{"id":3028,"date":"2025-11-10T12:06:16","date_gmt":"2025-11-10T18:06:16","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/?p=3028"},"modified":"2025-12-19T17:42:48","modified_gmt":"2025-12-19T23:42:48","slug":"the-art-of-the-threat","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/afterthefall\/the-art-of-the-threat\/","title":{"rendered":"Episode 74 – The Art of the Threat"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Morning in Libby began with the sound of comfort: dishes clinking, a kettle arguing cheerfully, Gabriel strumming something unfinished that might become a song by nightfall. Sunlight slid across the cabin floorboards like a lazy cat. Rime stood in the doorway with a list that was not a list\u2014three lines, two arrows, a circle where The Quiet Circle<\/em> route widened to include the river bend. Holt was attempting bread again (\u201cThird time, will rise like wolf,\u201d he swore), and Mark had a coil of wire over one shoulder, already halfway out the door to \u201cjust listen to the generator for a second.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thane watched the rhythm settle and then broke it gently. \u201cKeep the day moving,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019m taking Varro to Spokane.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Heads lifted. Kade\u2019s smile said good.<\/em> Rime\u2019s ear twitched, approval shaped like a nod. Holt held up floury hands. \u201cBring back sugar,\u201d he demanded. \u201cAnd proof you went. Photo? Souvenir?\u201d His eyes gleamed. \u201cStew ladle?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo not steal ladle,\u201d Rime said, flat as a judge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gabriel looked up from the guitar, eyebrows riding high. \u201cField trip. I assume you\u2019re taking the big rig.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thane jerked his chin toward the window. The Humvee sat in the pale sun like a patient boulder. \u201cQuicker if we need to detour,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd more polite than arriving on foot covered in pine needles.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro had been quiet at the table, hands wrapped around a mug as if ceramic could forget what claws felt like. At Thane\u2019s words he stood immediately, instinct pulling his shoulders square. \u201cYes,\u201d he said. It wasn\u2019t a question; old training came out of him like a reflex: Orders. Move.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thane caught the posture and smoothed it with his voice. \u201cIt\u2019s just a day, Varro. Market, trade, see the shape of another place. And talk.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro\u2019s jaw shifted. \u201cTalk.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Kade came close enough to touch his shoulder and didn\u2019t\u2014respect in the space he left. \u201cYou will like Spokane,\u201d he said. \u201cThey laugh with their mouth open.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Holt grinned. \u201cAlso they have a pie lady.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro blinked. \u201cPie lady.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo not encourage Holt,\u201d Rime advised the room, and then, softer to Thane: \u201cCall if road bad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWill,\u201d Thane said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They stepped out into clean cold and the clean kind of noise that belonged to a town awake without fear. Thane opened the driver door, breathed in the familiar scent of sun-warmed fabric and oil, and slid behind the wheel. Varro took passenger without thinking about it and then looked surprised that no one had told him where to sit. Thane turned the key. The engine pressed a low hum into the morning, promising distance but not demanding it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They rolled through the west gate, Hank lifting two fingers in a greeting that was really a be safe.<\/em> Thane saluted him with a small flick of the wrist, and the road accepted the weight of them without complaint.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For a while there was only the rhythm of the engine and the long, early light turning the snow into a reflective thought. Varro sat straight-backed, eyes mapping the world without letting it map him. His shoulders never quite forgot to wait for a blow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thane let the quiet run until it stopped being a wall and became a path. \u201cTell me about Iron Ridge,\u201d he said. Not a command. An invitation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro didn\u2019t answer at once. He watched the pines move past, watched the open places between them. When he did speak, the words came clipped, careful, like each one was a puzzle piece and he refused to bring the wrong picture.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTarrik liked to eat in front of everyone,\u201d Varro said. \u201cLiked us to count his bites.\u201d His mouth flattened in a humorless curve. \u201cSaid it made us \u2018hungry for victory.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thane\u2019s hands stayed loose on the steering wheel. \u201cAnd it made him feel large.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro nodded once. \u201cWe were told hunger sharpens loyalty. He liked hunger. For us. Not for him.\u201d He glanced down at his hands, turned them palm up and then back, as if they were an object he\u2019d found. \u201cPunishment wasn\u2019t a bruise. It was a rule. Late for patrol? No meat. Miss a track? Sleep outside. Question him in a council?