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Chapter 1—CHIPEWYAN

In the year Samuel's sister had twin cubs and the housing market crashed again, north Saskatchewan caught fire and burned for a whole summer of smoky red skies. The spring after, a dozen new fire lookout positions were posted online, which suited Sam just fine given that the red fox needed a place to stay, a way to eat, and a break from everyone.

The interview was short and over the phone—a shrill shrew asking carefully if he knew the job would entail hiking, roughing it, and relative isolation—while the physical was a little bit longer but more directed. The doctor said that they were checking his tawny coat for fleas before he left, but even at the ripe age of nineteen, Sam knew when people were looking for track marks and blown veins. His teeth were like most other foxes—sharp, pearlescent, and devoid of any signs of meth-mouth. As for his lungs, Samuel wouldn't have been the breakout star on the track team, if he'd been into that sort of thing before graduation, but he'd have at least made it through tryouts. Nothing outstanding.

His physician agreed, evidently, and off to the woods prairie-north went Samuel.

The watch station was a day's hike from the nearest service road. Samuel was gay and couldn't drive, but a wolf in a beat-up pick-up on his way up to a LaColle reservation was kind enough to drop him off nearby. The wolf had a greying muzzle but soft amber eyes, and, rather than drop off Sam and speed away, he cut the engine when they arrived at a faded yellow sign that only read “DANGER: TURN BACK."

“Fire lookout, huh," said the greying wolf, flatter than a question. He was studying the red fox, up-down, and his muzzle flared with each sniff. In the summer's heat, and probably due to the fox's strong scent, the wolf had kept the windows rolled down for the trip.

“Yup!" said Sam. He pawed at his pack's straps. Always did fidget around strangers. “The pay isn't great, but they aren't charging for board, so…"

“Y'know you won't have any internet up here, right?" asked the wolf. He thumbed his claws around, miming an invisible phone. “Most cubs come out this way ain't ready for losing all that social media crap for weeks on end."

Sam's tail bristled at that. “I'm well aware," said Sam with a short snort, “and I brought enough to keep me distracted." He didn't add his age.

“Good. Got mighty lonely when I worked this gig," said the greying wolf, and he climbed back into his pick-up. Samuel watched the white spruce and quaking aspens swallow the wolf's truck down the road, sniffed the dying scent of gasoline one more time, and whined to the tree canopy above him. Birds teased him back.

***

Samuel survived the hike, which had been grueling, and which a life of living pretty in the nicer part of LaColle Falls had failed to prepare him. Samuel swore to never again complain about his friends dragging him out for a prairie hike or camping down by Saskatoon, at first, and an hour later, the red fox swore to never again go hiking in Saskatchewan at all. He had startled dozens of ground-nesting birds, swallowed no less than four buzzing insects of some kind, and collected a winter's worth of dry kindling in his tail. A wildfire would arguably have been less damaging to the ecosystem. Then again, the ecosystem had been very damaging to Samuel. The faded paint of once-bright trail blazes had been the only mercy offered to the red fox in those woods.

By the time Samuel reached the hill's summit, the sun bled into the horizon, his paws were coated with grime-encrusted sap, and his once-tawny coat had turned russet-mud. His clothing—a camo military vest Sam's older brother had left behind when he'd moved out, and nylon hiking trousers that his sister had grown out of—were a little better, but his feetwraps had been shredded beyond repair and left to rot on the trail alongside Samuel's pride. The red fox wanted nothing more than to take a long, hot bath, which he could not do out here, but he would settle for a cold rainwater shower and a prodigious amount of soap.

Although the shrew had mailed him a set of keys, the watchtower atop the hill was unlocked, which unnerved Samuel, although he decided that any folk bold enough to hike eight-to-twelve hours up a north Saskatchewan hill had earned the right to steal whatever they pleased—knowing, of course, that they would have to hike eight-to-twelve hours down that same hill carrying any stolen goods. Still, having grown up in LaColle with stranger-danger fears bludgeoned into him at school and reading creepypasta on the internet for fun, Samuel started the generator—most of the place was hooked up with solar and propane, but not all—and locked the door behind him.

Samuel's first instinct was to collapse on the bed, but he'd never forgive himself for ruining the sheets. Instead, he forced his screaming sore legs up the tower's rungs, fiddled with the radio until he was on the right channel, and checked in with the detection aide waiting up to hear from him. You didn't need ears like a hare to hear the exhaustion in Samuel's voice, so the detection aide chuckled and told him to take a shower and be ready bright-and-early tomorrow. Samuel replied with a muffled scream, which only made her laugh harder.

He was filthy. It was getting dark. No one was around for kilometers, not even the next detection aide, because she wouldn't come here for a month or so. Samuel knew all that. Still, Samuel's paw was glued to the door knob, and not because of tree sap. Normal folks didn't wander around outside down to fur, without clothes on, no matter how arduous a hike they'd had. His parents had warned him not to be one of those gays, hadn't they?

Samuel's indecision cost him two things: first, the time it took to settle his indecision and change in the little shower-shack beside the tower, which meant redressing himself in grime and carrying over a set of fresh clothes with sappy paws, and second, the warmth of the shower, which had gone lukewarm without the sun's constant presence. The cold did, however, save Sam his precious rainwater.

The sun rose too early.

***

Time flew like fur for three days until Samuel caught up on sleep and boredom caught up on Samuel. When the sore finally oozed out of his muscles, so did the red fox's desire to laze around. His duties other than watching for smoke-and-or-fire involved taking one weather reading at 07:30 and another at 13:00, which took all of ten minutes given the technology at Samuel's disposal. The detection aide, Emily, had answered every question he'd had in a chipper but baritone voice common to bears until Samuel had run out of plausible questions. She probably went through that process with every new lookout who wasn't a rejoicing hermit. In her radio silence, Samuel found himself alone.

Somehow, this took all the joy out of the activities the red fox often wished he could be alone to do. The two new novels he'd brought along couldn't catch his eye and he found no pleasure in reading them aloud, even though he'd skimmed their first chapters before leaving town to make sure they were interesting. His tail bristled at the mere thought of reading an old favourite erotic novel of his in a tower with windows and no shutters, so he left it buried under all of his to-be-worn clothing. The dry summer heat bored in through every window pane and into his weather-resistant clothing, boiling him in his pelt. Yes, there were even two beach lakes to either side of his tower a short hike away, but Samuel felt equal embarrassment in skipping out on work so soon, as he thought it, and in swimming down to fur, given a lack of swimsuit.

So instead, he played with the most expensive and delicate piece of equipment in the room: the radio. His only lifeline to the outside world in case of a disaster. He'd read the pamphlet, of course, but neither it nor Emily had mentioned whether any other lookout towers were in use in this area, or if its possible inhabitant would be sociable. The brown bear had warned him—still chipper, of course—that the woods were an unquiet lot, and not all folk could handle the buzzings in their brains it brought. Most folks who stayed on with this job were professional loners, unlike Samuel.

Which is why Samuel wasn't prepared for a satisfying click, a burst of static loud enough to taste, and a voice as young as his calling, “Chipewyan tower, I read you. Hey there." It had gravel in it, the voice.

“Hullo," replied Samuel. “I hadn't thought anyone else would be out this far."

“Neither did I," replied the voice. “Shoot, you sound younger than most I ever talked to. Emily's on fire."

Samuel grinned at that, then laughed audibly when he realized the voice couldn't actually see him. “We should probably report that."

“Har har, joker," said the voice with a chuckle, “you must be a regular Dorothy Parker."

“Who now?"

“Never mind me. Name's Tobias. How long you been out here, anyway?"

“Well," said Sam, “does the hike count?"

“'Course. It's a real pain."

“Then we're approaching three days and fourteen hours, I think."

“Going on my second summer, now," replied Tobias with a click of the tongue. “You are fresh, huh?"

“You're never too young to run away from your problems," said Samuel. When silence followed after, his ears perked up and swiveled toward the radio. “Sorry, that—it was supposed to be a joke."

“You got a name, joker?"

Apprehension hit Samuel like a summer heatwave. “I might."

