They went on foot because that was how respect traveled through the pines.
Thane led at an easy patrol pace, the kind that ate distance without advertising effort. Rime ghosted to his right like a long, quiet thought; Kade held the left, eyes alive, reading what the snow said when it forgot men were listening. The morning was clean and cold, pine resin sharp in the lungs, the creek talking low under ice. Their clawed feet found the ground the way truth finds a voice—without shoes, without apology.
“Trail bends ahead,” Kade said softly. “Her watch ridge will be in sight after the second cut.”
Rime grunted assent. “Eyes already there.”
They climbed. Wind rose and laid back down. The last of the storm’s powder lifted from low boughs and drifted like breath. Kade halted once, crouching to touch a pressed oval half-hidden beneath a drift.
“Three wolves passed here before sunrise,” he said. “Light carry. No kits. Scouting pace.”
“Her outer ring,” Thane said. It wasn’t a question. His mouth quirked. “She knew we were coming the moment we left town.”
Rime’s ear flicked. “She always know.”
Another fifty paces and the forest itself spoke up: a soft, not-threatening cough to their left, the sound of a body shifting its weight on bark.
“Seen,” Rime called quietly, without turning his head.
A pale shape slid from a cedar shadow, then another farther on. Northern Ferals with white and gray coats, winter-tight and well fed. They kept their distance, their eyes bright with curiosity and calculation.
“Thane,” one of them said, voice soft, grammar simple. “Sable wait.”
“Good,” Thane answered. “We’ll follow your wind.”
They were escorted the last quarter mile in the old way—by presence and angle rather than by any explicit route—until the trees thinned and the camp opened like a secret that trusted them. Sable’s people had made winter home before the last storm: lean-tos and snow-walled wind breaks, a ring of poles for drying meat, a central fire whose smoke went up thin and well-behaved. Wolves moved with business everywhere—sharpening, carrying, laughing with teeth. Thirty-two by Thane’s quick count. Sable’s number.
She stepped out from the lee of a spruce as if the forest had formed her and then remembered to let her go. White fur, eyes like clean ice over stone, posture relaxed because relaxation was a kind of power. She looked first at Thane, then at Rime, then at Kade. Her gaze held on Kade a breath longer—measuring, not unkind.
“Alpha,” she said to Thane. No tilt, no bow. Equal greeting.
“Sable.” Thane’s nod matched hers—exact, familiar.
Rime dipped his head, a small curve of loyalty. “Sable.”
Kade straightened unconsciously, then chose not to drop his eyes. “Good morning.”
She watched that choice and let him have it.
“Walk,” Sable said. “Talk where wind does not steal words.”
She led them past the central fire to a low drift-wall that quieted the air. The ground there had been tamped by many paws; a flat stone served as a seat if one wanted to pretend one needed it. No one did.
“You came because of wolves at your gate,” Sable said, simple as weather.
“Yes,” Thane said. “Three from the far north. Iron Ridge.”
Sable’s jaw worked once. “They came here first. Walked from west. Smelled like old snow and anger.” A thin shrug. “Said they want lone wolf I caught days ago. Said he run south. Said traitor.”
Kade’s shoulders tightened. Sable noticed; she never missed much.
“You gave them my name,” Thane said. The line had no heat at first—just light.
Sable did not deflect. “I did.”
“You could have sent them chasing trees,” Thane said mildly. “Or played stupid.”
Sable’s eyes held his. Calm as ever. “I do not play stupid,” she said. “I told truth.”
“Convenient truth,” Thane said, a dry edge entering the gravel. “For them, not for us.”
Rime’s gaze moved between them without worry. This was not a fight; it was the sound of two stones testing one another for cracks.
Sable took a breath through her nose, the way a hunter takes in wind. “I judged wrong,” she said, clean. “Thought it would make your problem smaller. Send trouble to you fast, not let it circle through my camp twice. Was error. I see it now.”
No apology. But ownership—blunt, honest. It landed better than a different word might have.
Thane’s mouth twitched. The day would have been easier if she had said sorry; it would also have made her someone else. He preferred her true. “All right,” he said. “Next time, send word first. Let me set the field.”
Sable nodded once. “Next time, I call before I answer. You have new phone. I remember.”
Kade shifted, then forced stillness. “They were aggressive?” he asked. “At your camp?”
Sable’s eyes cut to him, then softened half a fraction. “Yes. Teeth out. Words worse. They say Alpha—Tarrik—call you traitor. Say he take you alive or dead.” Her head tilted; a low sound traveled through her chest. “They think fear is law.”