\u201d He breathed in and out like a man keeping time. \u201cYou watch your brother beaten instead of you. And then you apologize to him for making it happen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thane\u2019s jaw set, but the rest of him did not tense. Fury lived under his ribs and went nowhere. He let the anger be heat, not fire. \u201cIt made obedience contagious,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes,\u201d Varro said. \u201cHe called it training.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd you called it survival,\u201d Thane said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro didn\u2019t nod; he didn\u2019t need to. The hurt had formed him once. It did not get to define him now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wind sang through the Humvee\u2019s frame, the pitch changing when they crested a low hill and slipped into a long, narrow valley. A hawk wrote its name over them and didn\u2019t ask permission.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid you ever think about leaving?\u201d Thane asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEvery day,\u201d Varro said. \u201cAnd then I thought about who Tarrik would hurt if I did. He liked using other wolves as hammers.\u201d A pause. \u201cHe really liked using the pups.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thane\u2019s hands tightened once\u2014a small, private tremor. He set the wheel straight again and let breath anchor him. \u201cHe doesn\u2019t get to live in your head for free,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro turned to look at him. \u201cIs that how you live?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thane considered. \u201cI don\u2019t let enemies collect rent,\u201d he said. \u201cThey can visit like weather. Then they move on.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro\u2019s mouth opened, then closed on a small, surprised breath that might have been the beginning of a laugh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The road curved. The river kept them company. For a while they spoke in small sentences that were more about making room than making points. Varro told of a winter when Tarrik rationed water for his second tier to show his first tier they were above thirst. Thane filed that into his private ledger of reasons to make mercy loud. Varro told a story about tying his own arm to a log with a belt so Tarrik would strike him there instead of breaking a brother\u2019s jaw. Thane did not ask if the brother had thanked him. Some kindnesses should never have to be repaid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They were a few miles out from the turnoff that would take them toward Spokane when the road told a different story. Fresh ruts, lateral, not a drift. A pickup parked across both lanes at a lazy angle, as if the driver had thought the road was a couch. Two men stood in front of it, rifles resting on forearms like they\u2019d seen the pose once in a movie and kept it because it made them feel like a line drawn in ink.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thane eased the Humvee to a stop fifteen yards short. He didn\u2019t change expression. He glanced at Varro once, calm as an instruction written in pencil. \u201cStay with me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro had been a man speaking in past tense a moment ago; he became present without transition, the way a blade is a concept until it\u2019s in your hand. His posture did not grow; it condensed. The air around him stopped regarding him as an object and began to regard him as law.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They stepped out. Snow crunched in three notes under Thane\u2019s paws\u2014front, back, set. Varro made no music at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The two men didn\u2019t look like desperate strangers. They looked like neighbors who had decided the world owed them a toll. One had an oil-stained cap and a chewing habit; the other wore a coat that had once been proud of its patches.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMorning,\u201d Thane said. He let it be a word, not a weapon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMorning,\u201d the cap said. He smiled in a way that meant I don\u2019t respect you.<\/em> \u201cToll road, dogman.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro came to steady at Thane\u2019s right, not behind. The line they made was a sentence that ended in a period.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thane stopped three paces short. \u201cWhose toll?\u201d he asked. \u201cWhose road?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The man with the coat jerked his chin at the truck. \u201cOurs now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCongratulations,\u201d Thane said. \u201cWhat\u2019s the price of passage on your new investment?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEverything in your truck,\u201d the cap said, like he was asking a friend for a beer. \u201cAnd\u2026 ten bucks.\u201d He laughed at his own joke. \u201cOr, you know, you could just crawl around us. Your legs look like they\u2019d handle it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The smirk landed, looked around for a place to sit, and didn\u2019t find one. Thane\u2019s face didn\u2019t move.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He had his line ready\u2014something even, something that let fear travel farther than blood. He drew breath to set it in motion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The man in the coat raised his rifle and leveled it at Thane\u2019s chest. Not a test. A point.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What happened next wasn\u2019t a choice. It was the ghost of a thousand choices Varro had made to keep others alive under a different wolf.