“Oh, he's smart, too," crooned Tobias. “You remembered your stranger danger lessons, unlike some folks."

“Some folks?"

“Well, I gave mine away pretty freely."

Samuel drummed his claws across the table audibly for added effect. “Tobias could be a fake name," said Sam. The red fox leaned in toward the radio and spoke in hushed tones. “You could be lulling me into a false sense of security. Maybe you're a hiking serial killer preying on lonely foxes in the woods."

“So, you're a fox, huh?" said Tobias, satisfaction dripping through the radio.

Samuel gasped. “Oh no."

“Sorry, gotcha. You're murdered, now, joker."

“Oh, I should've just stayed at home, like momma always said."

“Ain't in Kansas anymore, I reckon," said Tobias. Samuel blinked—it was an old reference, and an odd one for north Saskatchewan in a fire lookout tower. “Oh, come on. You have to know that one."

“You're the oddest serial-killing hiker I've met, you know."

“Maybe I was wrong about you being good with all that stranger danger crap."

Samuel snorts and adds, “I don't live under a rock."

A gravel-laden chuckle came through the radio. “You do now, joker," said Tobias, “and I don't believe you anymore. How do I know you're even a fox?"

“Aha! Reverse murdered!" exclaimed Sam. “It's The Wizard of Oz. See? Trustworthy. I don't get the Dorothy Parker thing, though."

“I figured as much," said Tobias. He paused again, but left the channel open. “Feels like I'm the only real friend of Dorothy around these parts anyways."

“She sounds lucky to have you," replied the red fox. His muzzle furrowed, but the expression failed to bleed through the radio. “Sam," he said after a pause.

“Huh?"

“My name's Sam," repeated Samuel. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Tobias."

A low whistle comes through the radio. It would've sounded more impressive in the fur. “Pleased to meet you, Sam. Now, if you'll excuse me, it's real hot out, and I've got a beach that's calling my name again."

Samuel tried for the last word. “Be gentle with her, will you?"

“And what if I like it rough, joker?" quipped Tobias. Another laugh of gravel pawed through the radio and into Samuel's pants, then the radio clicked again. The red fox was left with his pulse throbbing to one fast tempo and birds singing to another, slower. Samuel counted himself lucky that he hadn't started panting at the radio.

***

At his own behest, the next morning, Samuel left the lookout tower to get a lay of the surrounding land. An official map in one paw and a compass clutched tight in the other, the red fox steeled his nerve and began toward the nearer of the two beach lakes.

Sam wasn't intending to bump into Tobias. No. Sam barely knew him. Tobias was a stranger, who, if you broke it down, had warned him about strangers and had technically threatened to murder him. Besides that, Sam had no idea what Tobias even looked like or where his tower was. No, the beach trip would be a reasonable test of his navigation abilities, the reliability of his maps, and allow him to assess the dryness of the area—as had been mentioned by the shrew. This was Samuel being a responsible adult.

He had the portable radio on him, of course, set to the same setting on which he'd met Tobias, but he'd tested that, too, and determined Emily could nevertheless still contact him. Responsibility was Samuel's priority.

Which is why Samuel forced himself to wait a full three seconds before responding when the radio clicked and Tobias' gravel asked, “Chipewyan tower, you read?"

“I read," said Samuel. The red fox cursed at himself, which the radio may or may not have picked up as he fumble-juggled the map, compass, and radio between two paws.

“So, I'm a timber wolf, by the way."

“I thought you were smarter than this," said Sam. He repeated it again, realizing he hadn't held the button down. “Sorry, I'm trying to find my way through the woods."

“Thought it was only fair," said Tobias. “Where to, joker?"

“Crean Lake. Close by to my tower," said Sam.

“I'm at the Sanctuary Lake Tower, so I'll give you three guesses as to which one I like best."

“I think I know this one," said Sam, playing his dramatic airs to mask his disappointment. “Ajawaan Lake?"

“Nope."

“Kingsmere?"

“Nuh-uh."

“Waskesiu?"

“Bzzt. Wow, three wrong. I think you win a prize."

“Is it…murder?"

“Still thinking about it," said Tobias. “So, the beach calls your name too, huh?"

“Unlikely," said Sam. He hopped over a fallen log riddled with dried-out yellow moss. “Didn't think about it while packing, so I've got no beachwear."

It was Tobias's turn to snort. “Hell, it's the great outdoors. Dive in down to fur," he said, then paused. “I do it all the time."

In a rare moment of faith, Samuel thanked God for his lacking mental image of Tobias. “Aren't there things in the lake? Like, fish?" he added, trying to move topics.

“Think they'd hang a sign if there were dick-eating piranhas in the lake."

“Oh, whoops," said Sam, “Sorry, I think I took that sign down by mistake, yesterday."

“Har har. Well, lucky me, I'm still all in one piece, fully-functional," replied the wolf, toothy through the radio. In Samuel's following silence—the red fox was squinting down at his map, muzzle furrowed—Tobias asked, “You at the lake yet, joker?"

“No."

“You sure you ain't lost?"

“No."

“You want me to come rescue you?"

Samuel thought about it. “No."

“Might be best if you don't swim naughty down there, come to think of it. Chipewyan ain't got many folks around the lakes, but it ain't a full ghost town yet."

“Are you a ghost?" asked Samuel. “Also, isn't it? I remember the census said population zero, and that's fairly recent."

“I'm a ghost, Sam."

“Oh no."

“It's a haunted radio."

“Oh no!"

“That's why the dick-eating piranhas couldn't get me," said Tobias, and Samuel presses the button so the wolf can hear his yipping laughter. “The census ain't so great up in these parts, I reckon."

“Well, I need to know," explained Sam. “I'd rather not expose myself to some strangers one week into my summer job."

“How long do you usually wait to do that?"

“Depends if h—they buy me dinner first," said the red fox, tail bristling. “Uh, I see the lake. Talk to you later, Sanctuary Lake Tower."

“Hey, wait, uh—" click.

***

The next day that Samuel visited the lake to not melt in the tower, the red fox rolled up his hiking trousers and dipped his feetpaws in the lake, which was nowhere near the cold shower equivalent he required and was little more modest than if his whole tawny coat had been showing. Wandering about with a clipboard in one paw and pen in the other paw—reminding himself of his responsibilities—was, in contrast, a sufficient distraction. Samuel noted the wetness of the lake and beach, and the dryness of everything not-lake-or-beach in an official capacity, and, in an unofficial capacity, recorded private notes on how long it had taken him to reach Crean Lake each time. Now, granted, Sam had been enjoying the conversation with Tobias a little too much to focus on reading the map and compass at the same time, but, if he spent less time stuffing his feetpaws into his muzzle, he might have hiked it in two hours. Travel was faster with less gear on him. Sanctuary Lake itself was at least six times that distance from the tower, which put it firmly out of the question, given that Sam had to report the weather at 07:30 each day. Yet, Sam's paws kept fidgeting, and his private notes soon filled up the only spare piece of paper he'd brought.

When his tail bristled again, Samuel tossed all of his official capacity into his pack and went off in search of folk by following the lake's edge. The scent was undeniable. Where he found cabins, he found them abandoned or rotting, as was everything surrounding the lake. Loss, for Sam, had its own distinct stench, not unlike fallen poplar and balsam and other things natural to the world that had toppled over dead. The red fox continued following the trail, however, having clawed his hole deep enough that he might as well try for the other side. If he could find a reason to not have contacted Sanctuary Lake Tower—something spectacular he could claim to have been investigating for a few days—it would make it all better and less awkward. Like he'd never slipped his tongue in the first place in a way his mother had taught him red foxes never did.

Sam had even set his radio to the proper setting for Tobias to call in, but Sam suspected his brackish conduct had put an ill taste in Tobias's mouth. That, or the wolf had no idea at all what had gone terribly, horribly wrong.

Circling the lake the other way revealed something equally exciting and strange: a plastic sleeve with weathered paper inside nailed to an old cabin wall.

