The town of Libby smelled of smoke and iron. The kind of scent that clung deep in fur and memory, the kind that didn’t wash out for weeks. The snow had stopped falling, but flakes still drifted from the trees, shaken loose by the wind or the quiet tread of wolves moving among the ruins. Everywhere, steam rose where blood met the cold. The battlefield was turning to silence.
Thane stood near the southern barricade, a blackened rifle slung across his shoulder and a half-healed gash under one arm. He looked like a statue carved from stormcloud and grit, watching humans and wolves alike move through the wreckage. The raider trucks were burnt-out husks now, their twisted frames already crusted with frost. Crows circled overhead, waiting for the living to finish tending the dead.
He let out a breath that turned white in the air. Beside him, Gabriel limped slightly, one arm bound and singed but still carrying his guitar case like a relic. Mark was crouched near a shattered inverter bank, running his fingers along the bent metal as if taking inventory of what could be saved. Holt was there too — huge, scarred, and bandaged from ribs to shoulder — grinning despite it all, holding a steaming mug of something that smelled like burnt tea. “No coffee,” Gabriel had warned him, and for once Holt hadn’t argued.
“You did it, Alpha,” Holt said hoarsely. “We held the line.”
Thane didn’t smile, but something softened in his eyes. “We did.”
He started walking, slow and deliberate, pads pressing the crusted snow, claws ticking softly against frozen grit.
“Twenty-three wounded,” she said quietly. “Six dead. Could’ve been the whole damn town.”
Thane’s gaze swept across the square. Wolves carried planks, humans patched walls. One of Sable’s northern ferals was gently hauling a beam off a trapped mechanic. Another knelt by an old woman, brushing snow from her shoulders. “Could’ve been,” he said. “But it wasn’t.”
From behind them, a low, resonant throat-note rolled through the air — the kind only a wolf could shape, breath and chest humming in one steady line. Rime stood atop the town well, wind tugging his pale fur, letting the sound drift long and low like a wordless prayer. One by one the wolves answered, and the square filled with a quiet chorus — a mourning howl, low and beautiful, rising over the town like smoke.
Thane closed his eyes for a moment and let the sound wash through him. We are still here. That’s what it meant. Always had.
Sable approached from the northern street, her white fur stained with soot, one ear torn. She carried her spear like a staff now, using it for balance. A handful of her pack trailed behind her, limping but alive. She stopped beside Thane and stood in silence for a long while, both of them watching the wolves howl over the dead.
“You were right.”
Thane didn’t turn. “About what?”
“Mercy,” she said. “And strength. I once thought they could not live in same den. But I saw it today.” She looked around at the square — wolves and humans working side by side. “Your kind of hard saved lives. Mine would have burned all.”
Thane gave a small nod. “Your kind of hard kept us alive long enough to make mercy matter. We needed both.”
Sable’s muzzle twitched, a ghost of a smile. “Then both right, maybe. Both still breathing.”
He extended a hand — claws blunt but steady — and after a pause, she clasped it. Her paw was rough, the grip iron. The moment lasted longer than a handshake; it was an oath, spoken without words. When they released, there was no doubt left between them.
Gabriel’s voice cut through the cold air. “Hey! Holt’s claiming he single-handedly scared off a truckload of raiders by flexing.”
Thane turned, one brow raised. Holt puffed out his chest, mock-serious. “Wasn’t a flex. Just breathed real big.”
Rime chuckled, a rare, deep sound that shook frost from his whiskers. “They fled the scent alone.”
Even Sable laughed — a short bark, but it carried real warmth. The tension cracked like ice under sunlight. For a moment, Libby felt alive again.
Mark straightened from his work beside the power lines and came over, rubbing his palms together. “I can patch this whole southern grid in two days,” he said, nodding toward the cables. “Maybe one, if we don’t sleep.”
“You won’t,” Gabriel muttered.
Mark ignored him. “After that, we’ll run the generator for the clinic first. Then water pumps. Once we’ve got enough juice, we can bring the radio back up.”
“The radio’s alive,” Gabriel said with a grin. “Barely. She’s purring under a blanket of duct tape and prayer.”
Thane’s mouth twitched. “Then we’ll let her purr.”
