"By half a mile." He traces the route. "If they push again, they'll hit the southern stream."
"Double the ridge patrols. Day and night."
"The new moon’s tonight. I need everyone back before dark."
"Then double them now and pull at dusk. But we're thin, Keer. I've got—"
The door darkens.
Young wolf. Tall, nervous. Shifting his weight.
"Not now," Maren says.
"It's fine." I lean back. "What."
"The human moved the bandages."
Maren goes quiet. Eyes on me. Waiting.
"Where are they now?"
"On a shelf. She hung it on the wall. Clean separate from dirty."
"Were you looking for a bandage?"
"Yes."
"Did you find one?"
"...She showed me where they were."
"Then what's the problem?"
"It's not just bandages." Hands moving. Talking faster. "I went for tallow and it wasn't there. She moved it because she said the fat goes rancid near herbs. Her voice is so high pitched I couldn't—she just—everything's different."
"Was the tallow going rancid?"
"I mean, it smelled—"
"Yesorno."
"...Yeah."
"Then it's in a better spot." I hold his eye. "She should have asked first. I'll tell her."
He stands there, wanting to say more but can't find the words.
He leaves.
Maren watches him go. "First one today?"
"First one today."
He chuckles, "won't be the last."
"Nope." I pull the bark markings back. "The ridge. Show me the tracks again."
We work through the routes. Graw is creeping toward. Twenty years of holding this territory. Every trail. Every crossing.