“This canoe ain't in too terrible shape," read the scrawl, “and, if I'm ever fortunate see you in the fur, I'd reckon you aren't too bad yourself, joker. -T."

The message was mixed. On the one paw, Tobias had presumably hiked out overnight to dredge the canoe up and repair it for Samuel, which was both sweet and dangerous, but he had worked this area during the big wildfire last year, so Sam supposed Tobias knew what he was doing. On the other paw, despite Tobias' words, the canoe was, in Samuel's uninformed opinion, in awful shape, as was its paddle. Time and settlement had not been kind to anything in Chipewyan.

When Samuel heaved the canoe out onto the lake, it did not take on water, which came as a surprise. It refused to take on water even as the red fox left his lifeline radio a safe distance from the shore. Sam had been out on the water twice before in his life and knew that any kayak or canoe was easy to flip. So, it should not have come as a surprise—but it did—that Sam flipped the canoe simply by stepping a paw into it.

It was settled. Chipewyan was a ghost town haunted by misfortune, and, whether or not Samuel kept talking to Tobias, he, too, would soon be a ghost.

***

“I went swimming today," said the red fox, peeling off a damp vest from wet fur. It hit the floor of the watchtower with an audible slap. “Sanctuary Lake Tower, do you read?"

“I read," said the gravel voice. He exhaled in a pause, which alerted Samuel that there might be an always-on mode. “Hey there, joker. You one of those never-nude folks?"

“What?"

“Or did you just figure you'd go swimming in all your hiking gear."

Samuel's ear swiveled at Tobias's amused tone. The wolf wasn't mad, at least not on the surface. “Neither, actually," said Sam. “I flipped a canoe."

“The great outdoors," repeated Tobias. Like they never stopped.

“Hey, so…"

“Huh?"

“What's my prize?"

“Huh—welp. I hadn't thought about that. Reckoned I'd scared you off."

“How do you figure that," asked Samuel, “given that I thought I'd scared you off?"

“Thought you'd got whole 'friend of Dorothy' thing, but then I came on too strong at the lake, and—"

“What does that mean?" asked Sam. “A friend of Dorothy?"

“It means I'm queer," said Tobias, quiet. “It's a discreet way of mentioning it."

“Oh. Me too," said Sam. “Like, really gay."

“Shoot, you had me worried for a second there." The gravel came back to the wolf's voice as he asked, “How 'really' are we talking, joker? What's the scale on that, anyway? I'm more of a Sylvester than a Dietrich, I reckon."

Samuel muted himself to blow the air from his muzzle and rub his large ears. “Well," he started, tugging off his wet trousers with another slap, “I don't know, if I'm honest."

“Have you…?"

“Oh, uh," said the red fox, quick, “yeah, a couple of times with two friends, but—"

A low whistle and gravel tone interrupted Sam. “At the same time?"

“You can't hear my embarrassment, but I assure you, I'm dying over here."

“What for? You've done more than I have."

“What?"

“Whatcha mean, 'What?'"

“But you're…"

“A queer in north Saskatchewan, drying out in a tower alone, yeah," mocked the wolf, “har har, joker."

“I was going to say hilarious and charming, and wise beyond your years for, what, twenty-one," said the red fox. Realization dawned on Samuel with perked ears, but he masked his excitement. “You said you were drying out?"

“Twenty-three," corrected Tobias. “Back from the beach, yeah, she's a good friend."

“So, you're down to fur."

“Aren't you? I heard the wet from here."

Samuel squirmed in his chair. “Not exactly. I—well, it feels odd. Private and not private at the same time."

“But what about when you—"

“I haven't," said Samuel, quick. “I even brought a novel thinking I could, but—stop laughing!"

Tobias's gravel chuckling cut through his own words, making him stumble. “You sound real cute, Sam. No one's gonna see you rubbing one out in your tower."

“You don't know that."

“Or at the beach, or in the woods, in the shower, with my tail up, or…"

“You're relentless," whined Samuel.

“Ain't no one for kilometers," reminded the wolf, a teasing edge to his voice. “Did whole hikes down to fur, last summer. Nice in the open spots. Helps you keep cool. Peaceful, too. No one saw, scout's honour."

“You might see me!"

“Would that be a bad thing?"

Samuel willed his heart to start beating again and his tail to lower itself. He breathed deep, then hit the radio button again just in time to catch the last slap. “There."

“Was that…?"

“It was," said Samuel. “Happy?"

“If only you could see," trilled the wolf. “So, about that prize."

Samuel swallowed. “Still murder?"

“There's a lock button for the radio. Keeps it on. Wanna hit that for me, joker?"

“Done."

“Feel like reading me a story from that fun book of yours?"

Samuel licked his chops. “I think I'd like that, but how is this my prize?"

“Your prize is freedom," replied Tobias. “My prize is getting to hear your sweet voice over the radio. You can read that novel with one paw, right?"

***

The watchtower was going to reek of him for days, but Samuel's sensitive nose didn't mind it. The red fox would've considered it narcissism if not for the fact that he thought about Tobias every time and in every position. It was the specific cocktail of his own fox musk and Tobias's gravel voice that set him off over and over. The wolf's growled encouragements to be as loud as he wanted combined with the visual isolation hit an unknown scratch inside Samuel he hadn't known was itching: he stopped caring what he might look like with his tail flagging in the air and two fingers deep, and focused instead on enjoying the velvet-and-sparks sensation welling in his sheath. Even after the wolf and fox had excused themselves to go clean up and be semi-decent, Samuel hadn't dressed. He was going to save so much time and energy on laundry.

For the first time in a week, the shower was still warm from the fading sun, and he used far too much of it that day, so he'd have to ration the rest until it rained, or dip into his drinking water. At least his fur was tawny again, which, Samuel thought, must've looked pleasant against the sunset, where he'd clicked on his radio and asked Tobias to describe himself in great detail once more. He had, as it turned out, mottled grey-and-white fur, amber eyes, and a refractory period of less than twelve minutes, which Samuel helped him test.

---

Chapter 2—TRIP

“All set, joker?"

“Just to be clear," said Samuel, tugging snagged fur from his rucksack's straps, “you know we could get fired for this."

“I reckon we might," agreed the wolf, “but I also reckon you're worth it."

“Emily could get fired for this."

“Shoot, they can't fire her," said Tobias. Respect flowed out from the radio hooked on Samuel's belt, which, at least, suggested Tobias had a good judge of character. “She might not have been here long, but she's a lifer. Good with her own two paws, climbs like a warm fuzzy spider, and her size don't matter. You should see her in action."

“I have. She practically swam up that hill—six hours to my twelve," said the red fox. Then, with a furrowed muzzle, he added, “You've got a funny sense of time."

“Whatcha mean?" said Tobias, his tongue clicking in his muzzle.

“She's been here, what, two decades?"

“What? Where'd you hear that?"

“From Emily."

“Twenty years my tail," said Tobias. “She's only got a few years on me! What, did she start working when she was ten?"

Samuel furrowed his brow. The brown bear delivering him his monthly life-sustaining supplies—beans, tissue, chicken jerky, and the odd new novel—was wise beyond her years, but the flecking grey of her pelt suggested she'd had many, many years to become wise in the first place. “Well," said Samuel, snapping a dry twig underpaw, “the stranger who dropped me off called me a cub, so maybe she started earlier than I did."

“Dropped you off, huh?"

On reflex, Sam rolled his eyes, even though Tobias wasn't there to see them. The fox had gotten used to talking louder to accommodate the radio on his belt—washing all the sap from his paws and the radio had become tedious—but Samuel hadn't yet given up on all of his gestures, and, he imagined, probably never would. “I think we've had enough lessons on stranger danger so far."

“Was he cute?"

Samuel thought about it. “Yes? Maybe? I don't know, he was this forty-something wolf with a greying muzzle, sort of my type, and I didn't want to leer at him and get kicked out of the car," Sam explained. Then, with a frustrated yip, he added, “I'm still learning the whole signaling thing."

