Morning came gray and thin over the ruined trees, light seeping slowly into the clearing outside the old outpost. Frost clung to the concrete, and the breath from wolves and humans alike hung in the cold air.
Inside, the generator still hummed at a low idle, the warmth it gave off turning the bunker from a tomb into something closer to a den. The three survivors woke slowly—stiff, blinking in the dim light as their bodies remembered hunger and cold at the same time.
Darren tried to push himself upright too fast. Pain flashed across his face, and his wrapped leg trembled.
Thane was already there, one clawed hand against the man’s shoulder. “Easy,” he said. “We’re going to move, but we’re not going to rush you into the ground.”
Darren swallowed and nodded. “I’m… ready,” he said, voice rough. “Just tell me what you need.”
“We need you alive at the end of this,” Thane said. “That’s all.”
The girl sat up, blanket slipping from her shoulders. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen. Her brother—a little younger, thinner—blinked beside her, eyes darting quickly to each wolf as if counting them again, reassuring himself they were still the same ones as last night.
Varro knelt near a pile of scavenged metal and old plastic, hands already moving in calm, precise motions as he checked knots and joints. He had built a sled during the late hours of the night—low, wide, lashed together from pipe, broken shelving, and a door ripped from one of the interior rooms. A layer of folded blankets and old insulation sat on top.
He tugged at the lashings, testing them. “Will hold,” he said. “Not pretty. Strong enough.”
Tarrik came to his side and gripped the front struts. He pulled once, feeling the weight, the drag across the rough floor. “I pull,” he said. “Terrain bad. Better I take it.”
“You sure?” Thane asked.
Tarrik’s answer was simple. “I strong. He not.” He nodded to Darren. “This my work.”
Rime trotted over to the girl and boy, tail swaying gently. “You walk some,” he said. “But if legs say no… I help.”
The boy blinked. “You’ll… carry us?”
Rime tilted his head. “You light,” he said. “Not hard.” A small, proud flash of teeth. “Strong wolf.”
The girl huffed a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “You’re all insane,” she murmured.
Kade appeared from the doorway, pack already on, ears flicked toward the forest beyond. “Trail south is clear for now,” he said. “No fresh prints. Storm front’s sitting on the ridge behind us; we’ll beat it if we move.”
Thane looked over the small group—five wolves, three humans, one improvised sled, a whole valley’s worth of future waiting to see if this rescue worked.
“Pack it up,” he said. “We’re heading home.”
They doused the fire, checked the bunker one last time for anything useful—extra blankets, two more intact cans of food, a length of rope, a battered metal thermos Rime claimed with quiet satisfaction. When they stepped out into the cold clearing, the sky was still flat and colorless, the world reduced to grays and browns and the pale outlines of distant mountains.
Darren eased himself onto the sled with Thane and Varro bracing him. He grunted once as his injured leg settled.
“Tell me if anything feels wrong,” Varro said. “Pain… pinch… we stop.”
“Feels like sitting on junk and blankets,” Darren said. “Better than the floor in there.”
Tarrik took up the harness—just rope knotted around the front struts and over his shoulders. He pulled once to set his grip, claws fanning lightly against the ground for balance.
“Say when,” he rumbled.
“Now,” Thane said.
They moved out of the clearing and back into the trees, Kade in front, light on his paws, reading terrain without needing to think. Thane walked just ahead of the sled, Varro alongside, Rime ranging near the humans, occasionally brushing his shoulder against the girl’s arm when she stumbled.
For the first while, they walked in silence. The forest had that particular hush old snowfields carried—every sound damped, every breath sounding too loud. Branches creaked now and then under hidden frost. Somewhere far off, a bird called once and went quiet again.
The girl watched the wolves for several long minutes before finally speaking. “My name is Mia,” she said quietly. “He’s Lucas. Our mom…” She faltered, then swallowed. “She didn’t make it.”
“I am sorry,” Varro said. The words were simple, but his tone gave them weight. “You kept living. She would want that.”
Lucas glanced down, then up again. “You said there’s a town. Towns. With lights.”
“Many,” Rime said. “Libby, Eureka, Thompson Falls, Kalispell, Spo—” He stumbled over the name, nose wrinkling. “Spoke-ann.”
Kade snorted softly. “Spokane,” he corrected. “But that was close.”
