Morning broke bright over Libby, but it wasn’t the sunrise that woke the town — it was the phones.
For the first time since the Fall, the City Hall switchboard lit up like it had a heartbeat. Line lamps blinked in excited green rows, the old AT&T Definity humming steady, alive on real dam power. Marta stepped into her office with a cup of tea in one hand and froze when she saw the board dancing like a festival.
“Good grief,” she whispered. “They’re all calling at once.”
She set her tea down, rolled up her sleeves, and hit the first flashing button.
“City Hall, this is Marta.”
A woman’s voice nearly burst through the receiver. “LIBBY? LIBBY, IS THIS LIBBY?!”
Marta flinched, then laughed. “It is. Who am I speaking to?”
“This is ELSIE from TROY,” the woman said, diaphragm apparently made of steel. “Our lights came back on last night! All of them! Water too! Washing machines! Streetlights! The SEWER PLANT! Do you know anything about that? Did you all get power too?!”
Marta smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. “Yes. Libby has full power as of yesterday afternoon.”
“HOW? WHAT HAPPENED? DID YOU FIX SOMETHING? DID SOMEONE—”
Marta chuckled. “Well… it’s a long story, but the short version is: Thane and the Libby Pack restarted the hydropower plant.”
Silence.
Then a gasp crackled over the line. “The… werewolves?”
“Yes,” Marta said gently.
Another long silence — then a sound like someone covering the receiver while shrieking excitedly to everyone in the room.
Marta pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.
When Elsie came back on the line, her voice trembled. “Please tell them thank you. They brought Troy back to life. They brought all of us back.”
“I’ll pass it on,” Marta said.
But the board was still blinking wildly. When she hung up, three more calls came through instantly. She answered the next.
“City Hall, Marta speaking.”
“This is Bonners Ferry!” a man said breathlessly. “Is this true?! Libby has power? Was it you?”
“Not me,” Marta said. “But yes — we have it back.”
“How? We thought the plant was dead!”
“The plant was fine,” Marta said. “Just asleep. And Thane woke it.”
More stunned silence.
Then a soft, choked, “…You tell that wolf that Bonners Ferry owes him a feast that would make kings jealous.”
“I’ll let him know.”
Before she could even breathe, Line 4 lit up.
“City Hall, Marta here.”
“MARTA. Spokane on Line 4.”
The voice was quick, businesslike, deeply rattled. “We’ve restored power across the whole city. Water treatment is green. Hospital is fully operational. Traffic lights work. Our grid division is in shock. Do you know anything about this?!”
Marta sat up straighter. “Yes. Libby knows.”
“What happened?”
“The dam came back online.”
“THE HYDRO DAM?!”
Marta smiled. “Yes.”
“How? Who fixed it? Was it your engineers?”
“No,” Marta said. “It was Thane and his pack.”
There was a long, empty pause.
Then: “You’re telling me werewolves restored a statewide power station.”
“I am.”
Another pause.
“You tell Thane… Spokane is in your debt. Every single one of us.”
Marta exhaled slowly. “I will.”
The board kept screaming for attention. Montana, Idaho, tiny towns she hadn’t heard from in a year, far-off cabins with only one working phone — everyone had power, and everyone wanted to know why.
And every time she told the truth — that the wolves of Libby did it — there was the same stunned silence, like the world had to swallow a miracle.
By noon, they had proof the valley was fully awake.
A caravan rolled into Libby from the east — pickup trucks, wagons, carts pulled by ATVs, even a few horses. People rode standing up in the beds of trucks, waving, shouting to each other. A few were crying openly.
And in each vehicle, something was piled: baskets, blankets, crates of food, barrels of fuel, little carved trinkets, jars of jam, bottles of honey, cured meats, sacks of grain, hand-forged tools, letters, drawings — gifts, offerings, tributes in the old-world sense.
The square filled quickly. More cars came from the west road, then from the south. People poured out — some dressed in patched coats, some in mismatched armor from harder days, some still in hospital scrubs fresh from reactivated wards.
Hank leaned on the railing outside City Hall, jaw hanging slightly open.
“Well,” he muttered. “Looks like we got company.”
Marta stepped beside him, completely unsurprised. “They’re coming to thank them.”
Hank looked at her. “You told Spokane it was the wolves?”
“I told everyone it was the wolves.”
He nodded slowly. “’Bout time the world sees them for what they are.”
