The Beta’s Cat

Pack Rule #30: If an animal follows you home, it has already made its decision. The rest of the pack will simply wait for you to accept reality.

Morning sunlight spilled across the courtyard in long golden streaks, carrying with it the familiar sounds of Wolf Ridge waking for another day.

Somewhere near the kitchens, someone laughed.

A hammer rang rhythmically against an anvil.

Children darted across the packed dirt paths, chasing one another between cabins while two older wolves pretended not to notice they were being followed.

The smell of fresh bread drifted through the crisp mountain air.

It should have been peaceful.

It almost was.

I balanced a mug of coffee in one hand and a stack of patrol reports beneath my arm as I crossed the courtyard toward the administration office.

For exactly thirty-seven uninterrupted steps, my morning was perfect.

Then I opened the office door.

I stopped.

“…No.”

The office was exactly as I’d left it yesterday.

My desk sat beneath the front window.

Shelves lined the walls, overflowing with maps, patrol records, supply ledgers, and enough paperwork to keep three Betas employed full-time.

Everything looked perfectly normal…

Except for the corner.

I slowly turned my head.

There, tucked neatly beside the bookshelf, sat a small wicker basket.

Inside rested a folded quilt.

A tiny pillow.

And a knitted blanket the size of a dinner plate.

The orange kitten lay curled into a sleepy little ball, one paw hanging dramatically over the edge as though he’d worked an exhausting overnight shift.

He was snoring.

Actually…

Snoring.

I blinked twice.

Then once more for good measure.

“…Absolutely not.”

The kitten stretched without opening his eyes.

A tiny pink tongue appeared for the briefest second before he settled deeper beneath the blanket.

My eyes narrowed.

Someone had tucked him in.

Someone had tucked him in with remarkable attention to detail.

The blanket had tiny embroidered paw prints.

There was even a little stuffed mouse lying beside the basket.

I looked toward the hallway.

“Who did this?”

Silence.

Not suspicious silence.

Very suspicious silence.

The kind of silence usually reserved for children who had definitely broken something but hadn’t yet agreed on a story.

I stepped back into the hallway.

Three patrol wolves were suddenly standing there.

None of them would meet my eyes.

Ethan became deeply interested in the ceiling.

Caleb examined his boots as though seeing them for the first time.

Liam stared so intently out the window that I briefly wondered if the mountains had caught fire.

I folded my arms.

“Would anyone like to explain why there’s a fully furnished nursery in my office?”

Nothing.

Not a word.

“Ethan.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“I didn’t ask a question yet.”

“…Oh.”

He cleared his throat.

“I still don’t know anything.”

“Interesting.”

“It is?”

“Very.”

Caleb coughed into his fist.

Liam suddenly found the floor fascinating.

I sighed.

“Someone carried a basket into my office.”

Silence.

“Someone found a quilt.”

More silence.

“Someone embroidered tiny paw prints.”

Not even a blink.

I looked from one face to the next.

“You all rehearsed this.”

“No,” Ethan answered immediately.

Then he frowned.

“…Maybe a little.”

Before I could continue the interrogation, soft footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Elder Martha appeared carrying a fresh loaf of bread tucked beneath one arm.

She smiled warmly.

“Good morning, Mason.”

“Good morning.”

She looked past me into the office.

“Oh.”

Her expression brightened.

“I see he found his bed.”

Every head in the hallway slowly turned toward her.

Ethan actually closed his eyes.

Caleb whispered, “We’re doomed.”

Martha looked around.

“…What?”

I pointed toward the basket.

“You knew about this.”

“I may have.”

“You made the blanket.”

“I certainly did.”

“You embroidered paw prints.”

“They’re rather cute, aren’t they?”

“Martha.”

“What?”

“You can’t just…”

I gestured helplessly toward the sleeping kitten.

“…furnish my office.”

“I didn’t.”

“You just admitted—”

“I furnished the kitten.”

The hallway went completely silent.

Even I had to think about that one.

Technically…

Those were two different things.

Martha smiled sweetly.

“He looked cold.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“He is not staying.”

“Of course.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“He doesn’t belong here.”

She nodded thoughtfully.

“No.”

Hope flickered.

“He belongs with you.”

A muffled snort came from somewhere behind Ethan.

Another followed.

Someone was losing the battle not to laugh.

I turned slowly.

“Would anyone like to explain why this has become the funniest day of your lives?”

Every single wolf suddenly became fascinated by absolutely anything except me.