Rime flicked an ear. “Say weird. Humans words bend.”
“Yeah, they do,” Mia said. “But you’re doing better than I would in… whatever language you spoke first.”
“Was mostly teeth and growl,” Rime said. “Less grammar.”
Mia’s laugh came a little easier that time.
Thane kept his gaze forward, ears tuned to the conversation behind him, making sure they were still talking. Still trying. Fear quieted people. Hope made them loud.
He liked the sound of them getting louder.
At a small rise, Tarrik dug his claws in and leaned his weight forward, sled tracking behind him like it had been built for this. Darren gripped the sides.
“You all right?” Thane asked.
“Honestly?” Darren said. “I should be terrified. I’m being dragged through the woods on a door by a werewolf I used to have nightmares about. But this is the safest I’ve felt in months.”
Tarrik didn’t look back, but his ears tipped slightly toward Darren’s voice.
“Good,” Thane said. “We’ll keep it that way.”
By midday, the bleak stiffness of morning had given way to the slow ache of fatigue. The air warmed just enough that their breaths no longer steamed constantly. The snowpack thinned in patches, revealing dark soil and old, flattened grass beneath.
Lucas began to limp.
Kade saw it first—an almost-imperceptible hitch in the boy’s step, the way his boot dragged a fraction of an inch more with each pass. He slowed his pace just enough for the rest of the group to close in.
“Lucas,” Thane said, not unkindly. “Talk to me.”
“My feet are just… tired,” Lucas said. “I can keep going.”
“Not the question I asked,” Thane said. “Is it pain or just tired?”
Lucas hesitated. “Both.”
Rime moved in close, lowering his head to catch the boy’s scent. “Blisters,” he said. “Too much rub.”
Thane nodded once. “All right. Rime?”
Rime’s tail lifted. “I carry,” he said. He knelt slightly, bracing himself. “Climb up. Hold fur, not neck.”
Lucas looked at him like the wolf had just offered to sprout wings.
“I’m heavy,” he protested weakly.
Rime snorted. “No,” he said. “You not. Get on.”
Mia put a hand on her brother’s back. “You heard the wolf,” she said. “Take the ride. You’ve earned it.”
Lucas slid an arm around Rime’s shoulders, awkward at first, then more securely. Rime rose, settling the boy’s weight as if he were nothing more than a pack.
“Comfortable?” Rime asked.
“Yeah,” Lucas breathed. “You’re… warm.”
Rime’s tail wagged once, pleased. “Good. I warm. You rest.”
They moved on.
In the early afternoon, clouds thickened over the distant peaks, darkening the sky in slow degrees. Kade lifted his nose, inhaling.
“Storm’s changing its mind,” he said. “It’s cutting east instead of dropping straight on us, but we’re still going to get the edge. We should find some cover for a break while we’re ahead.”
“There is cut in earth,” Tarrik said from behind. “Low place with rock. Half-hour from here. Used to den there, long ago.”
“Then we go there,” Thane said. “Short rest. Food, water, then keep moving.”
The low place turned out to be a shallow ravine chiseled into the hillside, its sides curtained with roots and moss. A fallen tree trunk spanned part of it, making a rough shelter. The ground beneath was surprisingly dry.
Tarrik eased the sled down the slope with help from Varro. Thane guided Mia to sit on a flat stone. Rime knelt so Lucas could slide off carefully, then shook his fur out in a full-body shiver that sent loose snow scattering.
“Okay, that was… amazing,” Lucas said, dizzy and smiling. “Ten out of ten. Would ride again.”
Rime’s chest puffed subtly. “Maybe later,” he said. “You walk more first.”
Kade passed out strips of dried meat and a few bites of the salvaged canned beans. They ate slowly, letting their bodies catch up with what they’d already done.
Mia watched Tarrik from the corner of her eye as he checked the sled harness, making small adjustments. The big wolf’s movements were efficient, quiet, controlled in a way that didn’t quite match the monster she’d been told about by frightened travelers months ago.
“You really used to run things up here?” she asked him, finally.
Tarrik didn’t look away from the knot he was tightening. “Yes,” he said. “I was… bad Alpha. Hard. Cruel.”
Mia shifted, pulling her blanket tighter. “And now you’re hauling people on a door.”