“Sort of your type?" asked Tobias, cryptic. The wolf kept silent, but the wolf's light-labored breathing and the crunching of leaves underpaw cut through the radio. Samuel's wide-cupped ears had learned over the weeks to mix both his and Tobias's worlds together. The wolf was always tucked behind a tree or chasing the plume of Samuel's tail—never more than a clearing away.

“The age gap is a little…"

“Queer?"

“Jarring," said Sam, blowing a raspberry at his radio. “I think for a hook-up I'd be fine with it, but for dating—that's a lot of maturity I don't have."

“Fair's fair," replied Tobias. “I was seeing a Gemsbok in his fifties for a little while, back when I was down in New Orleans."

“What," said Samuel. “New Orleans? You never mentioned that."

“Didn't last long, and we never—he was a real gentleman, y'know, didn't wanna rush things, but he was mighty affectionate. Hugs-and-kisses kind of antelope. Saw less and less of him as the months went by, and then eventually, he just stopped calling."

“What happened?"

“Found out from a friend of a friend he'd died."

“Oh my God," said the red fox, hopping down from a small ledge. “That's awful."

“Kaposi's sarcoma. Rough shit. Didn't want me to see him like that, I guess."

“I'm so sorry."

“I got over it," replied Tobias. The wolf cleared his throat, phlegm catching in Samuel's swiveled ears. “Ain't your fault 40 was a punk bitch."

Samuel paused, in part to sniffle, and in part to tie a length of reflective yellow ribbon to a muzzle-height branch. A night precaution. There weren't enough distinct landmarks between Chipewyan proper and Sanctuary Lake—the little pockmark lakes failed to distinguish themselves—so they'd chosen their midway meeting point out of practicality rather than ease. Samuel had practiced hiking out every other day to get ready for this one, and, if anything happened, he'd be able to camp out overnight in the clearing they'd selected instead of following his night markers back to Chipewyan tower.

Not that Samuel hoped for that with an eager swishing, of course. They'd have time to catch up on missed in-person opportunities when the summer was over. Still, both Samuel and Tobias had agreed that they couldn't put off seeing each other in the fur—and, if they were lucky, down to fur—any longer than the month and a half they'd already waited.

“So, New Orleans. That's—that's much farther than I've ever been," said Samuel, breaking the somber his of the radio. Despite the job description, Sam had grown accustomed to not being alone for very long in the woods. “I've never even flown in an airplane before."

“Still haven't, over here," said Tobias. Samuel heard his toothy canine grin and tasted the cockiness rolling over the wolf's gravel voice.

“Road trip?"

“Road trip."

“So you saw—"

“The Castro district in San Francisco, as well as all the other fun parts of California. The French Quarter in New Orleans—Bourbon Street was some fun, I'll tell you. Greenwich Village was on the list, but we didn't stay in Manhattan for more than a day. Harlem, Chicago, Baltimore, Detroit, Philly, you name it. We chased that rainbow as far as it went, joker."

“I don't—I can't imagine what that must've been like."

“Well, I got water to spare, so if you don't mind listening to me yammer on about the good ol' days, I'll talk your big ears off, Sam."

“You're twenty-three," replied Sam. “I don't think you're allowed to call them the good-old days."

“You wanna hear my stories or not?"

“Eep. I'll be nice, I promise."

“Now, why don't I trust that?" said Tobias with gravel and a chuckle. “Okay, so, we started off near LaColle in Sue's junker van and swung all the way down to the west coast…"

***

Samuel had only planned for one break. Time was their limiting factor, the precious little fuel they had to burn, and any wasted on the hike meant less time to spend during his first true meeting with Tobias. Yet, when Samuel stopped for his third break thus far—all that talking meant less air in his lungs for hiking and more water to guzzle—frustration refused to bubble up in his muzzle. Sure, Sam's tail had wagged for a solid hour and snagged every loose branch along the way when he'd first set off on the hike, but wasn't this worthwhile? Sam heard the softer side of Tobias from time to time and felt the warm grace of his paws whenever they read together, but this was trust. It was easier at a distance.

Samuel cleared his throat, stopped rubbing the soreness from his feetpaws, and put away his water before setting off again. “Was Chicago the last stop?"

“That was the last of it," said Tobias. Samuel's ear twitched at the staticky birdsong that followed through the radio. The red fox resolved to push—not when Tobias had revealed so much about himself already—but his own silence was compelling. “Sue had a friend down in Denver, but…well, I reckon you heard about that Shepard cub in Laramie?"

LaColle Falls had a community theatre—one of the few places where queer folks congregated in visible amounts, albeit as a crowd mostly older than Samuel—and Samuel remembered the play they'd put on about it. “Yeah, I heard."

“The whole thing was still so fresh, no one really knew if we'd be safe in Wyoming. Yeah, it wasn't the 80s, but…" started Tobias. “I'm not real loud, and Sue's horns scared most folks off, but Kurt was about as tiny and gay as a ringtail could be. Never would've forgiven myself if something had happened to him."

“Are you three still friends?"

“Sue works at the hydro dam, but we get drinks every now and again," explained Tobias. “Kurt moved to the west coast. Couldn't cut it as an artist in LaColle, I reckon. Big fish, small—"

Samuel snorted. “Was it small?"

“Dunno," said Tobias, his earnest tone returning. The shyer side to the wolf came out more and more often as the weeks had gone by. Samuel didn't mind—the red fox had opened up as well.

“You mean, you never…?"

“Oh, he helped me out a couple times with his paws, but I never fooled around with his ringtail the way I wanted," said Tobias, quiet. Samuel stopped to check his compass again. “Or any other folk. I was—the whole HAART thing was still new and scary to me, and I was always worried about the what-ifs, y'know?"

“Oh. Was—if you don't mind me asking, of course—was Kurt positive?"

Tobias blew a tired raspberry—not directed at the radio, but Samuel's ears caught it all the same. With a heaved sigh, he replied, “Not that I knew. But, none of us could afford it, getting tested on the road was…difficult, and no buyers club was gonna put out for a Saskatchewanian timber wolf if something happened."

“I guess that makes sense," said Samuel. “That sort of thing never crossed my mind, I guess."

“For real?"

Samuel tripped over his tongue and a low branch, stubbing his footpaw claw-first against a rock and, subsequently, his snout against an black-and-blue spruce. Where had once been the soft blended scents of blackcurrant and sweet cicely was only copper's hot stench. After an under-breath curse, he replied, nasal, “Not like that. My friends—we all hadn't ever done anything with anyone else, and we knew that STIs didn't just spring into existence like little malignant body gremlins."

“Uh, right," said the wolf. “You all right, joker? Sounded like you hit a snag, there."

“Yup!" said Samuel, scowling. “Just a small accident. Tripped. Should only be a couple kilometers more. I can tell you about some of the things my friends and I did together, if only to ease your aching bones."

“I do got a bone that needs easing," teased the wolf. “Been meaning to take my break soon, anyway." Tobias fumbled with his radio—unclipping it from his belt, probably—and the sharp descent of a zipper set Samuel's muzzle salivating. Sam hadn't mentioned that effect to Tobias yet, although many times he'd complimented the wolf's soft groans. “Ready if you are."

“Still thinking about it," replied Sam. Then, with a bashful edge of his own, he added, “Might want you pent up for when I finally meet you."

“Your wish," started Tobias, “my command."

“I'm coming up on the next landmark," said the red fox. “Give me until then to decide?"

“I think I'll find a way to pass the time."

Samuel's ears cupped forward, searching out the trickle of a stream. If Sam had navigated correctly, he'd soon be at the stream marking the last quarter leg of his hike. After that, they'd meet at a parched pond where the trees broke and left a decent clearing. Tobias had only been out at it once, the year prior, but the wolf had said that watching the waking nightjars swoop through clouds of fireflies over the water was damn near sinful to miss. Yet, while Samuel picked out the gurgle of water flowing in a Saskatchewan summer drought, his ears swiveled on instinct to catch the distinct snapping of a twig underpaw behind him. Sam froze.

“I'm—well, uh, I'm real glad I met you this summer, joker," started the wolf. A familiar sniffle tinged his usual gravel. “Last year was peaceful, but about as exciting as a stone."

