The cabin was more alive than it had been in weeks that morning. Sam sat in the middle of the movement, watching the two prepare a grocery list, to which Cain added copious medical supplies as he studied the contents of the scarlet first aid bag—which was really more of a suitcase.

"When will you be back?" she asked as Aidan laced his shoes. Cain was brushing his teeth in the washroom.

"No later than four, we won't be gone long." He got started on the other. "Are you sure you don't want to come? The city's not so bad."

Sam shook her head. "Not this time, I could use a little time to myself." She gestured to the brilliant outdoors. "I might even go get some sun."

"There's sunblock under the bathroom sink." Aidan straightened his jeans as he stood. "Stay safe if you do."

"You, too."

He grinned a cocky grin. "Always."

There was something in his eyes, a mirth or excitement she wasn't used to seeing there.

Cain joined him a moment later and slipped on his boots. His hair was damp, his beard freshly trimmed. "Don't worry about us, it's just a quick supply trip. One can never have too many first aid supplies."

Sam stood on the front steps and watched the silver truck disappear down the verdant tunnel. When they were out of sight, she went inside to make a late breakfast. While she cooked, she had the windows wide open and the television on playing the first Lord of the Rings—her favourite movie series, and the books were in her top five. The world outside was nearly as green as it would get for the year. Still, it didn't mean they wouldn't see a freak snowfall before the solstice.

The peace was already soothing her. She ate her fill, lounged until lounging grew boring, made a face mask, and did yoga, and it was barely after one. Ada was at work, so she couldn't give her a call. They tried that once, apparently Sam was a distraction.

With Ada on her mind, she strode down the steps toward the trail she had now taken a dozen times. It was a little chilly in just a tee shirt and jeans, but she was loath to put on a sweater. At first, she stuck to the narrow trail to the tune of birdsong. When that path ended, she followed what she thought was the trail they had taken to the clearing, but it was hard to tell from so high up. She was used to being somewhat level with the vegetation. No matter, she followed the approximate trail in the right direction. She would end up there one way or another.

Even then she wasn't as quiet as Aidan traversing on two feet. Twigs snapped under her cautious feet. The trail had faded, the brush dense around her. She could barely see the forest floor, so she was careful not to be too hasty. A burrow or tall root could cause some serious damage. Besides, the narrow shafts of sunlight filtering between the leaves above made for lovely entertainment. Here and there she saw evidence of the night's storm.

What was it like back home? Were the trees green? Had the grass started to grow again?

At long last she spotted a brilliant pinprick in the distance and she knew she was close. Distant ripples met her ears on a breeze. The right, earthy air was grounding. With each step, the light source swelled, a wide gap between two young maples which framed reaching ferns as tall as her midriff. She parted them with her hands and stepped into the short swaying grass beyond.

Sam had emerged five or so metres away from the low arch they usually used, putting her close to the stout waterfall. The ground sloped steadily up from there. She savoured the walk along the bloated stream and the sun on her face. She hadn't thought to bring sunglasses, so she squinted a little to examine the clouds, but found no signs of more rain. There were branches scattered across the open space in varying sizes. On the far side, an older maple tree had collapsed on its neighbours and was using their younger, stronger canopies to support its dead weight.

She found a spot near the stream which wasn't too damp and settled into the soft grass. It tickled her wrists and ankles. She had never been out there on her own. It was hard to go for a run without the other two joining her. She wasn't about to ask them not to. For one thing, it was their property, and they were her hosts. For another, she always had fun when they ran together. As soothing as being out there was, she couldn't deny she was alert; she would be a fool not to be.

A few flagged articles did not mean they had located Noah. The vast majority of flags were dead ends.

Sometimes Aidan would leave on foot for a day or two to check personally. He could cover much more ground that way than by car since he wasn't restricted to roads which wound wide around swamps, forests, and conservation areas. So far, though, there were no results. There were two new potential leads, but they hadn't had time to dive into them as of yet. They had come in the wee hours of the morning. Sam was hopeful, but not overly optimistic.

Her breathing slowed, her heart rate levelled. The air was clean, no trace of anything warmblooded. Sam felt fairly confident she could meditate safely; her ears and her nose had become quite acute of late. The familiar process pushed down the anxiety that was trying to make her fidget. This was the worst part, she found; she always felt a bit like she was dying when she turned inward like this. Normal anxiety issues. She had plenty of practise handling them. Deep, steady breaths, and that uncomfortable roiling beside her heart slowed to a stop.

