The morning came cold and bright, the kind of Libby dawn that promised work worth doing. Frost still silvered the grass, the air sharp enough to sting noses, but sunlight already poured over the ridge in thin golden bands. Down by the old Ridge School, a truck idled low and steady, steam rising from its tailpipe. Thane stood by the front steps, watching his breath curl into the air.
The building looked almost gentle in that light — red brick faded to rose, vines clawing up its sides, windows cracked but glinting like jewels. A sign above the door still read LIBBY RIDGE ELEMENTARY, its white paint chipped but legible.
Behind him came the rest of the pack. Holt stretched his arms over his head, claws catching light. “Smell like dust,” he said. “And… old pencil.”
Gabriel chuckled. “That’s education, big guy.”
Rime crouched, studying the frozen earth near the walkway. “Many tracks here. Rabbits. One deer.”
Kade glanced over his shoulder as the truck’s doors opened. Marta climbed down first, bundled in a brown jacket, coffee thermos in hand. Behind her came Mark, Mrs. Renner, and Jana with a box of brushes. Caldwell followed last, carrying a coil of wiring over one shoulder.
“Morning, pack,” Marta called. “You all ready?”
Thane nodded once. “We start now.”
The first hour was all sound — doors creaking, boards pried loose, glass swept away, laughter echoing through hollow halls. The wolves moved like a construction crew that had never heard of fatigue. Holt and Varro took to hauling desks out of classrooms, stacking them on the lawn for repair.
Holt hefted two at a time, grinning. “Still strong,” he said.
Varro lifted one beside him, more careful. “Strong’s good. Quiet better.”
“Quiet break fewer legs,” Holt agreed, tail flicking.
Inside, Gabriel, Rime, and Jana started on walls. Jana showed Rime how to hold a brush, but within minutes his strokes had turned from vertical to wildly circular.
“Like clouds,” he said earnestly.
Jana blinked, then smiled. “You know what? We’ll call that creative learning.”
Mark set up a small solar junction box near the main doors. “We can run wire from City Hall’s grid,” he said. “Panel arrays face south; perfect exposure.”
Kade crouched beside him, drawing lines on a map with a claw tip. “We reinforce wall near conduit. Keep children safe.”
Marta nodded approvingly. “You’re turning into quite the engineer, Kade.”
He smiled faintly. “Good teacher helps.”
By mid-morning, the interior had begun to wake up. Light streamed through freshly washed windows. Rime swept the halls with a broken broom, humming quietly. Holt hammered doorframes back into place while Varro helped him line up the hinges. Every clang of metal echoed down the corridor like a heartbeat.
In one classroom, Mrs. Renner unpacked a small box of rescued treasures — dog-eared books, chalk, and a faded poster that read LEARN SOMETHING NEW EVERY DAY. She set them on a windowsill where sunlight touched the paper and whispered, “Welcome back.”
Thane stepped through the doorway behind her, fur still dusted with plaster. “You found what matters,” he said.
She turned, smiling. “It isn’t much.”
“It’s enough,” Thane replied. “Stories are lessons that live.”
Renner studied him a moment, then nodded. “You’d make a fine teacher yourself.”
“Too many teeth,” he said dryly, and she laughed, shaking her head.
Outside, Marta oversaw repairs to the small playground. The slide had rusted through, but the swings still held. Holt tested one experimentally, sitting down gingerly. The chain groaned under his weight but didn’t break.
“Still work!” he said proudly.
Gabriel leaned against the rail. “Congratulations, you just re-invented physics.”
Holt grinned, pushing off gently and rocking like a mountain in motion. “Feels nice.”
Even Varro smiled at that.
As noon approached, Caldwell called from the roof. “Panels set! We’ve got line voltage!”
Mark threw the breaker in the main hall. For a breathless second, nothing happened — then the overhead lights flickered and glowed steady white. A murmur went through the hall.
Renner gasped. Jana pressed a hand to her mouth.
Thane stood beneath the light, the glow catching in his fur. “Power,” he said softly. “Like before.”
Gabriel strummed a quick, celebratory chord on his guitar. Holt whooped loud enough to startle the birds from the trees.
Marta leaned against the doorframe, eyes shining. “We’re really doing it,” she said. “We’re bringing it all back.”
Lunch was eaten right there on the floor — stew, bread, and laughter echoing off clean walls. Humans and wolves sat together in a loose circle. Holt offered Renner half his bread; she accepted, joking that it was the only meal she’d ever shared with a wolf that didn’t involve running.
Varro stayed quiet until Jana accidentally dropped a crate of papers. He caught it mid-fall, steady and calm. She looked up, startled. “Thank you.”
He shrugged slightly. “Feels good to build something that does not bleed.”
The words settled like warm light over the room.
The afternoon became rhythm and motion. Holt repaired desks; Rime cleaned windows until they gleamed; Kade and Mark finished securing wiring through the old conduit.
By late day, the school had transformed. Floors shone under swept dust. Sunlight poured through glass panes clear for the first time in years. The murals had color again — forests, rivers, and bright skies. Jana’s hands were speckled with paint; Rime’s fur bore smudges of blue and gold he hadn’t noticed.
Outside, Marta and Mark mounted a small plaque by the front door:
PROJECT HOPE – LIBBY SCHOOLHOUSE
Reopened, Year 1 After the Fall
Children from the square had gathered by then, peeking around corners, whispering. Holt noticed and waved them over. “Come look,” he said softly. “Not scary. Promise.”
They crept forward. One little girl reached out to touch his paw; he froze, then smiled and let her trace one claw. “See? Not sharp if careful.”
Renner stood in the doorway, tears in her eyes. “They’re not scared of you.”
“Good,” Thane said behind her. “They shouldn’t be.”
As the sun dropped toward the trees, Jana called everyone outside. On the front wall, she’d finished her mural: wolves and humans standing together beneath a rising sun. She stepped back, brush still in hand. “Done.”
Silence fell as everyone took it in. The colors glowed like firelight — oranges, blues, soft silver for the moon fading behind the sun.
Rime spoke first, voice quiet. “Looks like morning.”
Thane’s reply came low and sure. “That’s what it is.”
Marta nodded, wiping her eyes. “Then let’s call it a day.”
Evening settled gently over Libby. The lights in the classrooms burned steady through clean windows. Inside, rows of desks waited, chalk dusted lightly on the board. A globe stood on a shelf, turning slowly in the draft from an open window.
Marta stood beside Thane at the gate, both watching the building glow. “You know,” she said, “it almost looks like it did before the Fall.”
Thane’s eyes stayed on the light. “Better,” he said. “Now it means something.”
She smiled. “Tomorrow, we bring the kids.”
“Tomorrow,” he agreed.
The pack gathered near the truck, tired but bright-eyed, fur streaked with paint and dust. Holt looked back one last time. “We make good den,” he said proudly.
Gabriel clapped his shoulder. “Best one in the valley.”
As they headed home, the night breeze carried a faint hum from the solar inverter and the distant laughter of children who had never known school bells — only the promise of them.
The Libby School glowed like a lantern in the dark, a place of learning reborn from ruin. And under the rising stars, Thane looked out across the valley and whispered, “The world remembers.”
The wind answered softly through the pines, carrying the scent of chalk dust, paint, and spring rain — the smell of beginnings that would last.