Stilling his bristled tail, the red fox turned in place, casual, surveying his surroundings with a growing sense of unease. Not wanting to alert both Tobias and whoever had snapped that twig—if there was, in fact, anyone—Samuel asked, “Wasn't that awful wildfire enough excitement for a year?"

“Wildfire?" asked Tobias. The evening songbirds had gone quiet around Samuel, but, through his radio, Samuel still heard the occasional staticky twitter. “Whatcha mean?"

The red fox inhaled, sharp, but his nose failed him, still reeling from his earlier accident. Samuel took another breath to clear his mind. It easily could have been a larger lizard of some kind, a particularly heavy turtle, or even a nightjar making a rough landing. There was no reason to suspect that he was about to be murdered in the boreal forests of north Saskatchewan, because it would have made for a very poor location to for your average serial-killing ing énue.

“Joker?" asked Tobias, more urgent. “You still with us?"

There was also no reason to withhold his fears from the only person who would be able to report him missing, so Samuel unclipped his radio from his belt and whispered, “I think I heard someone behind me."

“You sure?" said Tobias. The wolf cursed, then lowered his voice to match Samuel's volume. “Sorry."

“I—it'll sound stupid."

“Ain't nothing you could say to make you sound stupid, Sam."

“I heard a twig snap."

Although Samuel hadn't seen Tobias in person, he saw the timber wolf's skeptical snout in the radio silence that followed.

“You can laugh."

“I'm not gonna."

“Please, laugh, it'll help ease my tension."

“Did you try calling out to whoever's gonna murder you?" asked Tobias, helpful and toothy as always. “Might as well say 'hey there.'"

Samuel thought about it. A moment after, he lowered his radio and shouted, “Hello!"

There came no response from the woods. Tobias, however, was happy to reply. “Maybe it was a horse."

“Horses aren't real."

“Sure are," said the wolf, “just extinct. Maybe it was a ghost, then."

Samuel clipped his radio to his belt and rubbed his sore snout. “Ghosts aren't real, either," he said, and continued hiking.

“Or maybe it was a dick-eating piranha—"

***

Samuel's muzzle formed a thin frown down at his compass and creased map.

“So," said the wolf, gentle, “ your folks didn't have a problem with it?"

“I only came out after I graduated," explained Samuel, “and then the market crashed. We never really had time to talk about it, but whenever I visit my mom or my dad, they always ask if I met a boy."

“Kind of 'em."

“Sort of?" said Samuel, cupping an ear left to assure he was still parallel to the stream. A short ravine housed the droughted waterway, and, while Tobias had coached Samuel on where to put his paws while climbing near Chipewyan proper, he trusted the gradual decline leading up to the pond more than the loose dirt walls and accumulated silt to not give way and plummet the red fox to an early and unfulfilled grave. With another wrinkle of his copper-filled snout, Samuel explained, “It's not generous of me to say, but the way they act feels…"

“Like an act?"

“I feel awful saying it," said Samuel, tail bristling, “because it sounds so privileged. There's thousands of other queer folk my age who'd kill to have that kind of support system."

“I think I getcha," replied Tobias. “We met a couple of folks who 'acted' on the road, and I know a lot around LaColle Falls proper. They—well, they liked to come to the parties, dance with us, drink booze with us, but they never got it, y'know?"

“Does anyone, really, if they aren't queer?"

“Well…" started the wolf. “…maybe?"

“No, go on. I'm intrigued."

“You're having me on."

“No!" said Samuel, beaming his grin through the radio. “I want to hear this."

“You know why I love Judy Garland?"

“You had a crush on the cowardly lion from the movie version."

“Well, yeah," said Tobias. “They always played the coward camp on stage, or all dragged up, which I reckon was supposed to be funny, but I just found it endearing."

“I've never done drag."

“Never?"

“Never," said Samuel. “Have you?"

“Sure did, joker," said Tobias. “Remember Baltimore?"

“Was it fun?"

“I like camp," said the wolf, wistful, “and Garland played camp, but she suffered in secret, just like all the rest of us. The pain she lived for her art and for her glamour was a beauty of a dirge we could all march to."

“I suppose that makes sense, but…"

“But what about actual queer folks?"

“But what about actual queer folks."

“There's plenty of suffering to go around, I reckon," explained Tobias. A snapping branch came and Samuel's ears swiveled, but that snap was coated in static. “Garland was a star before she was an icon, and some queenie lion or white-tailed deer or jackrabbit with glitter on his tail and a flower crown 'round his ears, singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow on a basement stage wasn't what put Garland on the map." Then, with what Samuel had come to recognize as a bashful smile vocalized, the Tobias added, “Or some timber wolf, I reckon."

“You can sing?" asked Samuel.

“Nope."

“Will you, if I ask nicely?"

“I reckon I could be persuaded."

“I'll read you a story," said the red fox, “which, I remind you, I can do with one paw."

“What do you want me to sing, Sam?"

“What do you think?"

“It's settled, then," started Tobias. “Some-WHERE,"

A snap rang out like a gunshot somewhere to Samuel's right. “Tobias," he said.

“Even I heard that one."

“Hello!" Samuel called to copse of jack pines thicker than his tail. “If you're going to kill me, I'm okay with it now! I've got mood music to go with it!"

“You're gonna scare off the murderer."

“I've got my back to a ravine," said Samuel. “Intimidation is all I have."

“Didn't you bring—"

“Why, yes, did I forgot to mention the bazooka?"

Tobias laughed and chided himself under his breath, which Samuel's sensitive ears picked out. His mother had always told him to hold his gossip around other foxes. “Sorry, Sam. Do you want me to radio Emily? Maybe someone came hiking up these parts."

“It could be one someone from Chipewyan proper," Sam reasoned, “come to ask why I've flipped all of their canoes."

“I'm gonna radio Emily."

“Not yet," said Sam. “I'm going to walk towards it."

“Towards what?" said Tobias, the wolf's voice an alarm ringing through the radio. “What do you see?"

“Nothing, which is why I'm investigating."

“You sure about this, Sam?"

Samuel cocked his muzzle to the side. Although adrenaline forced blood through his ears like a distant pounded drum, the birds either hadn't stopped singing or had restarted since the twig snapped. “Yeah, I'm sure."

“Keep talking to me," said Tobias. “I'm gonna radio Emily the second you go quiet."

“Will do," said the red fox, then added, “Not that it'd do me much good." Dropping to a crouch, Samuel crept forward for a few steps, then erected himself again at the behest of his screaming thighs and feetpaws. If it came down to it, Sam's best chance in running away from his Saskatchewan would be hoping that the murderer was more tired from hike-stalking than Samuel was. “I mean," Sam explained, “Emily breezes through these woods, but last I heard—which was this morning—she was handling some camper's mess near Pease Point. So, unless she swims across Kingsmere for fun, all she'll find is my body."

“One," said Tobias as Sam neared the thicket, “Emily has a motorboat."

“I probably should've guessed that."

“Two, I just checked her location, she's at Ajawaan, so the complete opposite end of the lake."

“That bear moves fast."

“She does," said Tobias, projecting false confidence, “but she's been there for two days, now. Doing something with water samples, I reckon."

“I talked to her this morning," said Samuel, popping out from behind a tree. The thicket held only uninteresting trees and interesting mud. The mud was interesting because it held the clear shape of a canine pawprint in a vacant hole facing where Samuel had stood near the ravine, and, although Samuel had on occasion found himself hiking in circles over the past eight weeks, he had never lost track of the ravine. More importantly, Samuel's own footpaw failed to fill the imprint by a good half-inch all around. “She was definitely at Pease Point, but by all means, I'm happy to be wrong."

“Why's that?"

“I think I just found proof that someone's out here with me."

***

Samuel frowned at the muddy pawprint. “Maybe Emily has canine paws."

“I'm calling her—"

“Please do," said Sam, “but maybe it's nothing? It's not illegal to be hiking out here, is it?"

