Part 7
I told Claire I needed one more day.
Then I told her I needed the weekend.
She did not pressure me. That kindness allowed me to pretend my delay was thoughtful rather than afraid.
I created a schedule for Flint. Longer walks before sunrise. More enrichment. Less time alone. I researched compatible companion animals, though every reputable person I consulted warned me that adding another wolf-dog would double the complexity rather than solve it.
For several days, Flint seemed calmer.
Then a delivery driver opened the outer yard gate without reading the warning sign.
Flint was inside the secure enclosure, but the stranger’s sudden arrival triggered an explosion of movement. He launched himself against a corner panel, climbed several feet, slipped, and caught one hind paw between the wire and frame.
The driver ran.
Flint twisted harder.
I reached the enclosure but stopped myself from grabbing him. Every instinct told me to pull his leg free. Every lesson Dr. Park had given me said a trapped, panicking animal could bite the person he trusted most.
I opened the side access panel and backed away.
Flint freed himself, landed badly, and retreated into the shelter box. Blood marked the lower rail.
Elena sedated him to examine the injury. The cut required stitches, but no tendon had been damaged.
“He’ll recover,” she said.
I sat beside the clinic kennel. “I built the enclosure they told me to build.”
“You reduced the risk. You didn’t change what frightens him.”
“I can change how people enter the property.”
“You can change many things.”
The unfinished sentence was not cruel.
That night, I placed Flint’s collar on the kitchen table. He did not normally wear it inside the enclosure because of the risk of catching it on something, but the collar had become proof in my mind that he belonged to me.
A brass tag carried his name and my phone number.
I remembered Darren Pike’s advertisement. Too wild for anyone else to handle.
Pike had turned possession into evidence of importance. I had told myself my reasons were different because I loved Flint.
They were different.
That did not automatically make my decision right.
Hannah arrived before dawn. I had not called her, but Erin had.
“You all talk about me,” I said when I opened the door.
“Constantly.”
Flint approached her slowly. Hannah let him smell her hand, then stepped aside so he could see the exit.
“I signed the intake papers,” I told her.
Her face changed, but she did not say she was proud of me. That would have made the choice sound noble when it felt like failure.
Instead she asked, “Do you want me to drive?”
“No. But come with us.”
I packed the quilt, his medical records, several familiar enrichment objects, and the food North Ridge used during his evaluation. The collar remained on the table until the last moment.
Then I slipped it into my coat pocket.
Snow had begun falling by the time we reached the sanctuary.
Claire met us at the transfer gate. Elena had cleared Flint for the move, but his injured paw remained wrapped. He stepped from the truck carefully and smelled the air.
Juniper appeared beyond the inner enclosure.
This time, Flint moved toward her before looking back at me.
I accompanied him through the first gate. At the second, Claire took the lead while I stayed behind the marked line. Flint entered the transfer corridor and paused.
I wanted to call him.
I wanted one final proof that my voice mattered more than the scents beyond the fence. The desire embarrassed me with its force.
I said nothing.
Flint looked at me for several seconds. Then he turned toward Claire, followed her through the corridor, and entered the wooded enclosure.
Juniper approached in a loose curve. Another young female named Sage remained farther uphill. Flint smelled Juniper’s muzzle, moved past her, and inspected the nearest tree.
There was no cinematic farewell. He did not press himself to the fence or cry when I stepped away.
He was busy.
Hannah and I waited until Claire confirmed that he was settled in the smaller transition habitat. Then we walked toward the parking lot.
Halfway there, a howl rose from one of the upper enclosures.
Another answered from across the sanctuary.
Juniper lifted her muzzle. Her voice joined the others, rough and young.
Flint stood beneath the trees listening.
For one terrible second, I thought he would remain silent. Then he raised his head. The note that came from him was deeper than the broken sound I had heard in the ditch. It carried across the fencing and through the falling snow until the other voices folded around it. Hannah reached for my hand. This time, I let her hold it…
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