“Yes,” Tarrik said. He straightened, met her gaze. “I owe valley more than I can pay. So I pull door.”
There was something like humor at the edges of his voice when he said it. Very faint. Like a muscle he’d only just begun to test.
Varro watched the interaction, eyes thoughtful. “He learn,” Varro said quietly to Mia. “Every day. We all do.”
She looked between the two wolves. “You were one of his, weren’t you?” she asked Varro.
Varro nodded once. “Iron Ridge made me. Libby saved me.”
“Now you’re saving us,” Darren said. “All of you.”
For a moment, the ravine was quiet except for the small sounds of eating and the soft hiss of wind sliding over the lip above.
Thane shifted, stretching one shoulder, clawed toes kneading the earth under him. “You should know what you’re walking into,” he said to Darren, Mia, and Lucas. “The valley isn’t perfect. People are scared. Some still don’t trust wolves. Some still don’t trust other towns. We’re working on it. But you’ll be safe. And you’ll have a say in how things go once you’re steady.”
Darren nodded slowly. “After this winter… I can handle ‘not perfect.’”
Mia’s mouth quirked up. “If there’s a bed that isn’t concrete, I might cry.”
“Soft dens,” Rime said. “We call them that. Hotel in Libby. Many rooms. Good blankets.”
“Soft dens,” Mia repeated, rolling the words. “I like that.”
They rested for less than an hour. Long enough to let muscles unknot and lungs stop burning, but not long enough for stiffness to set in. When they moved again, the clouds had shifted, grayer now but holding back their full weight.
The afternoon carried them through thicker stands of trees where snow lingered in the shadows, stubborn against the season. Once, Kade raised a hand and halted them, crouching to inspect a faint set of tracks crossing their path—boot prints, older, the edges slumped.
“Three days,” Varro said, kneeling beside him. “Maybe four. Not these three,” he added, nodding to the survivors. “Stride different. Lighter.”
“Direction?” Thane asked.
“North to south, then east,” Kade said, tracing the route with one finger. “They passed near the outpost and kept moving.”
“Raiders?” Darren asked, tension tightening his shoulders on the sled.
“Not sure,” Kade said. “They weren’t dragging packs or gear. No scuff marks. Pace was consistent.”
“Could be more survivors,” Varro said. “We find later, maybe.”
Thane watched the faded prints for a moment longer. Another thread for another day.
“We keep moving,” he said. “Storm’s still out there, and these three need real beds.”
They pushed on.
As the light began to soften toward evening, the trees gradually changed—denser, more familiar, the specific pattern of branches and stones that said they were leaving the old brutal heartland of Iron Ridge and entering the outskirts of the valley proper.
The air smelled different here, too. Less rust, more earth. Fainter traces of smoke from distant chimneys. Rime’s ears perked, and his tail began an unconscious swaying.
“Home smell,” he said. “Close now.”
Tarrik’s strides never faltered, but his eyes shifted, too, taking in the change. He could feel it as much as smell it—the way dominance and fear did not cling to this land the way it used to under his old rule. The quiet here was not the silence of terror.
It was just… quiet.
At one point, the slope steepened and the sled’s weight pulled back hard. Tarrik dug in, claws scraping rock. The harness rope creaked.
Thane stepped in close and set his claws on the side of the sled, helping push. Varro added his strength at the back, steadying Darren so he didn’t slide.
“We can walk,” Darren protested, breathless.
“Not on that leg,” Thane said. “You ride. We get one chance to do this right.”
Darren’s eyes shone again. He said nothing more.
They crested the rise just as the clouds finally released the edge of the storm. Not a blizzard, not this time. Just a fine, cold drizzle that darkened fur and clothes and turned the path slick under their feet.
Kade frowned at the sky. “It’ll get worse later,” he said. “But we should be inside town limits before it matters.”
“Good,” Rime said. “I want stew.”
“Of course you do,” Varro muttered, but there was warmth in it.
The first real sign they were close to home was not sight, but sound—a faint, distant hum of something not quite natural. The soft, steady thrum of power.
Lucas sat straighter on Rime’s back. “What’s that?”
“Lines,” Varro said. “Power. Wires hum when alive.”
Darren blinked. “You got the grid up?”
