She spotted Olivia just past the far paddock, kneeling beside a small, fenced pen where a young fawn lay curled in the straw. Olivia was murmuring something, her hand gently brushing over the animal's soft flank. Even from a distance, the tenderness of the moment struck Natalie. It was a portrait of care, of persistence.
"Hey," Natalie called softly as she approached.
Olivia looked up and offered a tired smile. Her eyes were rimmed with weariness, but not the kind born solely of lack of sleep. It was the exhaustion of constant giving, the kind that lingered even after rest.
"I meant to ask, did you sleep alright?" Olivia asked, brushing off her knees as she stood.
"Better than I expected," Natalie said. "Something about this place... it's even quieter than I remembered."
Olivia tilted her head slightly. "It has its own rhythm. Once you get into it, it’s hard to imagine living any other way."
They stood in silence for a moment, watching as the fawn flicked its ears and rested its chin on the straw.
"How’s she doing?" Natalie asked.
"She’ll make it," Olivia said. "Broken leg. Caught in a barbed-wire fence. But she’s eating again. Starting to trust."
Natalie nodded, folding her arms as a breeze passed through. "She reminds me of someone."
Olivia gave a dry chuckle. "You and me both."
Natalie didn’t press. The tension at breakfast had left echoes.
They walked slowly toward the bird enclosures, the scent of hay and pine drifting through the air. Around them, volunteers moved about their routines. A young woman in her early twenties was cleaning water dishes near the fox den. Another man, older and wiry, adjusted the wiring along one of the fences.
"You run all of this?" Natalie asked.
Olivia gave a half-nod. "Me and a rotating cast of saints and sleep-deprived drifters. We survive on passion and stubbornness."
Natalie smiled but didn’t laugh. She understood that kind of survival. Lately, she was surviving on memory and momentum.
Olivia led her to the aviary, where a pair of owls blinked at them from their perch. The structure was large and circular, with mesh walls high above to allow flight. The inside was shaded and cool, lined with evergreen branches and thick trunks for perching.
"We built this last year with a grant from a local conservation group," Olivia said. "It was a huge victory."
"It’s beautiful," Natalie said. She reached a hand toward the mesh, careful not to disturb the owls. "It feels like it belongs here."
Olivia gave a small smile. "That was the idea."
They fell into a companionable silence again, the kind that only comes from years of friendship and shared history. Natalie was grateful for it. She felt raw beneath her layers, fragile in ways she hadn’t yet put into words. Her hands still trembled sometimes when she thought of Boston, of Giles, of the days in that house where nothing felt like home.
She had come here to breathe again, and even now, standingin the crisp mountain air, she wasn’t sure she could, so clung to hope.
"This place... it feels like a second chance," Natalie said softly. "Like I might find a way back to myself."
Olivia turned to look at her. Her expression was kind but edged with something weary.
"It is. But it’s not always easy. You saw that this morning."
Natalie nodded. The memory of Davey’s bitterness and Olivia’s quiet pain hung like smoke over their breakfast mea;.
"He’s angry," Natalie said.
"He’s lost," Olivia corrected gently. "And I can’t seem to reach him."
They began walking again, following a narrow trail that led along the edge of the sanctuary. Wild grasses lined the path, and the ground was soft beneath their feet. A hawk circled above them, its shadow rippling across the open space.
"The town hasn’t made it easy either," Olivia continued after a pause. "There’s been pushback. Locals say we’re encouraging predators, that the wolves we rehabilitate are a danger to livestock. They accuse us of wasting tax dollars, even though we rely on private funding."