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He moved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Claws like black punctuation marks\u2014exact and final\u2014cut across the man\u2019s wrist as cleanly as if the world had been revised. The rifle fell. The hand stayed with it. For a second the man kept holding a shape that wasn\u2019t there. Then his mind found the truth and he screamed with all the air in him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Blood is a sound as well as a sight; it hit the snow in a staccato that made the other man\u2019s face go flat. Varro didn\u2019t roar; his snarl was a low wire, a warning the body understands before the brain. He stepped once, weight forward, and the air between him and the men changed shape from distance into impact.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thane\u2019s hand found Varro\u2019s shoulder by memory, not speed. His grip was firm; it contained momentum the way a dam contains a river. \u201cWith me,\u201d he said. Two words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro stopped. The man with the chewing habit made a noise Thane had only ever heard from wounded deer. He got his friend\u2019s remaining arm under his own and hauled, dragging him into the cab, the bleeding wrong and urgent. The truck\u2019s engine sputtered, caught, and they fishtailed a sloppy half turn, spraying red dashes, streaking back up the road toward Spokane like fear had just learned to drive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The snow breathed again. Varro stood where he had stopped, looking at his own hands as if he were seeing someone else\u2019s. From claw tips to elbows he wore another man\u2019s panic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He turned slowly, eyes looking for the one thing he had never been able to have in Iron Ridge\u2014approval not tied to a threat. Thane met that look without judgment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAre you hurt?\u201d Thane asked, because the body should be asked first.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Varro said. The word moved like a blade through cloth, quick and simple. He swallowed. \u201cI\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou did exactly what you were trained to do,\u201d Thane said. \u201cAnd you did it for the right reason.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro\u2019s shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. The fierce in him cooled, not from shame, but from being allowed to stop boiling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thane reached out and clapped his shoulder. It wasn\u2019t a good boy.<\/em> It wasn\u2019t a leash. It was a hand on a friend in the aftermath of something that could have been worse. \u201cLet\u2019s get back on the road,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They were a mile down the road before Thane spoke again. He kept his tone level, steady, the opposite of the curve a reprimand draws in a spine. \u201cI would have handled it differently,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro\u2019s head came up fast, instinct throwing alarms. \u201cI\u2014\u201d He checked himself and forced the fear down like he\u2019d learned to swallow hunger. \u201cI understand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not angry,\u201d Thane said, and he put a paw on Varro\u2019s shoulder because some words have to be written twice to be legible. The touch said believe me.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro nodded, but the nod had the wrong shape; it was the one you give when a blow is coming and you are going to take it well.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thane kept the same calm. \u201cListen to me. What you did stopped a bullet that was meant for me. That matters. But sometimes the story of what you could do<\/em> will travel farther than the proof of what you did. Sometimes fear remembers better if you don\u2019t spill it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro looked at him, confusion stepping aside for curiosity. \u201cYou\u2026 frighten them without hurting them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhen we can,\u201d Thane said. \u201cIf I can make a man crawl away on his own dignity and tell five more men about the wolf who smiled<\/em> while he promised to be worse tomorrow, that\u2019s ten rifles that never point at us.\u201d A breath. \u201cIf we cut him, he remembers pain. If we don\u2019t, he remembers choice.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro worked that math like it was a new kind of arithmetic. \u201cTarrik hated that,\u201d he said softly. \u201cHe said mercy makes stories that become road signs. He said road signs help enemies.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thane\u2019s mouth twitched. \u201cThen he never learned how to put his name on the sign.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A small sound escaped Varro that might have been the first cousin of a laugh. He looked back at his arms, at the places where the blood had not yet dried, and his ears folded just enough to admit the world again. \u201cTeach me,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI am,\u201d Thane said. \u201cI won\u2019t order you into it. I\u2019ll ask you to try it, because I want packmates who agree with me\u2014not bodies that obey me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro\u2019s eyes did a small, dangerous thing: they softened. \u201cYou could just tell me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know I could<\/em>, but I don\u2019t want mindless followers,\u201d Thane said. He kept his gaze on the road, but each word was placed carefully as if he were laying a path in front of them. \u201cI want wolves who bring me the things I don\u2019t see. That means your opinion<\/em> matters, not just your claws.