“First time I saw it, I thought I’d taken a wrong turn.” He pointed to a blaze not far from them, to the right of the trail. “But we’re good.”
They walked on, and sure enough, about a quarter mile later, the sound came back — water murmuring under the rocks at first, then surfacing to rush over and around the rocks once again, justthereagain as if it’d never left.
Tuesday exhaled. “Okay. Good. It’s like all is right with the world again. Creeks don’t justvanish.”
Knife made a sound that was almost a laugh.
They rounded a turn and she smelled the unmistakable musk of a skunk. Not the spray, the actual animal, and she zeroed in on a laurel thicket forty yards to the side of the trail.
She opened her mouth to say something, and Knife started walking heavier. Making noise.
He moved in front of her, when they’d either walked side-by-side on the wide sections of the trail, or she’d mostly led since the disappearing creek.
And he walked differently. More like a human, stepping on leaves and gravel instead of dirt and rock.
The skunk scent faded as the creature likely waddled away from them, and shortly thereafter, he went from walking like a clumsy human to the two-legged wolf she knew him to be, and an undefinable warmth blossomed in her chest.
He hadn’t stopped to announce it, hadn’t made it a production, hadn’t needed to demonstrate that he’d smelled it first. He’d justhandledit in the easiest way possible.Make noise before an encounter happened.
His quiet practicality appealed to her in a way she didn’t want to consider too deeply, so she pointed out the variety of trees — poplars, beech, birch, maple, dogwood, holly, laurel.
And he told her he’d show her a bigleaf magnolia when they came to it.
They talked of the world they walked through, scrambling up and down ravines, over loose rocks that required concentration, through a little fern basin with the promised bigleaf magnolia, and on narrow ledges high above the water at times, until they arrived at a section of trail that truly boggled the mind.
Boulders the size of houses, tumbled and stacked at angles that should have been impossible, with CCC-built stone stairs threading through the gaps. Tuesday contemplated the best way to the top, and felt her wolf's inner ears prick forward with excitement. The four of them, two humans carrying two wolves inside them,attackedthis section of the trail.
They went up fast, ignoring the uncertain footing and trusting their instincts, committing to each step fully, weight forward, no hesitation, because hesitation was when loose rocks became a problem. When the surface underfoot shifted, they were already somewhere else.
She saw him in her peripheral vision, his motion fluid and decisive, reading the rock two steps ahead without seeming to think about it.
When they reached the top, he told her, “I’m not sure I managed that as well the first time.”
“It’d be easier on four paws. Kind of surprised humans manage it.” She blew out a breath. “Honestly, I’d be worried about any human doing a good part of this trail.”
“Yeah. Agreed — on all parts.”
“Do you ever string up humans?” she asked.
“Yeah. Do you know what a sweetbutt is?”
“I watched Sons of Anarchy.”
“Some of ours are human. Not many, but…”
He stopped talking, and it occurred to her he’d been about to share something he shouldn’t. Something that fell on the wrong side of the line they'd drawn. She wanted to say something, but nothing that came to mind felt right.It’s a bitch, isn’t it? Feeling so close to each other, with these damned walls we have to remember?
So she walked with him in awkward silence until he figured out how to finish the conversation within the rules. “When you’ve butchered enough animals, you start reading bodies differently. Weight distribution. How to stress a particular joint, tendon, or muscle. Have to be more careful with humans, but yeah, I have occasion to, as you said, string them up.”
His description hit her as possibly too honest.Way too honest.
“Most people wouldn’t actually say that out loud,” she noted, while considering how she felt about her live body being compared to a cow’s hanging carcass.
“I wouldn’t say it to just anyone. Was I wrong to share it with you?”
“No, and I’m glad you did. Thank you. It’s honest, and I’ll always appreciate truth.” Even when it was so fucking honest it made her need to step back and take a minute to be okay with it.
“Ditto.”
