The morning had started with such promise.
Alex stood at the edge of the construction site, watching the first real walls of the sanctuary begin to take shape. Ironwood beams rose against the ridge, their dark grain gleaming in the early light. Stone foundations had been laid overnight—wolf labor, Lucas had explained, was faster when they worked in their shifted forms—and the central courtyard was already marked out in lines of white ash.
Granite found him there, massive paws silent on the dew-wet grass.
"The hills," the bear said. "The eastern ridge opens into a valley system beyond the peaks. Good elevation. Southern exposure. If the soil's right, we could plant mountain fruits. Berries, and the hardy vegetables. "
