Chapter 9 - The Sanctuary
Spring came to Northstar Hollow not with a gentle thaw, but with a violent, roaring rush of melted snow that turned the creeks into brown, foaming torrents of life. The ice broke away from the cabin eaves, and green shoots of wild fern poked through the wet mulch beneath the hemlocks.
Warren spent his days mending fences, clearing deadfall from the logging track, and teaching Scout basic tracking patterns along the ridge where Silas had taught him thirty-four years ago. Ghost had filled out, her coat gleaming black and gold in the spring sunlight, her limp entirely gone thanks to steady meals, warmth, and a life free of iron chains.
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The cabin had been repainted with boiled linseed oil and pine tar, its roof sealed against the coming rains. On the mantle, Silas's Winchester sat beside a framed photograph of a retired Navy SEAL, a scarred German Shepherd, and an oversized-pawed puppy standing shoulder-to-shoulder on the cabin porch.
There were no more silver pickups speeding past the dead-end sign. The county road had been officially designated a historic wildlife corridor, protecting the hollow from developers forever.