“Mostly,” Thane said. “Libby, valley towns, dam. Took time.”
Mia looked around, eyes suddenly wet. “I never thought I’d hear that again,” she whispered.
Trees thinned. The path became a beaten track, then the edge of a road where weeds pushed between cracked asphalt. Ahead, in the deepening gray, the shapes of buildings emerged—patched roofs, reinforced walls, windows glowing faintly with warm light.
Libby.
As they approached the outskirts, someone on watch spotted them. A bell rang once, then twice—not alarm, but signal. Shapes moved along the street. People emerged from doorways, jackets pulled tight against the drizzle, faces curious.
“Welcome committee,” Kade said quietly.
“Good,” Thane said. “They should see this.”
They passed through the gate, guards stepping aside with nods of recognition and brief, startled looks at the sled and its cargo. Mia and Lucas stared openly at everything—the repaired trucks, the lit windows, the faint sound of voices from inside the diner, the distant glint of the KTNY antenna against the gray sky.
“Oh my God,” Mia said. “It’s… it’s like the world didn’t end here.”
“It did,” Thane said. “We just refused to stay in the end.”
Marta was waiting halfway down the street, coat already damp, hair pulled back. She took in the scene in one sweep—the sled, the blankets, the exhaustion in the survivors’ faces, the way the wolves moved around them like a living shield.
“You made good time,” she said.
“Storm gave us a long leash,” Thane replied. “We took it.”
Darren tried to sit straighter. “Ma’am,” he said. “I—”
She stepped closer and put a hand lightly on his arm. “You don’t owe me anything,” she said. “You’re here. That’s enough.”
Her gaze moved to Mia and Lucas. “You two hungry?”
“Yes,” they said in unison, then glanced at each other and laughed, shaky and amazed at the sound.
Rime’s tail wagged. “We have stew,” he promised. “Soft dens. Radio. Many good things.”
Marta met Tarrik’s eyes over the sled. There was a moment there—a quiet exchange of acknowledgment. Gratitude and understanding.
“Thank you,” she said to him, and meant it.
He dipped his head. “My work,” he said simply.
People began to gather now, not swarming, but drawing close in careful arcs—townsfolk who had lived through their own winters and knew better than to crowd the newly rescued. Mrs. Renner appeared, shawl over her shoulders, eyes soft as she took in Mia and Lucas.
“We’ll get them to the hotel,” Marta said. “Hot food, dry clothes, beds. Then we’ll talk.”
Thane stepped back, letting the town move in. Rime stayed close to Lucas until the boy slid off, reluctant to let go of his fur. Mia put a hand briefly on Varro’s arm, a silent thank you. Darren reached for Thane’s hand; their grip was brief but firm.
“You pulled us back from the dark,” Darren said. “All of you.”
“The valley did,” Thane answered. “We just ran the miles.”
The survivors were guided away toward the hotel, flanked by humans and wolves both. Voices rose in welcome; doors opened; light spilled onto wet stone.
For the first time all day, Thane let his shoulders drop a fraction. Rain beaded on his fur and the medallion at his throat.
Kade stood beside him, watching the trio disappear into warmth. “First rescue since the Accord,” he said.
“First of many,” Varro added quietly. “Think so, anyway.”
Rime’s stomach growled audibly. “First stew now,” he said. “Many rescues later.”
Tarrik remained a little apart, gaze on the hotel entrance. He watched until the door closed behind the survivors, then glanced at Thane.
“They live,” he said.
“They do,” Thane said. “Because we went north.”
“Because valley one thing now,” Tarrik said. “Not many pieces.”
Thane nodded once. “This is what unity is for,” he said. “Not meetings. Not paper. This.”
The rain picked up, pattering more insistently on roofs and stone. From somewhere close by, a faint thread of music drifted out—KTNY bleeding softly through a doorway left ajar. It wrapped around the street like a memory of the old world and a promise of the new one.
Thane turned toward the cabin. “Come on,” he said. “We debrief after hot food. Then we talk about those other tracks.”
Kade’s ears pricked. Varro’s eyes sharpened. Rime groaned softly but followed.
Tarrik took one last look back at the hotel, then fell into step with the others, the rhythm of the pack steady and sure against the soft drum of rain.
The long road south was over.
But the work of a united valley had only just begun.