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro\u2019s breath caught, brief and audible. In Iron Ridge, opinion had been the third worst sin. The first was leaving. The second was failing a task. He nodded once, a vow cut from a different wood. \u201cThen I\u2019ll learn it,\u201d he said. \u201cThe art of\u2026 threats without action.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThreats are still actions,\u201d Thane said mildly. \u201cThey\u2019re just written on the air instead of the skin.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro stared out the windshield at the road like it had suddenly become beautiful. A long silence opened, not empty\u2014just wide. Then Thane let mischief crack his straight line.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou are a savage warrior Varro,\u201d he said, conversational as coffee. \u201cMore than Tarrik that’s for sure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro blinked. \u201cI\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd I\u2019m very glad you\u2019re on my<\/em> side,\u201d Thane added, deadpan. \u201cBecause having to fight you at the gate would\u2019ve ruined my day.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro made a sound that wanted to be a laugh and chose dignity at the last second. He looked down as if to hide the heat in his face. Wolves don\u2019t blush the way humans do, but something like blush moved through him anyway\u2014ears lowering slightly, the corners of his mouth trying not to betray pride. \u201cNoted,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd\u2026 thank you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

Spokane announced itself the way healthy towns do: smoke that smelled like cooking, not burning; voices stacked on one another without jagged edges; the clatter of tools solving problems instead of starting them. The market spread across the square in a cheerful sprawl\u2014tables with mismatched cloths, bottles catching light, piles of practical things that somehow looked festive because people wanted them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As Thane pulled into the familiar lane beyond City Hall, men and women lifted hands in greeting. A child darted past with a hand pie in one fist and a wooden top in the other, laughter trailing like ribbon. The mayor stepped out of the old brick building, coat collar turned up, eyes bright. He had the look of someone who still sometimes couldn\u2019t believe he got to be alive for this part.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThane!\u201d he called. \u201cBack so soon\u2014\u201d He stopped dead when Varro stepped around the Humvee\u2019s nose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wolves are not small. Varro was not merely not small; he was presence. And today he wore the aftermath of the roadblock like a red apron from throat to waist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The mayor\u2019s face did a short list of things in fast order: dread, calculation, the realization that the person beside Thane was part of an us,<\/em> not a them.<\/em> His hand, halfway lifted for a shake, hovered in embarrassed mid-air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thane grinned because it was the kindest possible answer. He stepped forward and took the mayor\u2019s suspended hand like the world were normal. \u201cWe had a disagreement with two men who didn\u2019t make good decisions,\u201d he said. \u201cThey decided to keep all their blood. My packmate is fine.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The mayor blinked, breathed, and then laughed\u2014one startled bark of relief that gave everyone near permission to do the same. \u201cAll right then,\u201d he said. He extended his hand a second time to Varro, braver now. \u201cWelcome to Spokane.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro looked down at his own arms, realized belatedly he might be\u2026 alarming, and very carefully did not wipe them on anything. He took the offered hand gently, like he\u2019d learned the pressure of human fingers in a class that graded on trust. \u201cThank you,\u201d he said. His voice had the north in it still, and also something warmer now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

People returned to their business. A pie lady actually existed, as promised by Holt, and she lifted a tin at Thane with a grin that said your friend eats free today if he promises not to eat me too.<\/em> Thane traded a crate of sorted capacitors and a coil of good copper for jars of honey, dried apricots, and a bag of sugar for Holt. Varro listened to prices like they were a new language. He watched two teenagers argue, not angry, about whether the string they\u2019d found would be good for a bow or a kite. He watched a man hug a woman for no reason that mattered to anyone but them. He watched a dog roll in the sun and not be kicked for it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The mayor walked with them between stalls. \u201cYou bringing any bad news from the east?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust the usual rumors,\u201d Thane said. \u201cAnd one less roadblock than yesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGood,\u201d the mayor said. He looked at Varro again\u2014at the scars, at the blood, at the calm that made both into footnotes\u2014and nodded as if to say I see the choice you made. We\u2019re on your side.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

