Keith

I stand at the edge of the clearing with sawdust on the wind and the steady rhythm of hammers beating like a second heartbeat through the pack. Temporary housing is going up fast—faster than I thought possible—but not fast enough for the numbers we’re expecting.

Our land was meant for this, my hybrid rumbles.

I can't disagree. I’d always seen the mileage of acres of my pack as more responsibility, and, at one time, more than we needed.

Even with space to roam for our beasts it was ten times the size of other packs.

Now I know why my ancestors were drawn here. Why the fought off rouges...