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“Is he alive?”

“Just barely.”

“What will we do with him?”

My mother gazed at me for a long moment, sighed, and cursed again. “We’ll take him back with us.” She glanced east toward the brightening sky. “We need to hurry, or he won’t make it. It’s not safe.”

“Safe?” I glanced around but noticed nothing out of the ordinary—apart from the stranger—and felt no threat nearby.

“Get the stretcher assembled. Quickly,” my mother instructed.

I did as I was told and went to my mother’s side. She leaned over the man, brushing his dark, wavy hair off his face. He seemed to be sleeping or possibly unconscious. His eyes were closed, and thick dark lashes rested against pale skin stretched over prominent cheekbones and a square jaw. He looked terrible, so painfully thin that he resembled a corpse more than a living man.

“He’s not sick, is he?” I asked.

“No. His kind doesn’t get sick. He’s starving.”

I reached for my pack, which held water and some dried meat. My mother shook her head. “No. Let’s get him back.”

“What kind is he?” I asked. I knew the scent from somewhere, but I couldn’t place it.

My mother didn’t answer.

“Will he join the community, do you think?” I tried again.

My mother exhaled another sigh. “We’ll decide what to do with him once we get home, if he makes it that far.”

The man’s eyelids fluttered but stayed closed as my mother grabbed him under the arms. I got his feet, and we both transferred him to the stretcher. His weight was alarming. No living man should be that easy to lift, even for a shifter my age. I worried we were too late to help him—whatever he was.

Before we set off, my mother removed her fleece-lined jacket and placed it over the man’s hollow face and long-fingered hands, which were folded over his stomach. A baggy black coat and scuffed leather boots covered the rest of him.

“We must hurry. Understand?”

I nodded, picked up one end of our burden, and the two of us set off at a jog.

We returned home as the sky was lightening to full morning. We made our way toward our house without seeing anyone. It was still early enough that most people were probably asleep.

We approached our two-story home near the center of our community. My mother called out, and my father, a large, bearded man, appeared in the doorway. He leaned heavily on his sturdy cane, his right leg missing below the knee.

He sniffed and gestured toward the stretcher. “That isn’t deer.”

“No, it’s not. But let’s talk about this inside, okay?” my mother replied, glancing up at the pink sky.

My father nodded but didn’t look pleased. He held the door for us and our…visitor. We set him down by the old sofa in the middle of the main room. My dad stood beside my mother, looking down with an unreadable expression. I hadn’t considered what he would think of our early-morning find. However, I was taken aback by the venom in his voice as he addressed my mother in a low tone.

“What have you gotten us into, woman?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied. She sounded irritated but wasn’t rising to meet his temper.

My mother and I lifted the stranger from the stretcher and settled him among the worn cushions. I reached to remove the jacket from the man’s face, but my mother shook her head. Ignoring my father’s dark scowl, my mother moved around the room, drawing the heavy curtains and shrouding everything in darkness. My father left and returned carrying an illuminated lantern. My mother finally lifted the jacket from the man and stepped back.

“Where did you find him?” my father asked. His tone was softer, yet still not friendly.

“He was in the park by the stream, against the wall.”

“And you decided to bring him here?” he asked, his voice rising.

“I couldn’t just leave him out there,” my mother said, running a hand over her hair, which was barely restrained by her ponytail. “The sun was rising, and he was in no condition to get himself to shelter.”