Winter settled over Libby like a soft, forgiving blanket. The sky stayed low and pale, and every roof wore its own crown of snow. Smoke rose from chimneys in neat gray ribbons. The radio in the square hummed quietly with music; the wolves kept watch from the tree line while the townsfolk went about their days. After months of fire, it finally smelled like home again — pine, ash, bread, and cold.
But peace never stayed perfect for long. One morning, Marta stood in the square with a ledger in hand, frowning at the numbers.
“Fuel’s dropping faster than we planned,” she said. “If the winter stays this long, we’ll run dry before spring.”
Thane leaned against the truck, arms folded, steam curling from his breath. “How far short?”
“Three, maybe four weeks of full power,” Marta said. “We can ration, but I’d rather not. We need another source.”
Rime rumbled from where he sat, massive paws folded. “We trade.”
“That’s the idea,” Marta said, tapping her pencil against the page. “Closest big city still standing is Spokane. Bigger population, more storage. Worth a try.”
Holt grinned, teeth flashing. “Road trip.”
Marta looked between them and sighed with the faint amusement of someone used to chaos. “Alright then. You, Rime, Thane, and I. We take the truck, bring some furs, cured hides, spare tools — trade goods. Gabriel, you and Mark are on radio and tech watch until we’re back.”
Gabriel gave a mock salute from behind the console. “I’ll keep the airways warm.”
The next morning, the truck roared to life in the cold — diesel coughing white clouds into the gray sky. Marta took the passenger seat with her ledger; Thane drove, claws gentle on the wheel. Holt and Rime rode in the open flatbed, tails flicking in the wind, massive and content.
The road wound north, snow thick on the shoulders. The mountains fell away to low valleys where the world looked half-asleep. Holt leaned over the cab roof to shout above the engine, “Civilization better have coffee!”
Marta laughed. “You’ll settle for gasoline.”
Rime said nothing. He watched the trees pass, expression unreadable. But when they crossed the long stretch of frozen highway that once carried freight trucks, he muttered, “Too quiet. World forget how breathe without noise.”
Thane nodded. “Let it rest. It’s earned it.”
By midday, Spokane appeared — a cluster of high-rises scarred by fire but still standing, ringed by barricades and guard towers. The smell of human life reached them first: wood smoke, diesel, old metal. It was a city still alive, stitched together by stubbornness.
At the first checkpoint, armed guards stepped out, hands half-raised — ready but wary. Their eyes darted between Marta and the wolves.
“Easy,” Marta said, window rolled halfway down. “We’re traders out of Libby. We’ve got goods and we’re looking for fuel.”
One guard, a woman with a parka two sizes too big, stared openly at Thane.
“Werewolves,” Marta said simply. “Don’t worry. They’re polite.”
That earned her a bewildered look. “You’re serious.”
Thane met the woman’s eyes and inclined his head. “We don’t bite traders.”
The second guard snorted, nervous and half-amused. “Well, that’s new.”
After a long pause and a radio check, the gate lifted. “You cause no trouble, we got no problem,” the first guard said. “Mayor’ll want to see this.”
“Understood,” Marta said, and the truck rolled through.
Inside the walls, Spokane was a humming patchwork of humanity. Rows of stalls lined the streets, steam curling from cookpots. People wore layers of patched clothing and carried themselves with the casual alertness of survivors who’d seen too much. But when the truck came down Main Street — a woman and three wolves riding in — the crowd stopped moving.
Hundreds of eyes followed.
A child gasped.
Someone dropped a tool.
And then the whispers started.
“Are those—?”
“They’re real.”
“God, look at the size of them.”
Thane parked in an open market square. Marta climbed out first, waving in greeting to a cluster of merchants who stared like she’d stepped off a different planet. “We’re here to trade,” she said cheerfully. “Furs, hides, tools, some dried meat.”
The merchants blinked. Then, slowly, commerce overcame fear. One man approached with a cautious smile. “You’re from Libby? Heard of it. You got diesel?”
“Looking for it,” Marta said. “You got any to spare?”
The man nodded toward a rust-streaked drum. “A few barrels left. Price depends on what you’ve got.”
Thane and Rime unloaded furs while Holt kept a lazy eye on the growing crowd. The trades went smooth — furs for fuel, knives for salt, canned fruit for wire spools. Marta’s sharp bartering matched the city merchants move for move until everyone seemed satisfied.
But as the deals wrapped up, curiosity spread like wildfire. People gathered at a distance, forming a wide ring around the square. The air filled with whispers. Children climbed onto benches for a better look.