From inside the office came a tiny yawn.

The kitten lifted his head.

Sleepy amber eyes found mine almost immediately.

His ears twitched.

Then, with complete confidence, he climbed out of the basket, padded across the wooden floor…

…and walked straight to my boots.

Without hesitation, he sat neatly on my left foot.

As if that was where he had always belonged.

The hallway erupted into the kind of silence that only happens when everyone is trying—and failing—not to say, I told you so.

I looked down at the tiny orange creature.

He looked up at me.

Then he gave one quiet, contented little purr.

“…Don’t.”

The kitten purred louder.

Behind me…

Someone laughed.

I didn’t even have to turn around.

I already knew it was Rowan.

Rowan leaned against the office doorway, wearing the kind of smile that usually meant paperwork was about to become someone else’s problem.

“I heard purring.”

“You heard wrong.”

“I definitely heard purring.”

“You definitely imagined it.”

Rowan peeked around the doorframe.

The kitten remained planted firmly on Mason’s boot.

He looked up at Rowan with sleepy eyes before giving another happy little purr.

Rowan’s grin widened.

“There it is.”

“I refuse to acknowledge that sound.”

“I don’t think he cares.”

“I sincerely hope he doesn’t understand English.”

The kitten blinked.

Then rubbed his tiny face against Mason’s ankle.

“…He’s mocking me.”

“I think he’s saying good morning.”

“I think he’s establishing dominance.”

Rowan laughed.

“You’ve never looked more defeated.”

“I’ve wrestled rogue wolves.”

“I know.”

“I’ve negotiated pack disputes.”

“I remember.”

“I once talked Elder George into apologizing.”

Rowan nodded solemnly.

“One of your greatest achievements.”

“And somehow…”

Mason looked down at the kitten.

“…this is proving more difficult.”

⸻

Outside, Wolf Ridge continued waking beneath the morning sun.

The scent of cinnamon drifted from the bakery where fresh loaves cooled on wide wooden racks.

Mrs. Holloway had already claimed her usual bench, knitting needles clicking together while she watched three children race after a flock of chickens that clearly considered the game beneath them.

Near the training field, younger wolves practiced sparring beneath the patient eye of an older instructor.

Every few moments someone landed flat on their back.

Every few moments everyone laughed.

No one laughed harder than the wolves currently lying in the dirt.

Near the blacksmith’s forge, sparks danced into the mountain air as horseshoes, hinges, and cooking pots slowly took shape beneath practiced hands.

Further uphill, two teenagers argued over whose turn it was to repair a fence.

“You broke it.”

“It was already broken.”

“You leaned on it.”

“It was emotionally unstable.”

“It was a fence.”

“It had a difficult life.”

The argument continued with increasing seriousness.

Neither noticed Elder Martha quietly handing each of them a hammer as she walked past.

Neither questioned how she’d ended the debate without saying more than three words.

⸻

Rowan stepped back outside.

“Mornin’, Alpha!”

Old Mr. Carter waved from his wagon.

One wheel sat awkwardly sideways.

Rowan immediately changed direction.

“What happened?”

“The axle snapped.”

“Were you hurt?”

“Nah.”

“Good.”

Without another thought, Rowan rolled up his sleeves.

“I’ll help.”

Mr. Carter chuckled.

“You’ve got Alpha work.”

“This is Alpha work.”

“But—”

“If your wagon doesn’t work, you can’t deliver grain.”

“That’s true.”

“If you can’t deliver grain, Martha can’t bake.”

Another pause.

“If Martha can’t bake…”

Rowan looked horrified.

“…we all lose.”

Mr. Carter burst into laughter.

“Fair point.”

Within minutes, three passing wolves stopped to help.

Nobody had been asked.

They simply joined in.

One lifted the wagon.

Another fetched tools.

Someone else disappeared toward the forge to borrow a replacement pin.

By the time Mason finally emerged from the office—with one orange kitten somehow still attached to his left leg—the repair was nearly finished.

He stopped beside Rowan.

“You know…”

“What?”

“You were supposed to be reviewing patrol reports.”

“I am.”

“…How?”

“I’m observing teamwork.”

Mason stared.

“That’s what you’re calling this?”

Rowan nodded confidently.

“I’ve learned everyone works faster when I stay out of the way.”

“You’ve been underneath a wagon for fifteen minutes.”

“I stayed out of the paperwork’s way.”

“…I walked into that.”

“You did.”

⸻

The kitten chose that exact moment to discover shoelaces.