“Well, no," explained the wolf, worry alive in the increase pace of leaf-crunching underpaw, “ but folks are supposed to alert the park service just in case they go missing or get injured, so they can send a search party out. If someone's out here who ain't from Chipewyan, Emily needs to know so she can file a report."

“Okay. You do that, and I," said Samuel, staring down his snout at the pawprint like it held the secrets of the cosmos, “am going to get to our meeting point as quick as I can."

“Good plan."

“I try."

Samuel tried not to panic. He hadn't lost the ravine, but the distance between the hanging ledge and the tree line had become a tightrope with no safety net. On the one paw, the closer he walked to the trees, the more his muzzle flared and his ears swiveled like mad despite Tobias's uneasy cooing. On the other paw, the closer he pawed to the ravine's edge, the more his rational brain warned him that the ground could give way and cause actual injury. The gentle decline meant that only ten or so feet separated Samuel from the stream, but a sprained footpaw was the last thing a fox could need when being pseudo-stalked by a bashful axe-murderer. Moreover, if his distant observer turned out to be just a curious but antisocial hiker, Samuel would put an early end to his summer employment. A wildfire lookout unable to hike was as useful as pack of wet matches.

The red fox would've kissed the earth when it levelled out and the pond came into sight as a distant speck, but Samuel didn't do tongue on the first date. He did, however, sprint until his lungs stung with fire and his labored legs unionized, which put him only a hundred or so meters from the forest's edge where Sam had agreed to meet Tobias.

“I'm here," panted Samuel. “Please tell me you're close."

“Should be coming up on it any minute now," said Tobias. “I let Emily know someone was hiking up in this area, but I didn't mention you."

“Good. Being stalked could've," started Samuel, “impacted my performance report."

“Still cracking wise?"

“It's my natural defense mechanism."

“A regular Joan Rivers," said Tobias. “I fixed up a little campsite for us a week ago. Some old logs I dragged over to the tree cover and a tent on dry ground. Just in case," Tobias explained. With some squinting, Samuel spotted the grey-and-darker-grey nylon through a thin grouping of trees.

“Just in case?"

“Shoot, I might've been eager."

“What happened to 'the great outdoors?'" asked Samuel, drawing closer, one footpaw after the other. Fatigue wracked him too much for his tail to bristle.

“Well, I reckoned if we were up for it, we could've tried it out there, too. Almost there."

Samuel staggered through a small gathering of quaking aspens and around a chokeberry bush. It was a quaint campsite, with little out of the ordinary except for the short icebox beside a worn tent, and a familiar stranger wolf sitting on a sun-baked log with one paw pressed against his greying muzzle—a gesture saying keep quiet.

Samuel froze. He didn't dare break the older wolf's gaze, but his own eyes were unfocused, and the fox brain behind them trying too hard to process too much on too little oxygen. It had been just over two months since he'd hitchhiked his way up here, but Samuel remembered those soft amber eyes.

“I'm here by the tent," said Tobias through the radio. “Where are you?"

The stranger gestured to Samuel's radio, but remained silent. Permission granted.

“I'm here, Tobias," said Samuel, unclipping his radio and raising it to his muzzle. The fox's eyes flicked across the clearing and back to the older, silent wolf. “Right by the tent and the logs, like you said."

“No you ain't. No one's here but me," said Tobias. “I'm right—"

“Tent with two shades of grey," started Sam, voice and paws trembling, “icebox beside it?"

“This ain't—you're having me on, Sam," said Tobias, confusion and betrayal bubbling up in his muzzle and through the radio. “You're watching me with binoculars or something. This ain't funny."

“I'm standing in front of the tent, Tobias," said Samuel, trying to read the stranger wolf's soft amber eyes.

“Then why can't I see you?"

“I think," said Samuel, stomach turning, “that I see you. I also think that I'm going to pass out."

Samuel did.

---

Chapter 3—SANCTUARY

Samuel woke up to slow-shifting starlight drifting through an aspen canopy, like when he and his sister were little cubs camping. They begged and begged to stay up and watch the prairie sky away from all the city lights, but never made it past eleven, so mother and father would carry them back to their tents like limp sacks of liquid fur. If Samuel kept his eyes shut and mind unfocused, he could piece together that moment from his delusion.

In the rhythmic swaying of being carried, yet also knowing he was far heavier and older than the very last time his mother had picked him up, Samuel felt between eras. Copper lingered in his muzzle and muffled his snout like the brain-buzzing of pond mosquitos, but any traumatic head-injuries sustained during his months of hiking around Chipewyan tower explained that away, at least as a contributing factor. The red fox was gay, after all, and, at age nineteen, overdue for personal tragedy. Perhaps it was something with an early-onset, exacerbated by Samuel's numbing boredom in the lookout tower and an imagination overeager to insulate itself from his own thoughts. Emily and the shrew had warned him that not everyone could handle having their paws idle for an entire summer. His senses had interpreted cosmic noise into patterns for his lonesome mind, and, apparently, named it Tobias.

Yet, while the night forest was steeped in Samuel's own smell, the strong odor of red fox, underlying that was the scent of the stranger wolf who had driven him up from LaColle in the first place. Large cupped ears plucked out the older wolf's heavy, gruff breathing and the crackling of leaves like sparking tinder underpaw. Despite his senses pushing him down time's river, however, Samuel screwed his eyes shut tighter than before because he hadn't yet finished weighing his options. On one paw, he might have well spent he better part of three months alone, talking to an empty radio about old Hollywood movies he didn't really know and sex education he was unqualified to teach, and that would be frightening. Clutched in the other paw, though, with razor claws, was the knowledge that he was being carried on the back of a stranger wolf Samuel hadn't seen in almost three months, but, who, if the fox stretched his brain, had technically known Samuel for over a decade. Maybe more, given the wolf's grey.

“Hey there, joker," whispered the wolf. His gravel had weathered much, and there was a smoothness to him that had never carried through the radio filter. “Think you can walk on your own for a bit?"

Draped over the older wolf, Samuel's tail trailed the dirt and leaf litter. Tobias's rough voice had added inches over the fox in ways more than one, but Samuel's lush tawny pelt swallowed the wolf. “But I'm tired," said Samuel with a whine. As he slid off the wolf's back, he added, “I thought you'd be taller than me."

“And I reckoned you'd weigh more," said the older wolf. He stretched, joints popping, tongue rolling out of his muzzle with a tired yawn.

“I guess we both disappointed," said Samuel. “Where are we?"

“On the way."

“Cryptic."

“I don't wanna explain things twice or spoil myself," replied the wolf, unclipping a familiar radio from his belt, “and there's someone who's been dying to talk to you, joker. Just—well, I'm gonna keep hiking up ahead, real slow so you can follow, but you should know that if he hears me talk, that'll be it."

There wasn't enough fear or sass for Samuel to fuel a reply—the fox was having trouble enough standing on his own paws, let alone processing the fuckery happening in the woods that night—so he nodded, and the older wolf trod on through the woods. Samuel watched the starlight, white spruce, and quaking aspens swallow him until the wolf was no more than a distant shape. Then, Samuel whined, rubbed the sleep from his muzzle, and clicked on his radio.

“Tobias?" whispered Samuel. “Are you there?"

A great clatter and a string of distant curses burst through the radio at once, followed by Tobias's normal gravel-and-static choking out, “Joker?"

***

“I called Emily when you went cold," explained Tobias. Hiking kept the fox's ears listening and Samuel breathing enough to not pass out again. “After she calmed me down and got the whole story straight, she told me there weren't anyone stationed out in Chipewyan tower. Hadn't been since before she joined the service."

“I never asked her about Sanctuary Lake tower either," said Samuel. “I thought—well, it would've been a dumb question, wouldn't it?"

Tobias blew a raspberry through the radio. One of the many habits the fox and wolf had traded, over the months. “Took hours to convince her it was a dumb joke and I didn't need to be relieved from duty. She's coming out first thing tomorrow morning to check up on me anyway," said Tobias, mirth alive in the radio, “so that'll be fun."

“You're taking this better than I did."

“I really didn't," replied Tobias, “and I still don't know what this is."

