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I looked around the room. Two families had allowed their youngest members to inherit distrust without questioning it. The adults had been civil, but distance had given the children room to turn difference into entertainment.

Then entertainment became humiliation. Humiliation became retaliation. No one had planned the outcome. Everyone helped build it.

“There’s one more thing you kids need to understand about why those pranks were so out of line,” I said, my voice firm. “You thought putting bear signs near the Fletchers’ land was just harmless teasing, but you didn’t realize how much real pressure the bear pack has been under lately.”

Aaron glanced up, confused. “Pressure?”

“The human commercial development on the western boundary has been cutting into their seasonal foraging land for months,” I explained, looking between the boys and Mr. Fletcher. “When humans push into their space, the bears are forced closer to our property lines just to move around. You weren’t just pulling pranks on neighbors—you were poking at a family that was stressed about territorial boundaries through no fault of their own.”

The kids looked genuinely ashamed as the full context finally landed.

I turned back to Mr. Fletcher and offered him a genuine smile, pulling my hands from my pockets. “Which brings me to the news I’m happy to share with you. I just spoke with the county liaison an hour ago before bringing the boys over. The planning board held their final vote on the Millstone Wildlife Park buffer rollback.”

Mr. Fletcher’s dark eyebrows pulled together. “And?”

“They voted the expansion down,” I said, the victory feeling sweet in my chest. “Based on the environmental impact reports we submitted regarding wetland runoff and the severe negative effect commercial development would have on local wildlife migration routes, the board officially killed the rollback. The buffer protections stand, and the corridor will remain fully protected.”

A genuine grin broke across Mr. Fletcher’s rugged face. He stepped forward and slapped a heavy, warm hand onto my shoulder with enough force to rattle my teeth.

“Well, I’ll be damned, Blackwell,” he rumbled, shaking his head in quiet relief. “That’s the best news this ridge has heard all year. It keeps those human bulldozers off our backs.”

“It protects all of us,” I said, glancing back at the preteens, who were watching the exchange with wide eyes. “Our running trails stay private, your pack gets to keep its foraging buffer, and we don’t have to worry about territorial friction on the northern line anymore.”

Mr. Fletcher looked down at Aaron and the twins. “Hear that, boys? That means there’s plenty of woods for all of us. Just keep your fake fish in your own kitchen from now on.”

“Yes, sir,” the boys chorused in instant, relieved unison.

“We need to stop meeting like this… when it’s about a dispute or official business,” I said.

Mr. Fletcher crossed his arms. “What are you suggesting?”

“That we stop meeting only when something goes wrong.”

Mrs. Fletcher studied me. “Our communities have kept distance for a reason.”

“Most of those reasons belong to people who are dead,” I said.

“Some are practical.”

I considered that. “Then we keep the practical boundaries and challenge the rest.”

Nick looked skeptical. “You want us to become friends?”

“I want you to stop trying to maim each other.”

“That seems like a low bar,” Aaron said.

“We can begin there.”

Nick shifted closer to the couch. “What will happen now? Because of the wolfsbane?”

“First, everyone involved tells the truth to the council,” I said. “You can expect to lose shifting privileges for a while, and you should expect a formal sentencing.”

“Then both groups make restitution.” I looked at Nick. “The smoke attack caused property damage and medical risk. Your side will contribute to repair and cleanup.”

Mr. Fletcher nodded. “Agreed.”

“The wolf children will repair the damage they caused here and assist with any work your family chooses.”