Mason looked down just in time to see tiny orange paws enthusiastically attacking the lace on his boot.

“No.”

Pounce.

“No.”

Tiny growl.

“No.”

The lace disappeared beneath the kitten’s belly.

Rowan folded his arms.

“I don’t think he’s listening.”

“He will.”

“You sound optimistic.”

“I’ve been in charge of pack security for nine years.”

“And?”

“I’ve successfully trained over two hundred wolves.”

Rowan smiled.

“The cat isn’t a wolf.”

“…I’m beginning to understand that.”

A little girl wandered over carrying a wooden toy rabbit.

She looked at the kitten.

Then at Mason.

Then back at the kitten.

She smiled.

“Your kitty’s cute.”

Mason answered automatically.

“He’s not—”

The little girl had already skipped away before he finished.

“…my kitty.”

Rowan waited.

Three…

Two…

One…

Another villager passed.

“Morning, Mason!”

“Morning.”

“Cute cat.”

“…Thanks.”

Mason froze.

His eyes slowly closed.

“I thanked them.”

“You did.”

“I thanked them.”

“You sure did.”

“I need to go back to bed.”

“It’s nine-thirty.”

“I’ll start over tomorrow.”

Rowan laughed so hard he had to brace himself against the repaired wagon.

Mason sighed toward the heavens.

“This is going in the paperwork.”

Rowan wiped a tear from his eye.

“I was counting on it.”

The repaired wagon rolled away to a chorus of cheerful thanks.

Mr. Carter tipped his hat.

“I still say an Alpha shouldn’t be crawling under wagons.”

Rowan dusted dirt from his hands.

“And I still say someone had to.”

“You’ve got people for that.”

“I am people.”

Mr. Carter shook his head with a smile.

“Can’t argue with that.”

“You could.”

“I’ve learned better.”

As the wagon disappeared down the road, Rowan caught sight of something farther up the hill.

Mrs. Dawson stood outside her cottage, stretching onto her tiptoes with a broom, trying unsuccessfully to hang a basket of flowers from a porch beam.

Each attempt ended exactly the same way.

The basket swung.

She wobbled.

The hook remained stubbornly out of reach.

Rowan was already walking before Mason noticed.

“…Where are you going now?”

“Back in a minute.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“It’ll be quick.”

“It never is.”

⸻

Mrs. Dawson jumped slightly as Rowan reached the porch.

“Morning!”

“Oh! Alpha Rowan.”

“Need a hand?”

“I can manage.”

The basket swung again.

She nearly lost her balance.

Rowan caught the ladder before it tipped.

“…Or,” he offered gently, “I can hold the ladder.”

She laughed.

“I suppose pride isn’t worth falling off a porch.”

“I’ve tested that theory.”

“You have?”

“Several times.”

“When?”

Mason answered from the yard.

“Last Tuesday.”

Rowan sighed.

“I knew someone was going to bring that up.”

“You tried to clean your own gutters.”

“They needed cleaning.”

“You slipped.”

“I recovered.”

“You landed in Mrs. Holloway’s tomato patch.”

“…The tomatoes cushioned my fall.”

Mrs. Dawson burst into laughter.

“I heard about that!”

“I was hoping that story hadn’t spread.”

Mason folded his arms.

“It spread before you hit the ground.”

⸻

A few moments later, the flower basket finally hung neatly from the porch beam.

Mrs. Dawson stepped back.

“Oh, that’s perfect.”

She smiled warmly.

“Thank you.”

Rowan shrugged as if it were nothing.

“Happy to help.”

She disappeared inside for a moment before returning with two still-warm cinnamon rolls wrapped in a cloth napkin.

“Payment.”

“You don’t have to—”

“You helped.”

“I was just—”

“You helped.”

She gently pushed the napkin into his hands.

Rowan smiled.

“Then thank you.”

As they walked back toward the square, Rowan held one cinnamon roll toward Mason.

Mason looked at it.

“…Is this bribery?”

“It’s breakfast.”

“You accepted baked goods.”

“I accepted gratitude.”

“You accepted frosting.”

“There is frosting involved.”

Mason took the pastry anyway.

“I’ll allow it.”

⸻

Halfway across the square, Rowan stopped again.

Mason didn’t even look up this time.

“What now?”

Rowan pointed.

A little boy sat alone on the edge of the fountain.

One of the wheels had fallen off his handmade wooden cart.

The boy stared at it with the solemn heartbreak only children can achieve over broken toys.