“My brain aches just thinking about it," explained the fox, rubbing at the base of his ears, “but I have…proof, which makes it easier, I guess."

“Gonna share with the rest of the class?"

“You might want to sit down for this."

“If you're about to tell me your name isn't really 'Sam' and you aren't with the park service, I'm ready enough for that," said the wolf, gravel trembling like the beginnings of an earthquake. “I just wanna know why, is all."

“My name is still Sam, Tobias."

“Still a fox?"

“Still a fox," replied Samuel, frown audible, “still a fire lookout stationed at Chipewyan tower."

“You lost me."

“Plant your tail on a soft surface," said Samuel, “and I'll tell you."

“I'm back in my tower, in that uncomfortable wooden chair," said Tobias. “Now spit it out, joker."

“When was—" started Samuel, mind going blank for a moment. “—when was the thing with that cub down in Laramie? How many summers ago, Tobias?"

“Happened just after last summer," replied Tobias. “so just one summer, I reckon. I don't get it."

“For me," said Samuel, frowning further, “it's been thirteen more than that."

The distant static of crickets reaching the wolf's radio were the only indication that Tobias was still there.

“Tell me you didn't pass out."

“Tell me the actual reason you weren't at the campsite."

“I'm being serious, Tobias."

“No, you ain't," snapped Tobias, causing Samuel's tail to bristle. “'Cause I'm not that big of an idiot, Sam. The next time you try to convince a wolf you're in the future, try not mentioning his immediate surroundings."

“…I don't follow."

“If you're so far ahead of me," said the wolf, slow, “how'd you know what my campsite looks like?"

Samuel stared off at the distant wolf hiking ahead of him and regretted not insisting on more questions. “If I say 'it's complicated'—"

“I'm gonna tell you to pound sand, so try again."

The red fox rubbed at the base of his ears again. “Did you," started Samuel, slow, muzzle moving in time with his brain wrapping itself around the subject matter, “take down the campsite before you left?"

“No," replied Tobias. “Took me three days to haul all that gear out there."

“Maybe you never go back and get it."

“You don't sound too sure, yourself."

“I'm not," said Samuel. Then, he added, “I don't know what I'm supposed to say, here, or what I can."

“Just—just give me something I can work with, Sam."

“I don't know!" snapped Samuel, startling an owl somewhere high up in the trees above him. “Anything I say or suggest has a much more reasonable explanation than what I'm suggesting—namely, that I'm spying on you with binoculars or sneaking into your tower when you're out for a hike. How am I supposed to prove this to you?"

“Well," said the wolf, drawling, “what kind of proof do you have that's so convincing?"

“I think," said Samuel, “I met the older you."

The radio snorted. “Am I still pretty?"

“Do you want an honest answer to that?"

“I want proof."

“Okay. Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?" asked Samuel.

“Yeah."

“Write down," started Samuel, then the fox stopped dead, brain aching. After a pause and smoothing down his tail, Samuel continued hiking forward and said, “Write down something you were going to do for me this summer, but hadn't gotten around to yet."

“Sure, why not," said the wolf, skeptical. “What does this—"

“You were going to fix up a canoe for me down at Chipewyan proper," Samuel guessed.

A chair skidded back through the radio and overturned itself. “What in the fuck—"

“It—oh, God, none of this makes any sense, ow," said the red fox, “and it only gets worse."

“Either I've lost it completely, or you have, or you're actually telling the truth, but, all right, Sam, I'll bite," said the wolf, voice fraying. “How in the Hell could this get any worse?"

“Because, Tobias," said the fox, “I think tonight is the last night you and I get to talk."

***

The older wolf hadn't so much as looked back at Samuel since they started hiking, which, to some extent, Samuel understood. There was a pain unique to a goodbye spoken knowing there'd be years before the next hello, one that lingered in your fur for weeks after like rotting anticipation. Tobias had already gone through it once, and, Samuel suspected, several times over the past three months. These wounds were fresh for the fox, but for the older, they had been stitched shut with salt.

“So, when you said Emily was at Pease Point…"

“She was," said Samuel. “Is. Will be. Your Emily is still at Ajawaan, I guess."

“Good to know she's still with the service after all those years," said Tobias, amused. Samuel did his best to channel that same mood, having middling success. “And Chipewyan proper becomes a ghost town, huh? That's some crap."

“This feels like we're cheating."

“On what, joker?" asked the wolf, not waiting for an answer. “If the world or timeline or whatever didn't want us talking," explained Tobias, “it shouldn't have hooked us up through the radio."

“I guess you're right," replied the fox. “Sorry I don't know any lottery numbers off the top of my ears, though."

“I reckon you said enough over the past few months to clue me in on some things," said Tobias. “And, speaking of—you said you met older me?"

“I don't know how much I can talk about that."

“Fine," said the wolf, “but I want an honest answer to what I asked, first."

“Pardon?"

“Am I still pretty?"

“Tobias—"

“I'll be able to tell if you lie," warned the wolf, “so you better be honest."

The fox narrowed his eyes at the distant speck of an older wolf ahead of him. “You went grey early and it threw me off," started Samuel, a teasing edge to his voice, “but you're fitter than I am, even if you're not as tall as your voice suggests."

“You haven't said if I'm pretty or not yet."

“Maybe I'm still making up my mind."

“Ouch."

“Not like that," Samuel explained, his muzzle softening. “I was really looking forward to meeting you, Tobias, but I don't—"

“I get it," said the wolf. “You gotta be careful about the things you say."

“I want you to—I want a happy life for you, Tobias." Samuel kicked a footpaw hard at the dirt underpaw, scattering it. They were approaching some kind of meadow—the trees were shorter and growing apart, and the roots held less earth, there. Plus, the reflective yellow ribbons marking the trail back were less frequent. “It's just not fair for you to put your life on hold for thirteen years to—well, to, what, see some fox you've known for three months? People break up all the time. Maybe we'd date for six months, then decide we didn't work, and I'd have cost you thirteen years of waiting. Or, maybe the reason we'd break up is because I made you wait thirteen years for me and the resent just built up, even though we both tried not to. Or—"

“Or maybe you ain't sure you can handle the age gap?"

The fox paused.

Tobias whined, quiet. “I didn't mean it like that."

“No, that's fair," said Samuel. He shook his head at the radio out of habit. “That's also not the reason I'm worried. I'm still building up the nerve to—well, I'm going to talk to you again, and I suppose I'll find out if you're seeing someone else, or married, or—"

“wait."

“Oh, crap—"

“I can get married in Saskatchewan?" asked the wolf, incredulous. “I can get married in Saskatchewan!"

“You're as pretty as I imagined you'd be, Tobias," said the red fox. Samuel stifled a sniffle. “Do you promise to live your life?"

“Good to know," said Tobias with a radio smile, “and I do, Sam."

“Then…I guess this is goodbye."

“Aw, don't cry for me, joker," said the wolf. “You're gonna make me tear up, and that ain't fair."

“I know, it's dumb," whispered Samuel, ears swiveling to the sound of the older wolf ahead breaching a clearing and stopping. “It'll just be the flick of a tail for me."

“It ain't dumb, joker," said Tobias. “Just different."

“Goodbye, Tobias," said Samuel. “Bang a nice ringtail for me, okay?"

The radio was silent.

“Tobias?" repeated Samuel.

“Up here, joker," called the older wolf from the clearing.

***

Dark carbon scarring crept up the metal struts of Sanctuary Lake tower, slowly fading the higher they went, but where fire could not reach, smoke had stained. Though Samuel hadn't been there or seen much from the wildfires of last year, the red fox understood that the tower was the only thing the clearing had preserved. Yet, unlike Chipewyan proper, this place had not begun to rot. The lush meadowgrasses and wildflowers painted pale in the moonlight held a youthful beauty, and the clearing as a whole was edged with saplings that barely reached Samuel's knees. The only hints of past ash were in the older Tobias's pelt, at which the fox found himself sneaking glances.

“It's not what I expected," said Samuel, peeling his eyes from the wolf, “but this is beautiful. It hadn't really occurred to me that the wildfire would affect the lookout towers, too."