“Never seen one up close,” someone murmured.
“They smell like pine and smoke.”
“Look at their eyes…”
Holt shifted, muttering under his breath, “Next one who pokes loses finger.”
Rime’s ear flicked. “You talk too much.”
“And you never talk,” Holt shot back, grinning.
Thane ignored them, helping Marta secure the last trade strap. “We square?”
“All square,” she said, closing the ledger. “And stocked enough to keep us warm through spring.”
They were preparing to leave when it happened. A small voice piped up from the edge of the crowd.
“Can I touch your claws?”
The crowd hushed. A boy — maybe six years old, bundled in a coat too big — had slipped past the line of adults and stood staring up at Thane with wide, fearless eyes.
Thane blinked, then crouched slowly. “You can,” he said gently. “They’re sharp, though.”
The boy giggled. “I’ll be careful.”
He reached out, tiny fingers brushing over Thane’s curved claws. His smile widened in awe. Then, emboldened, he reached up and patted Thane on the head like he was a very large, very patient dog.
The crowd collectively gasped.
Holt and Rime froze, then burst into twin, rumbling laughter.
“Oh no,” Holt said between laughs. “He petted Alpha.”
Rime’s tail flicked once. “Brave pup.”
Thane couldn’t help it — he laughed too, a low, rolling sound that warmed the air. “You’ve got courage,” he said to the boy. “Hold onto that.”
A shout cut through the square. “Eli!”
A man came sprinting from the crowd — older, coat thrown half on, panic written all over him. He skidded to a stop, eyes wild. “Get away from—” He froze when he saw the scene: his son laughing, three wolves grinning, and no one bleeding.
The man blinked. “He—he’s okay?”
“He’s fine,” Thane said, standing tall again. “He’s got a good instinct for people.”
The man swallowed hard. “You—You’re one of them… from Libby?”
Marta stepped forward, smiling warmly. “We all are — just trying to make it through the winter. You’re the mayor, aren’t you?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Mayor Hal Mason. And that’s my boy, Eli.”
“Well, Mayor Mason,” Marta said, “you’re looking at Libby’s head wolf, Thane. We came to trade, not to scare anyone.”
The mayor managed a small, incredulous laugh. “You’ve… succeeded at both.”
Holt chuckled behind them. “Happens.”
Marta introduced them one by one, explaining who they were and what Libby had become — a cooperative town, human and wolf, rebuilding instead of fighting. As she spoke, the tension in the crowd eased. People stepped closer, murmuring, curious instead of fearful.
Mayor Mason’s expression softened. “We thought we were alone up here. Guess not.”
“None of us are,” Marta said. “We’re building again. You’re welcome to visit, trade, see for yourself.”
He nodded slowly. “You’ve got a deal. And… thank you for not eating my son.”
Holt snorted. “Wasn’t on menu.”
That earned the first laugh from the gathered crowd — nervous, then genuine. The tension broke like thin ice.
When the truck finally rumbled back toward the gate, nearly a thousand people had gathered along the street to watch. Some waved. A few clapped. It looked, Thane thought, like a festival pretending it wasn’t one.
Marta leaned out the window, waving. “Be sure to keep that promise, Mayor Mason. We’ll bring coffee next time!”
The mayor smiled wide. “You bring those big guys again, you won’t have to pay for it!”
Holt barked a laugh. “You hear that? Free coffee!”
Rime’s voice was quiet but smug. “Worth trip.”
As they rolled out through the gate, a gust of snow swirled around the truck, catching in the morning sun. Thane glanced in the side mirror — the city behind them glowing faint gold, hundreds of faces watching as if the world had grown a little larger.
Marta sat back, arms crossed, a faint smile on her lips. “That,” she said, “was diplomacy.”
Holt tilted his head toward Thane. “So… how feel being pet like dog, Alpha?”
Thane gave him a sidelong look. “If it gets us fuel and peace, I’ll take the pat.”
Rime’s low chuckle rumbled through the cab.
The road stretched ahead, snow glinting. Behind them, Spokane buzzed with the kind of story that spreads hope — a story about wolves and humans trading like old friends, and a fearless child who saw no monsters at all.
Thane’s claws tapped lightly on the wheel. “Maybe,” he said softly, “this is how it starts.”
Marta looked over. “How what starts?”
“Something better.”
The truck rolled on through the white silence, engine humming steady, the road home waiting beneath the endless winter sky.