Without a word, Rowan crouched beside him.

“What happened?”

“It broke.”

“Mind if I see?”

The boy handed over the cart.

Rowan turned it over in his hands.

The axle peg had slipped free.

He reached into the small leather pouch hanging from his belt.

Inside were bits of string…

A pocketknife…

A few nails…

And, for reasons known only to Rowan…

Three shiny acorns.

Mason blinked.

“…Why do you have acorns?”

“You never know.”

“For what?”

“…Acorn emergencies.”

“There are no acorn emergencies.”

Rowan looked genuinely uncertain.

“I feel like that’s a very confident statement.”

Mason rubbed his forehead.

“I don’t even want to know.”

Within moments Rowan had the tiny axle back in place.

He rolled the cart across the stone path.

Perfect.

The little boy’s face lit up.

“It works!”

“It sure does.”

The boy threw his arms around Rowan’s neck in a quick hug before racing off across the square, cart rattling happily behind him.

Rowan watched him go with a quiet smile.

Mason glanced sideways.

“You carry nails.”

“Mhm.”

“String.”

“Yep.”

“A pocketknife.”

“Always.”

“…And emergency acorns.”

“You laughed.”

“I did not.”

“I heard it.”

“It was a sigh.”

“It sounded suspiciously happy.”

“It was…a structurally optimistic sigh.”

⸻

Just then, something soft brushed against Mason’s boot.

He looked down.

The kitten.

Again.

Now curled around his ankle as though it were the most natural place in the world.

Mason sighed.

“You’re impossible.”

The kitten answered with a tiny, sleepy chirp.

Rowan looked over.

“I think he likes you.”

“I gathered.”

“I think you’ve got a shadow.”

“I’ve got a problem.”

“You’ve got a cat.”

“I have paperwork.”

“The cat disagrees.”

Mason bent to pick up another report that had slipped from beneath his arm.

Before he could straighten…

The kitten proudly pounced on the loose page.

Tiny paws spread wide.

Tail high.

As if he had personally captured a dangerous criminal.

Mason stared.

“…You have declared war on administration.”

The kitten flopped onto the report.

Rowan took a thoughtful bite of his cinnamon roll.

“I believe that’s legally his paperwork now.”

Mason closed his eyes.

“I need stronger coffee.”

Rowan grinned.

“I think Martha already anticipated that.”

As if summoned by the sentence itself, Elder Martha stepped out of the bakery carrying a fresh pot of coffee.

She looked toward Mason…

Then toward the kitten sprawled across the report.

She smiled knowingly.

“I brought enough for everyone.”

Mason looked at Rowan.

“…Did she know?”

Rowan accepted a mug.

“I’ve stopped asking.”

By late morning, the entire village had settled into its comfortable rhythm.

Fresh laundry fluttered between cabins.

The smell of cinnamon had given way to simmering stew.

Somewhere near the creek, laughter echoed as children skipped stones across the water while a pair of older wolves quietly placed wagers on who would manage the most skips before sinking one.

The answer, as it turned out, was neither.

Both boys eventually decided throwing the biggest splash was much more entertaining.

Mason wasn’t surprised.

He was, however, surprised to discover his office door standing open.

“…I closed this.”

Rowan looked over from where he’d been helping unload sacks of grain.

“Maybe you forgot.”

“I don’t forget doors.”

“You did once.”

“I was distracted.”

“You were yelling.”

“I was making a point.”

“You were chasing Gerald.”

“I was attempting to recover official property.”

Rowan grinned.

“The property being?”

“My clipboard.”

“You mean the clipboard Gerald stole.”

“…Yes.”

“The same clipboard he carried halfway through the village.”

“…Yes.”

“The one Martha eventually traded for an apple.”

Mason sighed.

“I don’t enjoy that everyone remembers these things.”

Rowan smiled.

“You made it memorable.”

⸻

Inside the office…

Everything looked normal.

Almost.

Mason slowly set his reports on the desk.

His chair…

His maps…

His ink…

His ledgers…

Everything exactly where it belonged.

Except…

His papers.

They were gone.

“…”

He looked left.

Nothing.

Right.

Nothing.

He checked beneath the desk.

Still nothing.

Rowan leaned against the doorway.

“Looking for something?”

“My patrol reports.”

“You just had them.”

“I know.”

“They didn’t grow legs.”

“No.”

A tiny rustling sound interrupted the conversation.

Both wolves turned toward the bookshelf.

Silence.

Another rustle.