They stayed long enough to be polite and short enough to be wise. Thane did not want to borrow Spokane\u2019s peace longer than he needed to. When they climbed back into the Humvee, a circle of small hands waved like flags, and a woman who had once stored their first box of radio parts under her counter for a month mouthed thank you<\/em> at Thane through the glass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He lifted two fingers. Always.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The road home felt different. The light had changed\u2014warmer, but thinner, like late afternoon deciding it wanted to pretend to be evening. Varro reclined an inch, the kind of posture that used to be a punishable offense in his old life and here meant only that a back had remembered it was allowed to rest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They ran quiet. The engine said what engines say. The tires marked distance. The river talked to itself in a voice Varro seemed to hear without needing ears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Halfway back, Thane noticed the small paper box sitting between them on the console. \u201cYou gonna try that?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro lifted the lid as if opening a mystery. Inside, the slice of pie from Spokane still waited, golden crust catching the last of the afternoon light. He looked skeptical. \u201cIt smells\u2026 happy,\u201d he said, uncertain what else to call it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTry it,\u201d Thane said, amused. \u201cYou\u2019ve earned it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro took a cautious forkful, the first bite tiny and analytical\u2014then blinked hard, almost startled. \u201cIt\u2019s\u2026 sweet,\u201d he said slowly. \u201cBut not like honey. It doesn\u2019t\u2026 ask for anything back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thane chuckled. \u201cThat\u2019s kind of the point.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Another bite disappeared, then another. Soon Varro was eating like a wolf realizing he\u2019d never actually eaten<\/em> before, only fed. When the box was empty, he sat back, staring at it like it had rewritten a piece of his history. \u201cI didn\u2019t know food could taste like joy,\u201d he said softly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thane smiled. \u201cThat\u2019s what it\u2019s supposed to taste like. No punishment attached. Just something made to be good.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro nodded, still dazed, tail flicking once in contentment. \u201cThis\u2026 this is what freedom tastes like?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thane rested one paw on the steering wheel, the other lightly on Varro\u2019s shoulder. \u201cYeah. And that\u2019s what I want for you. Not just survival. Actual good things. The kind you never had to bleed for.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro blinked fast and looked out the window. \u201cI didn\u2019t think I\u2019d ever have those.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou do now,\u201d Thane said. \u201cYou chose us, and I\u2019m damn glad you did.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro exhaled, long and slow, like a wolf finally believing it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They drove in silence a while longer. The sun dropped, turning the river bronze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After a long while Thane glanced over. \u201cYou went quiet,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat\u2019s wrong?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro considered the question. Considered his answer more. He looked out at the line where sky met trees and then back at the dashboard as if the truth might be written there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNothing,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thane raised an eyebrow. \u201cNothing?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Varro nodded, a small, unguarded smile tugging at the corners of his muzzle. \u201cFor once in my life\u2026 nothing is wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Morning in Libby began with the sound of comfort: dishes clinking, a kettle arguing cheerfully, Gabriel strumming something unfinished that might become a song by nightfall. Sunlight slid across the cabin floorboards like a lazy cat. Rime stood in the doorway with a list that was not a list\u2014three lines, two arrows, a circle where […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3028","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-new-world-life"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/afterthefall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3028","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/afterthefall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/afterthefall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/afterthefall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/afterthefall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3028"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/afterthefall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3028\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3464,"href":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/afterthefall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3028\/revisions\/3464"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/afterthefall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3028"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/afterthefall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3028"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/threewerewolves.com\/afterthefall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3028"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}