Kade’s reply was steady. “That’s right.”
“They do not know this ground,” Rime said.
“They do not know this pack,” Thane added.
Sable’s mouth made the idea of a smile. “And you send them away.”
Thane’s tone didn’t change. “I did.”
“Good,” Sable said. “Would be shame to lose best Pathfinder first week.”
Kade blinked. The compliment landed like thaw on iron. Rime let a small, pleased sound escape.
Sable’s attention settled on Kade with that narrow, precise weight she used to test young wolves for fracture lines. “You walk out from your Alpha,” she said. “You choose south, choose people, choose Thane.” A beat. “You bring trouble.”
Kade didn’t flinch. “Yes.”
“You bring skill,” Rime said, unexpectedly stepping into Kade’s shadow. “He see prints I miss. See wind I not read. Good eyes. Good head.”
Sable’s gaze flicked to Rime, then back. “He chosen,” she said, and the word had several stones under it.
Thane let the wind fill the pause and then moved the conversation to the reason he was there. “Tarrik will try again,” he said. “He sent three to test the road. He’ll send more to test the wall.”
Sable’s chin rose a millimeter. “We have thirty-two. River on back. Ridges on sides. Hands that know rock and snow. We handle.”
“You probably can,” Thane said, not patronizing. “But you do not have to handle it alone.”
Sable’s eyes sharpened. “You offer help.”
“I offer a promise,” Thane said. “If Iron Ridge pushes your line, we will be there. Fast. Loud.” He tilted his head toward the south. “We have a line to the town. You have our number now. Use it.”
Sable tasted the word number like a new fruit. “Phone,” she said. “Old lines that sing. I like how far sound travels. Like far-carry howl.”
“That’s exactly what it is,” Gabriel would have said. Thane kept the smile to himself.
Kade cleared his throat gently. “Sable… Tarrik doesn’t like losing. He’ll be back. He hates walls he didn’t build and rules he didn’t write. And he doesn’t care if you’re human or wolf.” He didn’t reach for her as he spoke—he knew better—but his voice added the touch he didn’t offer. “I know you’re strong. I’ve seen your pack. But be ready.”
Sable’s eyes lowered to half-mast, that measuring gaze that made even alphas remember they had a spine to keep.
“I hear you,” she said. “And you hear me. We are not prey. Thirty-two wolves. Young ones run fast. Old ones bite hard. This is north. We stand.” She let the pause fall until it had weight. “But yes. I will watch for Tarrik. Teeth ready. No fear.”
Thane nodded. “When they come through again, tell them exactly where we are—just like you did. Then call me. I want them to know they can find who they think they want. I also want them to learn why they do not want to try.”
Sable considered that tactic with a feral strategist’s mind. “Bait that bites.”
“Message that carries,” Thane said.
Rime’s low voice stitched the thought together. “Fear travel fast first day. Mercy travel far last day.”
Sable’s eyes cut to him at the echo of Thane’s philosophy from a different mouth. She made a small approving sound. “You teach him well,” she told Thane.
“He teaches me back,” Thane said, glancing at Rime.
From the center fire, a few young wolves drifted closer—curiosity in fur, not disrespect. Sable lifted one finger and they stopped in place, watching with ears forward.
“Tell me how Tarrik runs the pack now,” Thane said softly to Kade. “I want to hear it from you while her wolves hear it too.”
Kade drew a breath through cold air. “He made fear into policy. You do not question. You do not leave. Oaths aren’t promises there—they’re chains. If someone challenges him, he does not fight. He orders wolves to tear down the challenger’s family first.” His voice stayed level. “He calls it teaching.”
A low ripple moved through the listening wolves. Sable’s eyelids lowered. “Coward’s truth,” she said, flat.
“Agreed,” Thane said. “That’s all I need to know.”
Sable lifted her chin at Kade again. “You left that. Good.” She stepped closer, not threatening—simply closing the wind between them. Her eyes were direct and without warmth by default; the warmth came only when she meant it. “But hear me. You cross my trees without my word before, tied you were. You come with Thane now. Different. Thane says you worth. I believe. He say loyal. I believe.”
Kade held still, the way one stands when a verdict approaches. Sable looked him through and then spoke to the camp, voice not loud but shaped to carry.
“Pack,” she said, and heads turned like a field of grass to wind. “Hear. This one—Kade—walk with Thane. Under Thane oath. Walk with Rime on trails. Speak true. From now, he may roam our ground like he is white-fur. No rope. No watchers. He is not prey here. He is not spy. He is guest until he is kin.”
