She's closer than I expected. Right there. The run still in her face, colour in her cheeks, wet strands of hair at her temples and across her jaw. She's looking up at me and whatever she was managing on the walk here has come undone in the rain. Her face is open.
I reach over and move the hair back from her face. My thumb grazes her cheekbone. Her skin is cold from the rain and underneath the cold is the warmth of her. I leave my hand where it is, wanting more of her warmth.
"We made it." Her voice quiet.
"I'll always make sure you're okay," I say.
She holds my eyes and the rain hammers the roof and the distance between us is nothing, barely the length of a breath, and I am aware of every inch of it.
The door blows open.
Doris comes in fast, already talking, rain dripping from the brim of her cap, unwinding her scarf with one hand and reaching for the coffee machine with the other.
"Boss. Please tell me that's already brewing." She clocks Maya without breaking stride. "Oh, hi. I'm Doris. I run the front desk, which means I run everything. Coffee?"
I take a step back from Maya. "Doris, this is Maya. She's visiting for the day."
"Great." Doris is already pulling mugs. "Milk? Sugar? Please, don't ask for anything fancier than that."
Maya smiles. "Milk, no sugar."
"See, that's easy. I like her." Doris sets three mugs on the counter and looks at me. "Vet's on his way. Forty minutes, maybe. He called ahead."
We stand at the counter with our coffees while Doris runs through the morning. I listen and make notes and watch Maya from the corner of my eye. She's moved to the information boards on the far wall. Wolf population data. Territory maps.She tilts her head at one of the photographs. Moves to the next one.
I watch her stand in my world and find interest in it, and the tightness that moves through my chest is slow and thorough.
"Want to see the wolves before the vet gets here?" I ask.
She turns from the board. Her expression filled with excitement. "Yes."
I tell Doris to send the vet to the main enclosure. We go back out.
The rain has softened to something fine and persistent, more mist than drops. I reach up and pull the hood of her jacket forward to cover her head. My fingers graze her cheeks in the process, just briefly, and I feel her go still under the contact. I don't move my hand right away. I'm standing close enough to see the particular grey-green of her eyes, the way the damp air has curled the hair at her temples. Something tightens low in my gut, slow and certain.
I take her hand again. "This way."
We take the path toward the habitat zone. The enclosures run along the left, heavy fencing disappearing into the pines. The ground on both sides is soft from the melt, paw prints tracking along the inside edge of the fence where the animals pace.
"The fencing goes twelve feet up," I tell her. "And four feet underground. They dig."
"They try to escape?"
"They… explore." I glance at her. "Each enclosure is a few acres. Natural terrain inside. Trees, outcrops, elevation changes. The goal is to make the space as close to wild as a fence allows."
"But it's still a fence."
"Yes. It's still a fence." I pause. "The animals that are here can't survive outside. Some were hit by vehicles. Some caught in traps. Some orphaned too young. The fence isn't keeping them from the wild. It's keeping them alive when the wild isn't an option."
She's quiet for a moment. "Do any of them go back?"
"Some. When they're ready. When it's possible." I look ahead along the path.
The path rises over a low hill and levels on the other side, and that's where they are.
They come out of the treeline without warning. No sound. No buildup. One moment the enclosure is empty pine and shadow and the next they are simply there, as if the forest assembled them from its own materials and set them down in front of us.
Flint is in front. Large, pale-chested, grey across the shoulders and darker down the back, moving with apex energy. Not hurried. Not cautious. Just present, in the way that only animals who have never doubted their own authority are present.
