After a while, as the shadows lengthen and the crepuscular animals get their burst of twilight energy, the awkwardness wears away. Preston’s wolf begins to feel less like an interloper and more like when you find something unexpected and rare in a familiar place. Mushrooms in a hollow log. An egg in a nest.

He keeps watch while I search for treasure, and it seems fitting that he’s doing it, as if he’s slipped into his proper role.

I’d call it biology, but Preston’s wolf isn’t behaving like an animal reacting to his mate. He’s maintaining his distance, and there’s no aggression in his stance. It’s not our bond making...