Down the street, the cabin door opened and Thane stepped onto the porch, stretching his shoulders. Gabriel followed with a guitar slung across his back. Mark came out with his notebooks. Rime ducked through the doorframe, Holt right behind him, and Kade and Varro took up the rear — an entire pack spilling onto the porch like a quiet tide.
Thane looked at the square below, brow furrowed.
“Why is it so loud?” he asked.
Gabriel leaned forward, squinting. “Because, Alpha… the valley came over for lunch.”
Holt sniffed. “Food?”
“Probably,” Gabriel said. “Also hero worship.”
Thane grimaced. “No.”
“Yes,” Gabriel said.
Marta waved them down enthusiastically. “Thane! Down here!”
Thane descended the porch steps with his pack fanning out instinctively. As they approached, the first cluster of people saw them — and the square quieted, not out of fear, but reverence.
A woman from Eureka — hair braided with bits of red ribbon — stepped forward holding a basket piled with smoked trout.
She swallowed hard. “You gave us light,” she said. “Take this. Please.”
Thane blinked. “That’s not necessary,” he said gently.
“It is to us,” she insisted, pushing the basket toward Gabriel, who accepted it awkwardly.
A man from Bonners Ferry stepped forward next, holding a wooden carving. A wolf howling atop a carved mountain, beautifully made.
He looked directly at Thane, voice thick. “My son could breathe last night,” he said. “His oxygen machine came back online. This is the only thing I have worth giving.”
Thane’s throat tightened. “You keep that for your family,” he said.
The man shook his head fiercely. “No. You saved them. And you saved us. Please.”
Thane accepted it with quiet care.
More people came, one after another.
A group from Troy brought jars of honey and a framed map of their valley with the words TO THE PACK WHO BROUGHT BACK THE SUN painted in careful strokes.
A group from Rexford brought blankets woven from bright wool.
A Spokane crew — their truck still bearing faded city maintenance logos — walked straight up to Thane. Their leader, a middle-aged woman with streaks of silver in her hair, spoke plainly:
“Our hospital has real power again. Our water treatment plant is running. Our city works.”
She bowed her head.
“We came to thank the wolf who made it happen.”
Thane stepped back, uncomfortable. “We did what needed doing,” he said. “That’s all.”
“Maybe to you,” she said. “But not to us.”
Behind her, two teenagers from Spokane held up a massive banner they’d painted overnight:
THANK YOU, LIBBY PACK — YOU BROUGHT LIFE BACK TO THE VALLEY
Holt stared at it with wide eyes. “They paint big,” he whispered to Rime.
“Gratitude makes hands steady,” Rime murmured.
A young man from a distant cabin community approached next. He carried only a small envelope.
“It’s a letter,” he said shyly. “My grandma wrote it this morning. First light bulb she’s seen since everything fell apart. She said to give it to the wolf who fixed the dam.”
Thane opened it.
Inside were four words, handwritten with shaking, elderly script:
BLESSED ARE YOUR PAWS.
Gabriel made a sound like a snort caught halfway to a laugh. “Okay,” he whispered, “now that one’s going on the fridge.”
Varro stepped forward then, clearing his throat softly — the quiet signal he used when tensions needed balancing.
“These gifts…” he said to the crowd, voice level, carrying in his calm way. “We accept them with gratitude. But understand something.”
The townsfolk fell silent.
Varro continued, “The Alpha does not do this for tribute. Or praise. Or power.”
He glanced at Thane, who gave him the smallest nod.
“We do this because pack helps pack,” Varro said. “Because all of you —” he gestured to the crowd “— fight to live good lives. Not greedy ones. Not cruel ones. Lives worth protecting.”
A murmur ran through the crowd — agreement, yes, but also something softer. Understanding.
Thane stepped beside Varro then, his gravel-deep voice carrying without effort.
“You want to thank us?” he said. “Live like that. Help each other. Feed each other. Watch the roads. Look out for the ones who can’t look out for themselves. That’s what pack means.”
A woman from Troy wiped her eyes. “Is that really all you want?”
Thane nodded once. “That’s all.”
Holt piped up suddenly. “Also maybe cookies.”
“Holt,” Kade murmured.
“What?” Holt said. “Pack hungry!”
Laughter rippled through the square — warm, relieved, human.
And then something remarkable happened.
