The sky was clear and blue that morning, streaked with thin clouds drifting over the mountains. The air smelled like pine and diesel—KLMR-FM’s generator humming steady outside, filling the clearing with the low growl of power. The red tower stood proud again, its light winking softly against the sun.
Inside, the booth was alive with the kind of chaos only Gabriel could inspire.
“Okay,” he said, leaning across the console with a grin, “this button plays sound effects. This one controls the mics. And this—”
One of Sable’s young wolves, a lanky teenager with streaked gray fur, pressed the button before he finished. A loud airhorn blared through the monitors, making everyone jump.
Mark nearly dropped his screwdriver. “For the love of—don’t touch anything that makes that noise.”
The young wolf’s ears flattened. “Was loud,” he said apologetically.
“Yeah,” Gabriel said, laughing. “That’s the point.”
Sable watched from the doorway, arms folded, amusement dancing in her eyes. She’d brought five of her younger wolves along this time, claiming they were “curious about the human howl.” Thane suspected curiosity was only part of it—they’d heard the first broadcast echo through the forest, and it had lit something in them.
Now they huddled around the control board, tails swishing, eyes wide.
Gabriel slid the mic closer to one of them. “Alright, try this—say hello to everyone listening out there. Just talk normal. The wind will carry it.”
The young wolf swallowed, then leaned in awkwardly. “Hello… everyone listening out there.” His voice cracked halfway through, and the others burst into laughter.
“That’s perfect!” Gabriel said, chuckling. “Now say who you are.”
The wolf’s ears flicked nervously. “I am… Marn.”
“Excellent. You’re officially on the air, Marn.”
Mark adjusted the gain knobs, watching the meters bounce. “Signal’s solid. Town’s probably hearing all of this.”
Sable smirked. “Then they will know our young are not shy.”
Another wolf—smaller, black-furred and wide-eyed—tugged on Thane’s sleeve. “Can I try?”
Thane nodded, motioning her forward. She pressed her muzzle close to the microphone, hesitated, then spoke softly. “Hello Libby… this is wolves of north. We are friends.”
The room went still for a moment. Gabriel smiled. “That’s going straight to the highlight reel.”
Mark glanced up. “They’re naturals.”
“Yeah,” Thane said, his gravel voice softer than usual. “They’re speaking a new kind of language.”
The chaos only escalated from there.
At one point, a young feral discovered the fader that controlled the background music. He slid it all the way up, blasting Highway to Hell through the monitors so loud it rattled the glass. Sable’s ears flattened, and Gabriel lunged across the console yelling, “Not that one!”
The wolves howled with laughter—literally. The noise peaked the levels, the compressor hissed, and one speaker gave up with a sad pop.
Mark groaned. “I just fixed that!”
Thane was laughing too hard to stop them. For a brief, ridiculous stretch of time, the world was nothing but laughter, rock music, and howls echoing off the booth walls. The sound was wild and free and perfect.
Eventually, Gabriel wiped his eyes, breathless. “Alright,” he said. “Serious now. You guys want to say something real before we sign off?”
The young wolves quieted. They huddled close around the mic, exchanging nervous glances. Marn finally spoke, his voice steady this time. “We are pack of north. We hear Libby. We learn your howl. We… thank you.”
The smaller black-furred wolf added, “You not alone. We not alone. We all pack.”
Even the static seemed to hold its breath.
Thane stood behind them, watching, something heavy and warm stirring in his chest. He didn’t say a word. Neither did Sable.
Gabriel’s grin softened. “And that, my friends, is what we call good radio.”
The broadcast wrapped an hour later. The young wolves trotted outside, still laughing, playfully swatting at each other’s tails. Mark shut down the board and leaned back in his chair with a sigh of satisfaction. “Well,” he said, “that’s officially the strangest broadcast I’ve ever engineered.”
Gabriel leaned against the doorway. “Nah. That’s the best one.”
Thane was still smiling when he went to the back room for a rag to wipe his hands—and that’s when he saw it.
A cardboard box, tucked behind an old filing cabinet. Dusty, dented, but intact. The side was stamped in faded letters:
KLMR PROMOTIONAL RADIOS — 24 COUNT
He tore it open and froze. Inside, nestled in bubble wrap, were handheld transistor radios—bright red plastic with the KLMR logo still printed on the side. A stack of tiny instruction booklets and AA batteries sat beside them.
“Mark!” Thane called.
Mark poked his head through the door. “Yeah?”
Thane held one up. “Look what I found.”
Mark’s eyes went wide. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. Those actually survived?”
“Looks like it.” Thane turned it over in his hands, wiped the dust off the speaker grill, and flicked the power switch. The little unit hissed, then came alive with faint static. A second later, Gabriel’s voice came through the tiny speaker: “—and that was the debut of our feral friends! Stick around for more rock—”
Thane chuckled. “Still got it.”
He walked outside, where Sable was standing with her young wolves, all of them looking happy and proud. The smaller one—black-furred, bright-eyed—tilted her head. “What’s that?”
Thane knelt down and handed her the radio. “A piece of magic,” he said. “You can hear the howl whenever you want.”
She pressed the speaker to her ear, gasping softly as the music drifted through. “Howl in hand,” she whispered. “Magic wind.”
Sable looked down at her, eyes soft. “You made them believe,” she said quietly. “You gave them the wind.”
Thane offered her another unit. “Take a couple. They’re yours now. Keep them safe.”
Sable accepted the radios gently, her claws tracing the embossed logo. “We will. My pack will listen.”
“You’ll be part of every broadcast,” Thane said. “Even from the north.”
She smiled. “Then the north will howl with you.”
When they packed up to head back to Libby, the forest was alive with faint music—the young wolves still carrying their new treasures, holding them to their ears as they disappeared into the trees. Gabriel chuckled as they faded into the distance. “You realize we just invented werewolf radio fans, right?”
Thane smirked. “Could be worse. At least they’ve got good taste.”
Mark carried the rest of the box to the truck. “I’ll clean these up, swap the batteries. Marta’ll know who could use them.”
“Good,” Thane said, glancing back at the tower. The red light blinked steadily above the pines, rhythmic and calm—a heartbeat in the daylight.
Sable and her wolves were gone now, their laughter echoing faintly through the forest. But he could still picture them that night—huddled around those little radios under the stars, listening to the hum of guitars and the steady, familiar rumble of his voice.
Gabriel climbed into the passenger seat, grinning. “You think they’ll be tuning in every night now?”
Thane started the engine, the low growl of the truck joining the hum of the generator. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Every night. And probably howling along.”
The road wound south toward Libby, the music still playing faintly through the dashboard radio as the forest swallowed the sound. Behind them, the tower kept blinking, its red light pulsing steady and sure against the sky—Libby’s voice, the pack’s howl, and the promise of connection echoing through the air.