Then…

An orange paw appeared beneath the bottom shelf.

It hooked one sheet of paper…

And slowly…

Very slowly…

Pulled it underneath.

Mason stared.

“…”

Another page vanished.

Then another.

The kitten emerged proudly from beneath the shelf.

His tiny “den” now contained an impressive collection of neatly stolen paperwork.

He looked incredibly pleased with himself.

Rowan blinked once.

“I think…”

“…Don’t.”

“…he’s making a nest.”

“…Don’t.”

“…Out of administration.”

“…Rowan.”

“I’ve honestly never seen that before.”

Mason knelt beside the shelf.

“Those are official patrol records.”

The kitten blinked innocently.

“They’re not bedding.”

Another blink.

“They’re legally important.”

Tiny purr.

“They’re alphabetized.”

The kitten yawned.

“…I don’t think he respects the filing system.”

Rowan folded his arms.

“I don’t think he knows what a filing system is.”

“He will.”

“When?”

“…Eventually.”

⸻

Five minutes later…

Mason emerged carrying the kitten in one arm…

And approximately forty slightly wrinkled reports in the other.

The kitten looked entirely satisfied with the morning’s work.

Several wolves passing through the square applauded.

Mason stopped.

“…Why are you clapping?”

Ethan shrugged.

“We’ve got ten silver coins on whether you’d carry him before lunch.”

“You were betting?”

“It was Caleb’s idea.”

“It was absolutely not my idea!”

“It was Liam’s.”

Liam looked offended.

“I had two o’clock.”

Mason slowly looked toward Rowan.

“…Did you know about this?”

Rowan studied the sky with remarkable concentration.

“I may have heard rumors.”

“You participated.”

“I invested.”

“You invested?”

“It seemed statistically likely.”

Mason closed his eyes.

“I work with children.”

“No,” Rowan corrected gently.

“You live with family.”

For just a second…

Mason didn’t answer.

Instead…

He glanced around the square.

Mrs. Dawson was hanging fresh herbs to dry.

Mr. Carter’s repaired wagon rolled happily toward the mill.

Children chased one another around the fountain.

The bakery door opened as Martha handed warm cookies to two patrol wolves who had skipped breakfast.

The blacksmith waved without looking up from his forge.

Someone across the street called, “Morning, Mason!”

Without thinking…

He waved back.

The kitten, still tucked comfortably against his arm, gave one tiny contented purr.

Mason looked down at him.

Then quietly shook his head.

“…Don’t get comfortable.”

The kitten closed his eyes.

Rowan smiled.

“I think that means he’s comfortable.”

Before Mason could think of a response…

A howl echoed from the northern watchtower.

One short call.

Then another.

Not a warning.

Not panic.

A signal.

The laughter around the square softened.

Conversations paused.

Heads turned north.

One of the sentries appeared on the tower platform.

“Alpha!”

Rowan’s smile disappeared.

“What is it?”

The young guard cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Rider approaching from the Miller Road!”

The square fell completely still.

The Miller Road.

Nobody used the Miller Road anymore.

Rowan and Mason exchanged a quick look.

The warmth of the morning hadn’t vanished…

But something else had arrived with the wind.

Something unknown.

Rowan handed his untouched coffee to Ethan.

“Hold this.”

Without another word…

He and Mason started toward the northern gate.

The kitten peeked over Mason’s arm…

As if even he understood that Wolf Ridge had just

shifted from an ordinary morning…

…to the beginning of another story.

The northern gate creaked open just as Rowan and Mason reached the path.

Dust drifted lazily through the afternoon sunlight.

A lone horse emerged from the trees at an easy walk.

Its rider wasn’t dressed like a traveler.

Nor a merchant.

Nor a neighboring Alpha.

Instead, the young wolf wore the faded green cloak of a Forest Ranger.

The horse looked exhausted.

So did its rider.

Before Rowan could say anything, the ranger slid carefully from the saddle.

“I apologize for arriving unannounced, Alpha.”

Rowan stepped forward immediately.

“No apology needed.”

He glanced at the horse.

“You’ve been riding a long time.”

“Since before sunrise.”

“You and your horse both need water.”

The ranger hesitated.

“I should give my report first.”

“You’ll give it.”

Rowan rested a reassuring hand on the horse’s neck.

“But nobody thinks clearly when they’re exhausted.”

He looked toward Ethan.

“Take care of the horse.”

“Already on it.”

“Martha?”