One by one, people approached the wolves not with gifts now, but with open hands. Not touching — they’d learned respect — but offering their palms forward in a gesture halfway between greeting and gratitude.
Holt tilted his head. “They want sniff?”
“No,” Gabriel whispered. “They’re showing trust.”
Holt blinked. Then mimicked the gesture back, slowly, carefully.
The woman opposite him smiled so brightly her eyes crinkled.
The sense of celebration lasted all day.
Kids climbed onto Rime’s back like he was a playground fixture. Holt supervised an impromptu cookie table, solemnly enforcing “two each” like a furry tyrant. Spokane engineers talked shop with Mark, excited to exchange knowledge. Gabriel played guitar in the square, Spokane teens cheering every time he slid into a riff.
And Thane?
He wandered through it all quietly, accepting thanks only with small nods, redirecting praise with gentle firmness.
At one point, a man from Libby — Jim Holder, owner of Holder Drug — stepped up beside him.
“You know,” Jim said, watching the crowd, “people used to wait for the government to fix things. Or companies. Or someone bigger than us.”
Thane said nothing, letting him speak.
Jim nodded toward the pack. “Turns out the world came back because a handful of wolves decided it should.”
Thane huffed softly. “World didn’t come back,” he said. “Not all the way. But it’s getting there.”
“You’re humble,” Jim said. “I respect that.”
Thane’s gaze swept over the crowd — kids laughing under banners, townsfolk trading stories, power humming through the lines overhead.
“Not humble,” Thane said. “Just clear. This isn’t about who gets credit.”
Jim nodded slowly. “Then what is it about?”
Thane looked at him — eyes ice-blue, steady.
“Responsibility,” he said. “Strength with purpose. Helping the ones who can’t return the favor. Protecting without asking what you get back.”
Jim swallowed. “That’s… pack?”
“That’s pack,” Thane confirmed.
And Jim looked around with new eyes.
Late afternoon settled into a soft golden glow. The crowds thinned slowly, caravans departing with waves and promises to return. Spokane stayed longer, reluctant to leave this place where wolves walked openly and kindness wasn’t rare.
When the last visitors were gone, the square was littered with warmth — baskets, gifts, drawings, letters, food. A banner hung from City Hall proudly: THANK YOU, PACK.
Holt stood beneath it holding a cookie the size of his paw. “Me like this day,” he announced.
Gabriel ruffled the fur between his ears. “I think the valley likes you too, buddy.”
Marta approached Thane as he surveyed the square.
“That was… something,” she said.
Thane nodded. “They didn’t need to bring anything.”
“No,” Marta said. “But they needed to give something. Gratitude has weight. People need to set it down somewhere.”
Thane exhaled slowly. “I’m glad they’re okay.”
Marta studied him — the posture, the humility, the steady leadership.
“You know,” she said quietly, “you’re changing what people think a wolf is.”
Thane shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what they call us. What matters is what we do.”
“Yes,” Marta said. “And today you gave an entire valley its world back.”
He looked away, uncomfortable again.
Marta smiled. “You may not want praise, Thane. But you can’t stop people from feeling joy.”
He didn’t argue.
Evening in Libby glowed.
Lights flickered on automatically along Main Street. Homes lit from within. Sprinklers ticked across lawns. And laughter drifted from porches and windows like music.
The pack returned to the cabin with arms full of gifts.
Rime set down a bundle of quilts almost reverently. Holt carried three jars of honey like precious jewels. Kade held a box full of handwritten letters. Varro unrolled the giant banner carefully so it wouldn’t tear.
Thane placed the wooden wolf carving on the mantle, lit by warm electric light.
Gabriel looked at it and let out a soft breath. “You know,” he said, “they’re not wrong.”
“About what?” Thane asked.
Gabriel rested his guitar on his knee and gestured to the carving, to the banner, to the valley humming outside.
“You didn’t just turn on a power plant,” Gabriel said. “You gave people their lives back. Their routines. Their hopes. Their… normal.”
Thane stared at the carving for a long moment.
Then he said, quietly, “We gave them the chance. They’ll do the rest.”
Gabriel smiled. “That’s pack.”
Thane nodded. “That’s pack.”
Outside, the lights of Libby glowed warmly across the valley — towns reborn, homes alive again, a world slowly knitting itself back together.
Inside, the wolves rested — full bellied, tired, quiet, and content.
And for the first time in years, the valley breathed as one.