For the next few hours, the work continued — slow, steady, and strangely peaceful. The wolves cleared debris with their strength, hauling twisted metal and lumber into piles while the humans sorted salvageable parts. Marta set up soup pots near the fire pits. Holt stationed himself beside one of them, “supervising” in the loosest possible sense, making the children laugh with exaggerated stories of how he “caught a truck” midair. Every now and then, Rime would mutter a quiet correction, which Holt dramatically ignored.
By midafternoon, the snow had started again — light, clean flakes this time, not ash-laden. The world softened. Burnt wood turned to gray velvet. Thane walked through it all, silent, checking in with each group. Every nod, every whispered “Alpha” or “sir” was met with the same calm look. He carried his pain quietly; the bandage under his coat was spotted with red again, but he didn’t slow.
Sable joined him on the walk. “You could rest,” she said.
“So could you.”
She huffed a faint breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Fair trade.” Her eyes moved over the rebuilding effort. “You build more than walls here. They follow because you see them — all of them. Few leaders do.”
He glanced her way, expression unreadable. “Seeing is the easy part. Keeping them fed through winter — that’s the real trick.”
She gave a small, tired smile. “You will manage. You have wolves, humans… and one giant who thinks himself made of stone.”
At that, Holt sneezed loudly enough to startle two pigeons off the roof.
When dusk fell, the survivors gathered in the square. Fires burned low in barrels, the flames reflected in tired eyes. Marta stepped forward first, holding a small metal plate. She set it down near the base of the old flagpole, which now flew a tattered white cloth — neutral, peace-born. One by one, people followed, placing tokens — a spent casing, a scrap of fur, a wrench, a ribbon. A memorial, improvised but real.
Thane waited until the last had stepped back. Then he approached the pile and placed one thing: a bent radio knob, burned and cracked. The room control dial from the KLMR console. He rested his paw on it for a heartbeat. “They fought as pack,” he said quietly. “And that’s how we remember them.”
No one spoke. The only sound was the snow whispering against roofs.
Finally, Marta turned toward him. “You should say something.”
Thane’s gaze lingered on the small pile of mementos. Then he faced the gathered crowd. “The storm came,” he said simply, voice rough but steady. “And found us standing together.”
He let it hang there — no grand speech, no rally cry. Just truth. The wolves bowed their heads. The humans stood straighter. The fire cracked and hissed.
Later, when the crowd began to disperse, Gabriel touched his arm. “You should do the sign-off.”
Thane gave a slow nod. Together, they walked through the quiet streets to the rebuilt radio shack. The door creaked open, letting in the faint hum of the old analog board. Mark had managed to patch it together again — one channel humming, the red light half-broken but still glowing faintly. Rime and Holt followed them inside, watching curiously.
Thane sat, adjusting the cracked headphones, claws brushing dials like old friends. The smell of dust and warm circuitry filled the air. He cleared his throat, and the mic crackled.
“KLMR-FM,” he said softly, “broadcasting from Libby.”
Static hissed in reply, then steadied.
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper that carried the weight of the day. “To anyone listening… we are still here.”
Gabriel reached out and turned the music fader just enough to let a slow instrumental roll in — something soft, clean, full of light. The notes drifted out into the cold night, over the mountains and through the trees, carried on invisible airwaves.
Outside, Sable’s wolves heard it first. They stopped their patrols and lifted their heads, ears turning toward the sound. In homes and cabins, humans stilled, listening to the faint echo through battered transistor radios. The signal wasn’t strong, but it was enough.
The howl rose again — dozens of voices, north and south, meeting in harmony over the snow. Wolves and humans stood together, faces to the wind, the music and the howls merging until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
Thane sat back, eyes closed, letting the sound wrap around him. Holt leaned against the wall with a tired smile. Rime bowed his head. Gabriel exhaled, shoulders finally dropping.
For the first time in days, there was peace.
Outside, the fires burned low, casting soft orange halos against the snow. The ash that had choked the sky was gone now, washed clean by the storm’s end. Above, the moon hung pale and perfect, and the world — what was left of it — seemed to breathe again.
And in the quiet heart of the town, the Alpha of Libby whispered to himself, a promise carried only by the wind.
“Little by little,” he said. “The world gets better.”