I settled more comfortably on the ground, appreciating his enthusiasm. "Start smaller," I advised, guiding his hand back to the plant. "First conversation is always 'hello.'"
As the evening light faded around us, I continued my careful instruction, finding joy in sharing something that had once been my most closely guarded secret. The words came more easily with each explanation, my voice growing stronger rather than weaker with use.
Behind us, the celebration continued—music and laughter spilling from the pavilion. But here in this quiet corner, with soil beneath my feet and plants responding to my touch, I was building a different kind of connection. Not just to the natural world that had saved me, but to the human one that had finally welcomed me home.
As twilight settled over the gathering, I felt a gentle tug in my awareness—like fingers plucking at invisible strings connectedto my consciousness. The plants along the riverbank were trying to tell me something.
I slipped away from the celebration, moving silently through the deepening shadows toward the water's edge. No one noticed my departure except Rooster, whose eyes I felt on my back as I walked away. Through our bond, I sent reassurance—not running, just listening.
The music and laughter faded behind me as I reached the riverbank. Without hesitation, I kicked off my boots and socks again, letting my bare feet sink into the cool soil. The earth here was rich and damp, alive with information that flowed into me through skin contact.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the messages coming from the reeds that swayed at the water's edge, from the ancient willows whose roots drank deeply from the river, from the night-blooming flowers just beginning to open their petals to the evening air.
Something was different tonight. Something was crossing.
I stood perfectly still, head tilted slightly as I sifted through the plant whispers. Fifteen years of survival had honed this ability to a razor's edge. Plants didn't communicate in words or pictures, but in sensations, vibrations, patterns of growth and movement that I'd learned to interpret as clearly as spoken language. And tonight, they were telling me about visitors.
Not human. Not bear, like most of the MC members. Something else.
I heard Rooster's approach long before his arms wrapped around me from behind—his heavy footsteps, his familiar scent carried on the evening breeze, the way nearby plants bent slightly in response to his passing.
Three months ago, even expected contact would have made me flinch. Now I leaned back against his solid chest, drawing strength from his warmth.
"Trees talking again?" he murmured against my ear, his breath stirring my hair.
I nodded, keeping my eyes closed to maintain the delicate connection. The information was becoming clearer now, filtering through my consciousness as the plants continued their silent reports.
"Lynx shifters," I said softly, opening my golden eyes to stare across the water where twilight shadows deepened among the trees. I raised my hand, pointing to the far shore. "Passing through. Maybe... my family."
Rooster's arms tightened slightly around me, surprise and concern flowing through our bond. "Your family?" he repeated, voice careful, but not dismissive. He had never questioned my abilities, not since the day I'd led the MC straight to Victor's surveillance devices.
"Three of them," I continued, the information becoming clearer as I focused. "Female. Male. Young one. Moving north. Following game trails."
I felt the moment Rooster processed what this might mean—what I might have just discovered after fifteen years of believing I was the only lynx shifter to survive wherever I had come from.
His large hand came up to rest against my heart, a grounding touch we'd established months ago. "Do you want to find them?" he asked, no hesitation in his voice despite what it might mean for us. "We could cross the river, track them. Tonight, if you want."
I turned in his arms, looking up at his face illuminated by the rising moon. His fiery beard caught the silver light, his eyes steady on mine, filled with nothing but support.
I reached up to touch his cheek, marveling at how far we'd come—from the cook who left food on a picnic table to the mate who would cross rivers in the night if I asked it of him.
"Tomorrow," I decided. "Tonight is ours."
Relief and love pulsed through our bond, but Rooster was careful not to let it show too clearly on his face. Always balancing his needs with mine, never wanting me to feel pressured by his emotions.
"Whatever you want, baby boy," he said. "Whatever you decide, I'm with you. If they're your blood family, if you want to meet them—"
"Even if they are," I interrupted, the words coming more easily than I would have thought possible months ago, "this is my home now. You are my family."
His eyes softened, the love there so naked and raw that three months ago I would have looked away, unable to bear the intensity. Now I held his gaze, letting him see that I meant every word.
I took his hand and led him away from the riverbank to the center of a small clearing ringed by ancient oak trees. The grass here was soft beneath our feet, illuminated by patches of moonlight filtering through the canopy above.
As we stood together in the clearing, I felt the plants around us responding to my presence—leaves turning toward me despite the lack of sunlight, grass blades bending slightly in our direction, wildflowers releasing extra perfume into the night air.
"They know you," Rooster observed, watching the subtle movements of vegetation around us.
I nodded. "I've been working with them. Since the security redesign."