A murmur ran around the fire—some surprised, some approving, none defiant. Sable’s word held.
Kade’s jaw worked once. He dipped his head—not submission, but thanks carved into instinct. “Understood. Thank you.”
Sable gave him the judgment eye one last time, then let the corners of her mouth ease. “Do not make me regret,” she said, and somehow it was not a threat at all—more a gift with a handle.
“I won’t,” Kade said.
Thane exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders smoothing into the kind he preferred: ready, not braced. “Good. Then we’re done scolding each other for the morning.”
“Scolding is done,” Sable agreed, almost amused. “Business now.”
“Business,” Thane echoed. “Here’s ours: Tarrik is your problem first, then mine immediately. If he steps wrong on your line, call me. We come running. If he tries to pull you into something worse, we draw him south and finish it on ground we choose.”
Sable nodded. “Agreement.”
Rime added, plain as meat on a plate, “If Iron Ridge touch young ones, we break Iron Ridge.”
One or two of the young wolves grinned at that, baring teeth like a joke that remembered it could cut.
Sable’s eyes warmed another degree—pride disguised as approval. “You grow,” she told Rime, and he dipped his head as if the wind had said something kind for once.
They stood there a while longer because endings should not be rushed. A young white-pelt sidled up within earshot and blurted at Kade, “You speak like Thane. Not like us. How do you do that with words?”
Kade blinked, then smiled. “Practice. And someone once took the time to teach me without calling me dumb for not knowing.”
The youngster considered that as if it were an entirely new kind of fire.
Sable let the moment exist, then flicked her hand once in a signal the camp knew well. The watchers melted back to tasks. The ring of attention loosened without losing interest.
Thane drew a breath that tasted like old friendship and new war. “We should head back,” he said. “Libby will start wondering if we fell in a snowdrift.”
“Libby will start calling phone,” Sable said, testing the word again like it had teeth she approved of.
“They will,” Thane said, and finally smiled. “Answer if we’re late?”
“Maybe,” Sable said. The not-smile returned, thinner, truer. “If Rime teach me which button is howl.”
Rime, deadpan: “All buttons are howl if you push hard.”
That earned quiet laughter from three directions at once.
They parted without ceremony because ceremony would have lied. Sable did not move to clasp wrists or offer trinkets. She simply inclined her head once more and said, “We watch. We call. We bite last.”
“Perfect,” Thane said. “We’ll bite first if we have to.”
“Do not,” Sable said, and somehow made the request sound like a favor given. “Let them bite first. Teaches better.”
Thane’s eyes warmed. “We agree on more every winter.”
“World cold,” Sable said. “We keep warm.”
They left the camp under the same pale sun that had watched them enter. The escort peeled away as quietly as it had formed, and soon it was just three wolves again on the clean, honest snow.
They didn’t talk for the first half mile. They didn’t need to. The trees did enough of that for everyone.
Finally Kade said, “I thought she might never trust me.”
Thane didn’t look over. “She didn’t. Then she did. It took exactly as long as it needed to.”
Rime added, “You stand when she push. Good.”
Kade huffed a short laugh. “My legs were not sure.”
“They were,” Thane said. “They just like lying to you.”
A jay scolded something invisible. The creek found a louder stretch. Far off, something heavy shifted in the timber, then thought better and became small again.
At the ridge lip that gave them the long look over the valley, Thane slowed. Libby sat where it always sat—fences holding, smoke straight, roofs steady. Home, not a hiding place.
Kade followed his gaze. “If Tarrik comes—”
“When,” Thane corrected softly.
“When he comes,” Kade said, accepting the correction like a tool—useful, not personal, “we’ll have to pick ground.”
“We already are,” Thane said. “With friends who call first.”
Rime’s claws pressed into snow like punctuation. “We make lesson,” he said. “Make it clean.”
Thane nodded. “And make sure it travels.”
They went down the ridge with the kind of pace that told a town the day was still theirs. By the time the cabin came into view, the air had warmed a degree, and the door had that look doors get when the room behind them is ready to be good again.
Inside, the new phone sat on the wall like a promise that had learned electricity. It did not ring.
“Not today,” Thane said, almost to it.
Kade stood a moment in the doorway, then looked back toward the north line of trees he could no longer see.
“She declared me free to roam,” he said, like a man testing a key in a lock that finally turned.
“She did,” Thane said. “Welcome to the rest of the map.”
Rime passed between them, deadpan as ever. “Now chores.”
“Now chores,” Thane agreed, and the day returned to itself—wolves in a warm room, claws on wood, the sound of a town breathing in winter without fear.