Without that disruption, she let her thoughts go. The point wasn't to stop them, that was her mistake when Cain first suggested she give meditation a try. The point was to step back, find stillness, and just be. Sometimes her thoughts would stop, in a way, and a sort of gentle hum would take their place. Others her memories or thoughts would still come to her, but would fade away just as swiftly. In either case she would wake feeling small and content.

So that's what she aimed for. Sam attempted to stop reacting to her thoughts and just let them drift by like the clouds over her head. None of them was sure if this would actually help the process or not, but she had survived yet another full moon and still hadn't faced her worst memory, though it was close. She could feel it. Regardless, meditation couldn't hurt anything, so it was worth a shot.

If she had done inventory correctly, she had roughly three more probable memories. She wouldn't force anything, but sometimes when she did this they came to her on their own, no fighting. Her wolf had been fairly quiet of late. Sleep was still iffy, but she found on the days she meditated she did tend to sleep a little better. Maybe they were on to something.

The usual anxious thoughts blew through from time to time, and each was easier to ignore than the last. It was almost like being a spectator in her own mind. She just sat back and watched everything unfold.

Suddenly, she was jogging down a wide trail she had seen a dozen times. She knew the memory at once, and she braced for it. But when she noticed that tension, she worked on breathing it away. It was like the memory went on hold until she was done, because when she was back in that wonderful stillness the bobbing image returned. She was jogging steadily through a lightly wooded area which she remembered looped around a school's field and eventually back to where they started. There were others on the trail with her, but just then, she couldn't see them.

There was a twinge in her belly which now Sam knew immediately, but then was still fairly new to her. She wouldn't know it for another kilometre or so, but her periwinkle shorts were beginning to stain violet. When she did notice, she had to make a decision: keep running the race, or go back, forfeit, and clean up in relative anonymity. Well, she was competitive to a fault back then. She didn't even slow down while considering. She ran the whole race, thighs streaked crimson. It was not one of her best times, but it was one of her first competitions for cross-country, so she was proud to have finished well at all.

The ridicule was what you would expect from ninth graders. She spent a long time in the shower trying to get a hold of herself before going back to the bus. She still felt embarrassed and a little ashamed when she finally emerged, but it didn't affect her the same way anymore. Charlotte was there to support her, and Milo made the guys stop talking about it on the bus, so it never became a big thing. Sure, people reminded her of it from time to time throughout high school, but that shame didn't hit her the same way. It was something out of her control she had barely any experience with yet. That wasn't something to be ashamed of.

When it passed, the tailwind blew in remnants of those feelings. They rolled off her just as easily and her pulse barely increased. If this worked, she would be eternally grateful. She was so tired of the intrusive memories and the nausea that usually followed.

A branch snapped, and the world gushed back into view. She took a deep whiff, eyes scanning the perimeter. She relaxed after a moment; she smelled it first, then spotted the young doe emerging for a drink behind her. The air was clean otherwise.

Her heart was racing and she was still reeling from the sudden reentry to reality, so she didn't much care for another go just yet. She crouched by the stream and drank deeply from cupped palms. Satiated, she settled back into the grass on her back, the sun warming her front, damp earth cooling her back. She crooked one arm over her eyes to block out the light.

What a mess she had gotten herself in. It was amazing just how quickly everything could turn on its head. She made one bad decision and it changed her right down to her DNA. Granted, she didn't have to be at the cabin, that was entirely her decision. She did feel slightly pushed toward it, but she couldn't deny that she agreed to come in the first place, and it was her who asked to stay longer. Yes, she dug this hole herself, and she was settling into it nicely.

Maybe when this was over she would visit her parents. It had been a while; since Christmas, actually. They got on fine, she just didn't go see them much. She would change that. Even if it meant enduring the occasional intrusive question about being a lesbian in general.

She came out to them after graduation. Well, at graduation. She got her diploma, got her congratulations, and then broke the news. She had been out at school for a while, so it felt good to drop the secrecy. And to be honest, they were kind of weird about it at first. That was why she did it that way. She went to university out of town for two years, and saw them mostly on holidays. It gave them plenty of time to process and ask the questions they needed to. By the time she moved back to town to take her current job they were pretty much normal again. Oh, and Lori always knew. Sam thought she was telling her something revolutionary when they were in school, but she had assumed so for years.

