Page 14 of Wild Heart

Then, quietly: "It mattered."

They carried the crate together, step by step, muscles burning. The forest surrounded them like a cocoon of scent and hidden dangers.

When they reached the truck, they slid the crate into the bedand latched it down. The wolf inside breathed steadily, his body still.

Mason closed the tailgate and leaned against it, arms crossed over his chest.

"You handled yourself well."

Natalie sat on the bumper, staring into the trees. "You didn’t make it easy."

"I wasn’t trying to."

She glanced at him. The corners of his mouth lifted, just slightly.

They sat there, side by side, neither speaking. The tension had eased, but something remained. Not hostility. Understanding. Wariness. Respect.

And something else. Something just beginning.

They drove back in silence, the wolf breathing behind them. The light was fading, and the mountains loomed tall against the sky. Natalie rested her head against the window, watching the trees blur past. Her hands were still shaking. But this time, it wasn’t from nerves, fear, or lack of confidence. It was from adrenaline. From purpose. From something that felt very much like being alive again.

6

The sanctuary's rhythm had started to seep into Natalie like a second heartbeat.

Each day began with a quiet that wasn’t total, but something deeper. It was a hush that belonged to wild things, to dew-soaked earth, to the flutter of wings at dawn, to breath taken before sound. Morning light filtered through the pine canopy in golden shafts, dusting the sanctuary in brilliance. The paths wound like lazy thoughts through the trees, linking the cabins to the animal enclosures and the medical barn.

Three days had passed since the rescue. Natalie still remembered the tension of it, the quick decisions, the push and pull between instinct and training. And Mason, she remembered Mason most vividly. The way he watched her. The way his hands moved like they belonged to the landscape. She hadn’t seen him much since then, only glimpses at a distance. But something had shifted. Not forgiveness, perhaps, but the start of begrudging acknowledgment.

The wolf, now named Argus by one of the volunteers, had made it through surgery. Natalie had spent hours bent over him, cleaning the wound, setting the bone, and meticulouslystitching the gashes. She stayed late that night, keeping watch from the corner of the clinic as Argus slowly regained consciousness. She talked to him in whispers, told him stories about the city, about the time she once treated a stray dog who refused to leave a child’s bedside. The rhythm of care was something she knew. Something she could hold onto.

Now she stood by his enclosure in the animal care wing, clipboard in hand, noting his temperature, his breathing, the healing of the sutures. Outside, the breeze stirred through the pine trees and brought with it the pungent scent of resin. Sunlight caught in the dust motes that floated lazily from the beams as it cutt through the open windows.

"You always hum when you work?”

Natalie turned. Mason leaned against the doorframe, his shirt damp with sweat, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair was tied back in a tighter knot today, a few strands clinging to his temples. He carried a water bottle and a folded towel in one hand. He looked like he had just come from chopping wood or hauling feed, strong and windburned and entirely unbothered by the chill in the air.

She flushed slightly. She hadn’t realized she was humming.

"I guess I do. Occupational habit. Helps keep my hands steady."

He walked over slowly, his boots thudding softly against the floorboards.

"He looks better."

"He is. Clean break. Good muscle tone. He’s fighting."

Mason crouched beside the crate, watching the wolf’s chest rise and fall. Argus opened one eye, then the other, but didn’t move.

"Most wouldn’t have made it."

"He’s obviously not most."

They stood in companionable silence for a moment. The oldtension was still there, but it no longer buzzed like a threat. It had softened to something else, wariness, maybe, or simply unfamiliarity.

"You want to help me with the hawks next?" he asked, after a pause.

Natalie hesitated. Then nodded. "Yeah. I do."

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