The next day, Shannon and Tristan set out early for the pack's territory. Tristan brought a bottle of water and a whole loaf of bread. Marla's bread was well known, and he wanted to share it with Shannon and whoever they met.
"You can just listen and observe," Shannon said as they started down the forest path. "I'll handle the introductions for you."
Tristan adjusted the strap of his bag. "You really think this is a good idea?"
"I do," Shannon said. "You should see for yourself."
The forest thinned and opened onto a settlement. Houses of timber and stone sat in tidy lines. A training yard held a handful of young wolves in human form, sparring under an older man's watch. An open square linked the paths like a hub.
The day was quieter than a market day, but it had the steady weekday vibrancy you'd expect. Shannon's presence drew nods and respectful greetings. Curious glances slid toward Tristan, cautious but not unfriendly.
Kim reached them first, strolling across the square. "Alpha," he said to Shannon, then to Tristan with an easy nod, "good to see you again. This time on our ground."
"Thanks," Tristan said. "I took your advice. Apparently, I'm not so easily scared."
Bran stepped out from a shaded walkway. He didn't bother to hide the hostility in his eyes. "You brought him here?"
"Yes," Shannon said calmly.
"It isn't enough that he's in the city? He has to be in our home too?"
"Because he's my guest," Shannon replied evenly. "That's all the reason you need."
Bran's eyes flicked to Tristan. "Guests usually bring something to the table."
"We'll talk later," Shannon said, not rising to the bait. "Where's Mira?"
"Out with a patrol," Bran said.
They had barely turned toward the square when the patrol returned. One young wolf limped on a bandaged leg while another supported him. Mira strode ahead and gestured for them to sit. "Patrol reports are in," she said crisply. "Two boundary markers near the east woods have been tampered with. And this—" she nodded to the injured wolf "—tripwire snare."
"What happened?" Shannon asked.
"We were running near the east woods boundary when he got caught in it," Mira said.
Bran cut a sharp look at Tristan. "See? Human tools. They're always trouble."
"It's old," Mira said before Tristan could answer. "Rust on the wire, frayed rope. Could be years since it was set."
Tristan stepped closer. "If I can look at it, I might be able to tell more."
The young wolf sat on a bench while another wolf carefully unwound the snare from his leg. Tristan crouched beside it. The wire felt brittle in spots; the knots were loose and gritty with age. "It wasn't set recently," he said. "Whoever made this probably left it years ago. The metal's pitted, and the twist here is corroded halfway through."
Kim leaned in. "So not a deliberate trap today."
"No," Tristan said. "Still dangerous, but not aimed at anyone right now."
Shannon nodded. "Then we treat it as a hazard to clear and not an attack to answer."
Bran folded his arms. "Or we see it for what it is—a reminder of what humans leave behind."
"Enough, Bran," Shannon said, voice sharpening. "You've made your opinion clear. It doesn't change the facts."
The small cluster broke apart. Mira guided the injured wolf toward the healer's house; another patrol member carried the coiled snare. Kim stayed to confer with Shannon about clearing the area. Bran lingered a moment longer until Shannon turned to him fully.
"If you have something to say to me," Shannon said, "say it straight."
Bran held his gaze for a few seconds, then looked away. "No, Alpha."
"Then we're done here," Shannon said. "Do your work."
Bran left without another word.
When the square settled again, Shannon looked to Tristan. "You handled that well."
"Sorry—I butted in," Tristan said. "I've noticed I'm quick to explain, to head off unfair blame."
"That's good to know," Shannon said.
Kim returned from speaking with a pair of men near the training yard. "We'll send someone to clear the old traps," he said. "Good call on the age, Tristan."
Tristan gave a small nod. It was the second time he'd found himself short of words with Kim.
They remained in the territory for another hour, meeting a few more members. Most were polite, though guarded, measuring Tristan with the same care they gave any unknown. The younger wolves, all in human form, flocked to him after a short break from sparring.
"You should join us in training," the boy in the red shirt said, grinning.
"I'll think about it," Tristan said. "I'm a violinist—boxing might not be ideal for me. But thanks."
They laughed. Some asked basic questions—where he lived now, what he did in the city—but no one pressed too far. Tristan answered lightly and avoided turning the conversation to himself for long. This was their ground. He was a guest.
When it was time to leave, Shannon set an easy pace back toward the forest path.
"They're curious about you," Shannon said. "It's better than letting them make up their own answers."
"Bran's not curious," Tristan said. "He's angry and annoyed. I'm not sure which fits better."
"Bran's history with humans is his own," Shannon said. "I'll deal with him."
They walked in silence until the trees reclaimed the path and the sounds of the square faded behind them. "That snare means the east woods haven't been checked properly in some time," Shannon added. "I'm going to see to it myself. You can come if you want."
"Will Bran be there?" Tristan asked.
"Most likely," Shannon said. "Is that a problem?"
Tristan considered, then shook his head. "Maybe it's better if we get on each other's nerves now. We'll have to get along later."
"Good," Shannon said quietly.
Under the trees, Tristan measured his expectations against the ground they had just crossed. For all his unease, he recognized something solid in the way the pack moved as a whole—deference when it mattered, dissent handled without spectacle, action following words. If he was going to be in Shannon's world, there would be more moments like today, where being quiet wasn't enough and speaking up mattered.
"Do you all belong to one clan—at least in this territory?" he asked.
"We're from House Dravenmoor in the northern highlands," Shannon said. "Strength and discipline are what we're known for. As I said at lunch, we train to transform at will, not the other way around."
"Will I see you in your wolf form?" Tristan asked, a little shy.
"Of course—when the time is right," Shannon said, reassuring.
They walked on. The canopy broke here and there to let down angled light, and the path widened where old cart wheels had worn the ground. Tristan shifted the loaf of bread in his bag. He had brought it as a small gesture, an offering without ceremony. Later, he would hand it to Kim for the communal table, or leave it by the healer's porch. It wasn't much, but it was something.
"Next time," Shannon said, as if reading the thought, "bring your violin."
Tristan looked over. "Here?"
"Here," Shannon said. "Music travels faster than reputation."
Tristan smiled at that, small but sincere. "Then next time," he said, "I'll play."