied, grinning. “It’ll wake your soul.”
Mark was tinkering with a solar-charged kettle nearby. “You’re seriously giving caffeine to wolves who can already sprint a mile in under thirty seconds?”
“Science,” Gabriel said with mock solemnity. “For the betterment of interspecies cultural relations.”
Thane muttered from his chair near the steps, “This is going to end badly.”
The percolator finished with a sharp pop-hiss, and the smell of rich, dark roast spilled into the air. The ferals tilted their heads in unison, nostrils flaring. One muttered reverently, “Smells like fire and forest.”
Gabriel poured the first cup, steaming and strong, into a tin mug and handed it to Sable. “For the Alpha.”
She accepted it like someone might accept a challenge. She sniffed it, frowned, then took a cautious sip. Her ears twitched once. “Bitter,” she said. “Like river mud.”
“It grows on you,” Gabriel said with a smirk. “Try another sip.”
Sable did. Then, quietly, she said, “It burns… but feels powerful.”
The other ferals, emboldened, stepped forward. Gabriel handed out cups one by one, adding sugar or cream where requested — though most wanted it black after seeing Sable drink hers that way. For a few minutes, nothing happened. The wolves sipped, wrinkled their noses, and traded skeptical looks.
Then the caffeine hit.
It started with Rime. He blinked hard, looked around, and muttered, “Heart is… loud.” Then he began pacing. Fast. In circles. “Very loud.”
A younger wolf next to him let out a surprised yip. “River runs in my chest!”
Two more jumped up simultaneously, tails wagging at supersonic speed. “We hunt now? Hunt something?”
“No hunting!” Sable growled, but her voice was lost in the sudden, glorious chaos.
Gabriel leaned against the railing, laughing so hard he nearly spilled his own mug. “Oh, this is amazing. Look at them go!”
Mark groaned. “You’ve just invented the world’s first feral espresso stampede.”
By the five-minute mark, the square was a frenzy of energy. Wolves ran laps around the fountain, arguing over invisible prey. One climbed onto the market table and began giving an impromptu speech about the “glorious hunt of sunrise.” Two others chased each other up a staircase, neither sure why.
One feral crouched next to Gabriel, eyes wide, whispering, “Can hear colors. The air hums. The ground sings. YOU SING.”
Gabriel doubled over laughing. “Oh, I’m definitely singing now.”
Sable turned toward Thane and Mark, standing at the edge of the pandemonium, and fixed Gabriel with a glare so sharp it could’ve peeled paint. “I should break him in half for this,” she said flatly.
Thane burst into deep, gravelly laughter that startled even a few of the wolves mid-sprint. “You’d have to stand in line,” he said. “I’ve wanted to do that more times than I can count.”
Mark added dryly, “Wouldn’t help. He’d probably reform from caffeine vapor.”
Sable exhaled through her nose, half growl, half sigh, but even she couldn’t hide the hint of a smile tugging at her muzzle. “My pack was quiet once,” she said. “Now they sound like birds after thunder.”
Gabriel threw his arms out dramatically. “You’re welcome! This is joy!”
“It’s chaos,” Thane countered, though he was still smiling. “And you’re buying the next batch of beans.”
As the day went on, the madness reached new heights. Wolves tried to build things that didn’t need building — one was stacking crates into a tower, another was organizing rocks by “color of power.” One discovered a hand-cranked radio, spun the dial too far, and howled along to the static.
Sable sat beside Thane on the low wall near the square fountain, her arms crossed but her expression softened by disbelief. The wolves ran, tumbled, laughed, and argued, all in full view of the amused townsfolk watching from porches and stalls.
“They’ll sleep for a week after this,” Thane said, sipping his own coffee.
“Or explode,” Sable replied.
“Fifty-fifty chance.”
The younger wolves had taken to racing through the street, leaping over barrels. One tripped, rolled, and came up laughing — something that made several humans chuckle along with him. Gabriel was right in the thick of it, pretending to referee a “speed test,” calling out times that made no sense.
Even Sable laughed then, a quick, sharp sound she tried to stifle with her hand.
Thane grinned. “Caught that.”
“Don’t,” she warned.
“Too late.”
By late afternoon, the sugar and caffeine hit their peak. Wolves were singing — or trying to. Gabriel had started a percussion section using pots and empty fuel cans. Two wolves harmonized by accident. It was, objectively, terrible music.
“Worst band I’ve ever heard,” Mark muttered.
“You built the sound system,” Gabriel shouted back. “This is your legacy!”
“Disowning it.”
Then, as the sun began to dip behind the hills, the inevitable happened.
The energy drained from the ferals all at once. One by one, they began to slow, blink, and sit. Then flop. Within minutes, the square looked like a battlefield of snoring wolves — sprawled across benches, curled under tables, or simply face-down on the cobblestones.
Gabriel stood among them, grinning. “Behold,” he said, gesturing wide, “the power of caffeine — and consequences.”
Sable’s glare could’ve melted concrete. “You will pay for this,” she said.
He pointed at the nearest sleeping wolf. “Can’t. They love it.”
Sable looked around. The wolves’ faces were peaceful, even happy. A few tails twitched in their sleep. Her expression softened again. “Maybe,” she admitted quietly.
Mark stretched his back. “They’re not moving anytime soon.”
Thane stood, surveying the scene. “Let’s get them off the street before someone trips over them.”
Between the four of them, they lifted, carried, and guided the sleeping ferals to the old town hotel. Most were dead weight — utterly limp and snoring. Thane carried two at once, one under each arm. Sable hauled another by his scruff until Mark opened a door. Gabriel nearly dropped one from laughing too hard when it snored mid-lift.
They tucked them two per room, the wolves curling instantly into the soft beds. A few gave happy little grumbles at the feel of the sheets. One whispered in his sleep, “Cloud den…”
Sable watched as the last pair were settled in. “They will never want to leave,” she said softly.
“They earned the rest,” Thane said.
Gabriel flopped onto a hallway bench, still chuckling. “They’ll forgive me eventually.”
Sable crossed her arms. “Maybe. But I will not.”
Thane stifled a laugh. “Get in line.”
By nightfall, the hotel was filled with the sound of deep, contented breathing. The square outside lay quiet under the lanterns, and for the first time all day, the world was still again.
Thane leaned against the doorframe beside Sable, both watching the sleeping wolves through the window.
“You know,” Gabriel said from down the hall, yawning, “I should probably patent this. ‘Coffee Diplomacy: Building Bridges Through Caffeine.’”
Sable shot him one last look, the kind that promised future retribution. Thane’s laughter followed it down the hallway like thunder rolling after a storm.