The morning came quiet, soft light leaking through clouded glass and dust motes hanging in still air. Spring had finally reached the valley for real this time; the kind that didn’t hesitate. Snow clung only to the highest ridges now, a half-hearted holdover from winter. The rest of the world had decided to live again.
In the cabin, the coffee pot hissed over a propane flame. Thane stood by the counter, medallion resting against his shirt, claws curved around a chipped mug. Gabriel was still asleep on the couch, one arm thrown dramatically over his face, muttering about guitar strings. Rime was outside, stacking wood in lazy circles and humming something tuneless. Mark’s paws clicked down the hallway as he yawned. “Morning,” he said, voice tired.
Before Thane could answer, the room filled with a sudden burst of static. The radio on the counter crackled once, twice, then carried a voice—thin, nervous, but unmistakably human.
Voice: “—Libby, this is… this is the Bear Pass shelter. Do you read?”
The words snapped Thane fully awake. He set down the mug, reached for the mic, and keyed it with a practiced claw. “This is Libby. Go ahead, Bear Pass.”
There was a pause filled with faint wind noise and the tick of the carrier signal. Then the father’s voice returned, shaky but steady enough to make it through.
Father: “You told us we could come. For the doctor. If we wanted my leg fixed. I think… I think I’m ready.”
Thane smiled—a small, private thing that lived more in the eyes than the mouth. “Glad to hear your voice. Roads are muddy but open. We can send a truck by midday.”
Father: “Don’t want to trouble anyone.”
Thane: “You won’t. It’s what we’re here for.”
He replaced the mic, and let the quiet fill the room again. Mark was already grinning. “Guess that radio worked better than we thought.”
“It worked because they believed it would,” Thane said, finishing his coffee in a long pull. “Round up Kade and Gabriel. Take the flatbed. Holt and Rime go too. Tell them it’s time to bring that family home.”
By midmorning, clouds were breaking into long white scars across a blue sky. The truck had been warmed, packed, and stocked with what Kade called just-in-case gear—extra blankets, food, one old first-aid kit, and two thermoses of coffee Gabriel swore were essential morale boosters. The flatbed’s paint had seen better decades, but the engine’s low growl was solid, a promise of return.
Gabriel drove, window down, sunglasses on, radio humming low through the dashboard speaker. Kade rode shotgun, map folded neatly on his knee. Rime and Holt sat in the bed with the supplies, their fur flattened by wind, tails flicking lazily. They looked content, two wolves who’d decided the day didn’t need drama.
The road wound north along the river, mud spattering in sheets across the truck’s fenders. Patches of ice lingered in shadows, flashing white against the brown ruts. Birds had returned in force—warblers, finches, one distant hawk calling across the valley. The sound of them filled the world like memory stitching itself back together.
Gabriel drummed his claws on the steering wheel, glancing sideways with a crooked grin. “Operation Mercy. That’s what I’m calling this one.”
Kade raised an eyebrow. “You’re naming errands now?”
“Everything needs a name. Makes it sound official.”
Kade smirked. “You do realize Thane would make that face—the one where his ears twitch and he pretends not to be amused.”
Gabriel laughed under his breath. “Oh, he’d love it. He just wouldn’t admit it. Beneath that gravel voice is a true marketing soul.”
From the bed of the truck, Holt leaned in through the sliding rear window, fur tousled by the wind. “Thane not care about names. Only that we make it back.”
Rime nodded, eyes half-closed against the breeze. “Talk less. Drive more. Road good today.”
Gabriel grinned. “My critics speak.”
Kade chuckled. “Drive the truck, artist.”
It took three hours to climb the pass. The last mile narrowed between sheer slopes where meltwater ran in long silver ribbons across the dirt. The cabin stood where it always had, quiet beneath the tall pines, smoke curling from the chimney in a slow spiral. The smell of pine resin and cooked beans met them before the truck even stopped.