Retrospectively, it seemed weird to have to have come out at all. But it felt necessary at the time, for whatever reason. Like it was this big secret, a lie she was spinning about her very being. Once she figured it out for herself, she was quick to end that secrecy. Lying has never sat well with her.

Sam sighed, trying to lose that train of thought. She thought of Ada instead; if she focused, she could almost smell the French vanilla perfume she had been wearing of late. That rich, sweet fragrance which clung to the collar of most of her shirts. She should have brought Ada's hoodie with her, but it was still hanging on the back of the armchair in her living room. She had considered it in her brief return, but ultimately decided against it since the weather was improving.

Okay, Sam was officially wallowing. She flung her arm off her face and sat up abruptly. A quick glance and a good whiff told her she was alone, and so she scrambled out of her clothes and placed them carefully on top of her sneakers with her phone sandwiched between the layers—in case it rained, it might make a difference. She fell into position, letting the warmth flow through her. She gritted her teeth through the agony and found no mental resistance. She knew she was in the clear when her fur grew in, and when it passed, she was still on her feet.

Her vision cleared, and she approached the edge of the stream for a quick drink. The knowledge that she was completely alone invigorated her. She could do whatever she wanted. Well, she didn't want anything fancy. She stretched her legs with a lap of the clearing and by the end she was ready for anything. She decided first to follow the edge of the little cliff and see if she could find a spot to climb it. It was only a metre and a half in height, but she wanted to see if there was an easier way up. At the first dip in height she decided it was good enough and scrambled up the facing. Pale green moss clung to the stone and gave way to a bed of pine needles along the gentle hill. She trotted up it, following the stream to see where it went. After an half hour, give or take, it connected to a wider river, likely the one they had visited before, but considerably further uphill.

The view was amazing. Plants near the water were lusher and abundant, the moss on the trunks thick and spongy. It wasn't so bright here with the trees arcing to close the gap. She sat at the waters edge, at first watching the birds in the trees, but she grew tired of that before long. The water flowed steadily by her toes, which burrowed into the cool silt. She stretched deeply, and then waded into the water.

Her fur lifted and cold needled her alert as her feet kicked to keep her head aloft. After a few moments of paddling in circles, she dunked her head and then made for the shore. A vigorous shake cast droplets into space. Little glittering rainbows arced gracefully before disappearing into the earth again. There was still some water in her ear; she dropped her head and scrubbed one forearm over the offending ear for relief.

Without others to consider, she felt directionless. It wasn't a bad thing, just something to process. Dripping wet, she followed the opposite bank of the stream, running from time to time to feel the burn in her legs. Her belly was still full from breakfast; she let a few potential snacks get away after a good chase.

Sam didn't shift back right away. The sun felt good on her damp body, and she threw herself into the grass near her things and rolled around, legs kicking in the air. Her stress had melted away. When she finally did decide to shift back, it was after a swift three laps of the clearing; partly to burn energy, partly to check for interlopers. There were none. Beside her folded clothes she lowered her heavy head, eyes closing on the sight of grass tickling the tip of her nose. The wind nipped her damp skin increasingly. The bow in her legs popped sickeningly once, and then again, and the angle inverted completely as her legs swelled to normal size. The fresh joints struck the ground before the caps had grown back in.

Bare, steaming, she rolled onto her back and watched the rivulets rise from her skin. The sun angled toward her feet, no less intense than when she had set out. At this rate she would be dry in no time, aside from her hair.

So, running on her own was excellent. She was more than ready to head back and focus on the problem at hand. The steaming dissipated, her skin dried, and her breathing returned to normal. The hike back was going to be a challenge, perhaps she shouldn't have run so hard. Aidan and Cain would be home soon, and the reception out here was pretty spotty. When she was able, she swiped dirt from her back and slipped her clothes on.

Sam had only taken a few steps when her phone chimed in her pocket. Just one bar, and a few texts from Ada. She paused to unlock her phone and read them before she left.

The first was simple: 'Done for the day! Can't wait to talk to you later.'

The second piqued her interest: 'Are you out for a run? I was hoping we could chat, I have a surprise for you :)'

The third she didn't get the chance to read. Her hand fell to her side, forgotten in an instant as a sharp snap struck her ears. There was something warmblooded nearby, and this time, it wasn't a deer.