As if she’d been expecting to be called, Elder Martha appeared from the bakery doorway carrying a tray with two mugs and a loaf of fresh bread.

Mason blinked.

“…How?”

Martha smiled.

“I saw someone coming.”

“They were half a mile away.”

“Yes.”

“…”

“I started the tea.”

Rowan accepted one mug and handed it to the ranger.

“Drink.”

The young wolf looked genuinely surprised.

“You aren’t going to question me first?”

“I will.”

“But after you’ve caught your breath.”

For a moment…

The ranger simply stared at him.

Then accepted the mug with both hands.

“Thank you.”

⸻

The entire village continued moving around them.

Not because nobody cared…

But because everyone trusted Rowan.

There was no panic.

No shouting.

Children continued playing near the fountain.

Mrs. Dawson swept her porch.

The blacksmith’s hammer rang steadily in the distance.

Wolf Ridge had learned long ago that calm leaders created calm villages.

⸻

Mason quietly moved beside Rowan.

“Think it’s trouble?”

“I don’t know.”

“The Miller Road.”

“I know.”

“Nobody uses it.”

“I know.”

“You keep saying that.”

“I’m hoping you’ll stop reminding me.”

“You know I won’t.”

“I do.”

⸻

The ranger finally lowered the empty mug.

Color had begun returning to his face.

“Much better.”

Martha appeared again.

This time with a second slice of bread.

“You need this too.”

“I couldn’t possibly—”

“You could.”

“…Thank you.”

She smiled.

“Good.”

Then wandered away as though feeding exhausted strangers happened every Tuesday.

It probably did.

⸻

Rowan folded his arms comfortably.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

The ranger nodded.

“I’ve spent the last four days surveying the northern forest.”

“Anything unusual?”

“Nothing at first.”

He looked toward the mountains.

“Then yesterday afternoon…”

“I found smoke.”

Mason frowned.

“Campfire?”

“So I thought.”

“But?”

“There shouldn’t have been anyone there.”

The ranger swallowed.

“The Miller cabin has been empty for almost twenty years.”

“It has.”

“I checked anyway.”

He hesitated.

“It wasn’t empty.”

Silence settled between them.

Even the breeze seemed to pause.

“What did you find?” Rowan asked quietly.

“I never saw who was inside.”

“You heard someone?”

The ranger nodded.

“Footsteps.”

“One person?”

“I think…”

He frowned.

“I’m not sure.”

“What else?”

“There were fresh supplies.”

Mason exchanged a quick glance with Rowan.

“Someone’s living there.”

“Maybe.”

The ranger’s expression tightened.

“But that’s not what worried me.”

“What did?”

“I found wolf tracks.”

Rowan waited.

“So?”

The ranger looked him directly in the eyes.

“They weren’t ours.”

⸻

Neither Rowan nor Mason spoke.

Wolf Ridge knew every member of its own pack.

Every patrol.

Every scout.

Every hunter.

If unfamiliar wolf tracks had appeared near the abandoned Miller cabin…

Someone new had entered their territory.

Or…

Someone had been there long enough to avoid being seen.

The ranger reached into his saddlebag.

“I made sketches.”

He unfolded several sheets of paper.

“The tracks were larger than average.”

He pointed to another drawing.

“And these…”

“What are they?”

“I don’t know.”

The strange marks didn’t resemble claws.

Or boots.

Or paws.

They looked almost…

Deliberate.

As though someone had carved symbols into the earth.

Mason studied the sketches.

“I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Rowan’s expression remained thoughtful.

Not frightened.

Not angry.

Simply…

Thinking.

Finally he rolled the papers closed.

“You did the right thing coming here.”

“I wasn’t sure.”

“You were.”

The ranger let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“What do we do now?”

Rowan smiled—the same calm, reassuring smile that had fixed wagons, repaired toys, and convinced an entire village everything would be okay.

“We investigate.”

Mason sighed.

“There goes my afternoon.”

“There goes ours.”

The kitten, still asleep against Mason’s shoulder, stretched one tiny paw…

Then settled right back to sleep.

Rowan couldn’t help smiling.

“Looks like we’ve got one more deputy coming with us.”

Mason looked down.

“…Absolutely not.”

The kitten purred.

From somewhere behind them…

Martha’s voice drifted across the square.

“He’ll need a little traveling blanket.”

Mason slowly closed his eyes.

“Of course he will.”

Rowan laughed.

“I’ll take that as a ‘maybe.’”

“…You heard wrong.”

Rowan grinned.

“I definitely heard purring.”