The little girl was the first to appear, waving both arms from the porch. The boy followed, ducking under the low beam, his face splitting into a grin when he saw Kade jump from the cab. Behind them, their father stood framed in the doorway, pack slung over one shoulder, crutch under one arm, determination written in every line of his posture.
Kade climbed the steps and offered his forearm. “You ready for a long ride?”
The man clasped it firmly, the grip strong even through pain. “I’ve been ready since the day you left. Just needed to believe you’d come back.”
“We always keep our word,” Kade said.
Holt and Rime made short work of the supplies. They packed blankets around the flatbed, built a soft seat of folded tarp and spare bedding, and helped lift the man up with practiced ease. Rime fussed over the padding until it was just right, tugging and smoothing like a craftsman. The little girl handed him her wooden wolf before climbing into the cab beside Gabriel.
“Hold on tight,” Gabriel told her. “First rule of Libby: the roads are exciting.”
“Second rule,” Holt called from the back, “is bGabriel grinned over his shoulder. “Hold on tight — first rule of Libby is that the roads are an adventure.”
Kade smirked. “You mean barely roads.”
From the bed, Holt leaned toward the cab window, fur catching the wind. “Road fine. Just soft. Truck heavy.”
Rime chuckled, eyes scanning the trees. “Still better than mountain path.”
Gabriel laughed quietly. “I like this optimism. Let’s try to keep all four wheels attached, then.”eans always.”
The girl giggled, clutching the carved wolf and nodding solemnly as if these were sacred laws.
The journey down was slower but warmer. The world around them glowed—the last snow runoff sparkling in every ditch, the green of new grass burning bright against gray trunks. Every bend of the road smelled like thawing earth. The father sat in the back beneath a patchwork of blankets, watching the mountains recede behind him. Sometimes he closed his eyes, and the lines around them softened; other times he stared wide-eyed, afraid the view might disappear if he blinked too long.
Kade watched him through the rear window. “He’s tougher than he looks.”
Gabriel nodded. “They all are. Anyone still standing after all this—you don’t survive by accident.”
They hit level ground by afternoon. Libby appeared first as a shimmer, then as a shape, then as a town that looked like it meant to stay. Rooftop panels caught the light. A handful of kids chased a ball in front of City Hall, laughter echoing off the brick walls. Smoke rose from a dozen chimneys that smelled of cedar, not fear.
The family fell silent, taking it all in.
The father whispered, “You built this back.”
Thane waited for them in the square, arms folded, expression unreadable until the truck stopped. Then his mouth broke into that rare, tired smile that always meant the world had done something right. “Welcome to Libby,” he said. “Your home if you want it to be.”
Marta came out of City Hall, clipboard in one hand, scarf whipping in the wind. “Clinic’s ready. Doctor’s been waiting since you called.”
The boy frowned, still not quite believing. “You really have a doctor?”
Before Thane could answer, the clinic door opened. A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out, wiping his hands on a towel. His hair was steel gray, his eyes a sharp, weathered green. His lab coat had seen better days but was clean. He looked like someone carved from hard work and caffeine.
“Dr. Donovan Wade,” he said, voice low and practical. “You’re my patient from Bear Pass?”
The father nodded. “That’s me. I hope I’m not wasting your time.”
Wade’s mouth twitched. “You came all this way on a bad leg. That earns you all the time I’ve got. Let’s take a look.”
Holt helped the man down. Rime carried the crutch. Inside, the clinic smelled faintly of antiseptic and cedar soap. The doctor’s instruments were old but cared for: stainless steel shining, linen neatly folded, power tools rigged to a solar line. Wade had built the place himself, same as everyone else had built what they needed.
Thane watched them disappear through the curtain, then turned to the children. “He’s one of the best,” he said. “And grumpiest. That’s how you know he’s good.”
Gabriel crouched beside the girl. “While your dad’s getting fixed, want to see something cool?” He pointed to the far corner where a crank-powered phonograph sat. “Still works.”