Tobias cleared his throat. “They send a helicopter if the fires get too close."

“So, what you're saying is," started Samuel, “I'll finally get to fly?"

“If there's a wildfire, yeah," replied Tobias.

“Maybe we should start one."

“Come on, joker," said the wolf with a snort. “Ain't been that long, I know when you're using jokes 'cause you're feeling awkward. Just like—"

“Joan Crawford. It's literally been thirteen years since you last talked to me."

“Joan Crawford, yeah," said Tobias. “And, not true."

“Did you—"

“No, joker," said Tobias. The wolf blew a raspberry, cringed at himself, then explained, “Sorry. I didn't stalk you as a cub—that'd be so, so awful, Jesus, no. I just meant I talked to you when I drove you up here, is all."

“Why did you?"

“Huh?"

“Drive me up here," replied Samuel. The red fox started walking out of habit—Tobias's voice had always followed him wherever, when he'd been hiking—and the wolf followed after him, both snaking paths through the ankle-high grasses under starlight. “None of this makes any sense to me, Tobias."

“Wasn't the question I was expecting."

“I'm procrastinating."

“Fair," replied the wolf. “You know where the wildfire last year started out?"

“Sort of? It was near Ajawaan, right?"

“Spot on," said Tobias. Samuel had stopped at the base of the tower, where the scattered remains of anything too heavy for the wind and too inorganic to degrade lay hidden in the grasses. “Conditions were right, so lightning touched down and up she went in the night. By morning, the sweet, sweet cottage I've done all my years of service was nothing but ash and embers."

“Oh my God."

“Thing is, I wasn't there, because—"

“Because I told you," said Samuel, rubbing at his ears, “about the awful wildfire last year."

“Was on high alert for weeks that summer," said the wolf with a smooth gravel chuckle. “So, the second I heard thunder, I called in the fire—never actually saw it, myself—and high-tailed it out of here to the lake so they could pick me up in the morning."

“Oh my God—"

“You saved my life, Sam."

“When I mentioned that I was picked up by an old wolf while hitch-hiking…"

“I put two and two together when I started going grey early," said Tobias. “You saved my life, Sam, and I reckoned I had to make sure you did. Asked Emily when you were supposed to show up. Drove up and down that highway three times before I found you, y'know."

“My brain hurts," whined the red fox. “It hurts a lot. All the stuff in the woods—"

“Was me, 'cause I'd heard it on one end, and—"

“the tent, you set up the scene the exact same way—"

“Yeah," replied the wolf. “A lot to take in, ain't it?"

Samuel huffed and dug a claw into his palm. “Did you ever figure out why…?"

Tobias blew another raspberry and flicked a claw off the carbon-scarred metal of the tower. “Spent every summer since then trying to get a clue."

“Did you?"

“Not really," said the wolf. “LaColle is—it ain't right, a real queer place, and these woods have real deep roots." Tobias placed one footpaw on the first rung of the tower's ladder, half a kick, half a question, to which Samuel nodded, and, in response, Tobias added, “I got a theory, though."

“Care to share with the—"

“I'm gonna stop you right there," said the wolf with a grin. “If you start pulling out my words from thirteen years ago_,_ you're gonna regret it."

“I'll be nice," said Samuel, tail flicking behind him, “promise."

“Now, why don't I believe that?" said Tobias. The soft amber side-eye he gave the red fox was deadly and reassuring, in that Samuel had long imagined Tobias's reactions to these very conversations, and yet, falling back into the same patterns was frightening for the both of them. Resting his muzzle on one of the higher tower rungs, Tobias filled the warm silence by asking, “Is this as weird for you as it is for me?"

“Yes," said Samuel, “and no."

“Cryptic."

“It's—well, this all ought to be weirder than it is," explained Samuel, “which makes it weird that it's not."

“You lost me there, joker."

“Did you keep your promise, Tobias?"

“About living my life?" asked the wolf, fangs flashing in a grin. “Or about the ringtail?"

“Both."

“Let's get you home," said Tobias, pushing off the tower's rungs, “and you'll find out."

“If this has been one big plot to lure me to your serial killer lair—"

“—it was—"

“—then I give up, you win."

***

It took a while for Samuel to recover from his hiking test, which neither the fox or the wolf could determine if Samuel had passed or failed, given the circumstances. Tobias stayed to assist Samuel's recovery, which, as a new detection aide, the wolf reasoned was within the scope of his responsibilities. The fox's fatigue hadn't halted their catching-up, but, as night crept upon them, an unfamiliar distance grew up between the two. Tobias offered to rough it on the floor in his sleeping bag. Samuel, however, offered that they had talked each other to climax dozens of times, so Tobias slept in the bed, fully-clothed despite the grueling heat, and kept his paws above the fox's waist. Still, Samuel woke up smelling of wolf, and found that he liked how their scents mixed.

A day later, polaroids were pinned across every surface of Chipewyan tower in an anachronistic order, as Tobias had organized them by related anecdotes rather than year or month. In the middle of one of the wolf's stories—none about Kurt the ringtail thus far, but one about meeting Diana Ross—Samuel interrupted to ask if he could kiss the wolf, to which Tobias had said yes, and after that, Samuel had asked again, and Tobias stopped telling stories until the afternoon when they broke apart for dinner.

A week later, Samuel was laying flat-backed on the docks of Chipewyan proper, an album of faded polaroids splayed open beside him, and not an iota of clothing hiding his tawny fur from the afternoon sun or the peppered-grey coat of the older wolf pinning him to the old boardwalk. At first, there was something off about the wolf rutting against Samuel's muzzle in the ghost town Chipewyan proper had become, but when Tobias's tongue entered the fox, Samuel's old inhibitions about being seen melted away. By the time Tobias had flipped around and hilted himself to his knot, the fox had forgotten his own name and was busy crying out Tobias's. When he and Tobias were huffing messes of same-smelling fur glued together, Samuel realized his loud and eager moaning was the liveliest thing Chipewyan had seen in years. Then, in the afterglow, Tobias took the fox out on a canoe and finally sang him a full rendition of Somewhere Over the Rainbow, and Samuel flipped the canoe again.

A month later, they were not in Chipewyan proper, and although Samuel had lost count of how many times they'd fucked, the fox was still eager to try out all the scenarios he and Tobias had planned out two months ago, give or take thirteen years. Tobias had started off bashful. Getting the wolf to admit he'd erred on the sluttier side of things once he discovered that there was a queer scene in LaColle helped Samuel ease the wolf's shy side. Moroever, Tobias's newfound experience suited Samuel just fine. The first few times the fox had messed around with his two friends, it had been like lighting fireworks—explosive, dangerous, and exciting, but plagued by fumbling paws, snagged tails, and bashed-together snouts. Tobias, however, was a smooth ride, even despite the wolf's thick knot.

As they were still on lookout duty and the occasional task would arise for Tobias to handle alone as a detection aide, they planned ahead. Both Samuel and Tobias had camera phones, yet Tobias insisted that the fox use a polaroid camera to take—in Tobias's words— glamour shots of the wolf in all his grey-peppered glory to remember him by. Each time, the photoshoots began tastefully with a tease of sheath and arched back, then, impatient, Samuel discarded the camera and tasted the wolf's ass, which Tobias had discovered he enjoyed about eight years ago, and Samuel three weeks ago. After the wolf finished—and sometimes finished again, as Samuel found he could push the wolf's refractory period to its limit with his tongue—the fox would snap a few more pictures, add them to the album, and then wave a stained handkerchief goodbye at Tobias as he left Chipeywayn tower, like the wolf was going to war.

When Tobias eventually returned, they rutted as though the wolf had come back from a war. It was a little time loop that both Tobias and Samuel much preferred to any other, and one that lasted until the start of September—although the fox agreed he'd take the job again if circumstances permitted and if Emily would tolerate them.

In the end, Chipewyan tower only reported one middling wildfire, which was contained, Samuel never adjusted to wearing much clothing during the summer, and Tobias asked if Samuel would move in with him. The fox said yes.