She smiled shyly. “It plays music?”
“Plays old music,” Gabriel said, winding it up until a slow, crackly swing tune filled the room. “This one’s older than any of us.”
Rime swayed his tail in time. “Good sound,” he murmured.
The operation took nearly two hours. Outside, the pack waited in the square, taking turns checking the generator cables or making small talk with townsfolk who wandered over to see the newcomers. Marta brought coffee. Holt managed to talk a baker into giving him a biscuit the size of his paw. Kade sat on the clinic steps, staring north toward the ridge. Every so often, his claws tapped against the step like a quiet metronome.
Finally the curtain pulled back. Wade stepped out, rolling his shoulders, gloves hanging from one hand. “Clean break now. Pins in place. Bone lined true. He’ll walk again once it sets.”
Thane stood. “You did it.”
Wade gave him a look. “I always do it. Just need good patients and better luck.”
The boy rushed past them into the room. A moment later came the muffled sound of relief—laughter and something that might’ve been crying. Wade leaned against the doorframe, rubbing his forehead.
“He’ll need rest and a proper diet,” he said. “Keep the leg stable, change the dressing every morning. I’ll check it in two days.”
Thane clasped his shoulder. “Good work, Doc.”
“Tell Holt to stop bringing me half-feral projects and I might live to retire.”
Thane chuckled. “You wouldn’t know what to do with peace.”
“You’re probably right,” Wade said, but there was a ghost of a smile under the fatigue.
Evening came on like a slow spill of gold through the windows. The father slept on a proper bed in the clinic, leg bandaged, steady breathing. His children sat nearby—one reading a weathered magazine, the other using the carved wolf as a pillow. Outside, lamps came on in the square, one by one, warm halos in the cooling air.
Kade stood near the door, arms folded. “They’ll be okay now.”
Thane nodded. “Because you brought them in.”
Kade looked out at the lights of Libby. “Because we gave them somewhere to come back to.”
They stood there a while in the comfortable silence of a job done right. Gabriel appeared carrying paper cups of coffee. “Doctor says the leg will be better than new. Also says his caffeine levels are dangerously low.”
“Then we saved two lives today,” Thane said.
Rime poked his head in. “Beans soon?”
“Beans always,” Thane said automatically, and Rime grinned like that was the password to everything.
Later, when the square quieted and most of the lights had dimmed, Thane lingered outside the clinic. The air was cool, smelling of river water and wet earth. Somewhere distant, the phone relay clicked—Whitefish or Spokane, maybe, testing the lines again. The world was connected now, in small but stubborn ways.
Inside, Dr. Wade cleaned his instruments, humming something low. The kind of man who didn’t brag about saving lives; he just kept doing it until someone forced him to rest. Kade leaned against the doorway watching him work.
“He’s good,” Kade said.
“The best,” Thane replied. “We were lucky to have him when the world fell. He was the last man to leave Kalispell before the roads froze. Walked thirty miles with his kit on his back.”
Kade nodded thoughtfully. “Seems like the type who doesn’t break easy.”
“None of us do anymore,” Thane said.
The two of them watched the activity through the clinic window for a long time. Then, without needing to say it, they both turned their eyes north, toward the line of trees that marked the road back to Bear Pass. The cabin up there would be empty tonight, chimney dark, but it wasn’t abandoned anymore. It had done its job.
Thane exhaled, long and slow. “Tomorrow we start mapping the next line—beyond the northern ridge. If the valley’s going to stay alive, we keep the roads breathing.”
Kade smiled faintly. “Always forward.”
Thane nodded. “Always.”
The frogs sang in the creek below town, the turbines whispered their slow circles, and Libby’s lights shone steady against the mountains. Somewhere inside, a little girl dreamed of wolves who helped instead of hunted, and a man slept with the comfort of knowing he would walk again.
The pack was home, the town was healing, and the world, little by little, was remembering how to trust.