By some miracle her words seemed to work; Colin acknowledged her with a nod, an ear flick, and to Finley it was as though he caved in upon himself again. Tense and silent he carried on, leaving her ever curious as to what had set him off. Born blind, deaf, weak. A death sentence. She turned his words over and inside-out and flat and torn and whole again—and all the while, the idea that his outburst stemmed from a personal wound did not occur to the reclusive soldier. It was a fleeting entertainment if anything; he’d presented his story with clipped words, questioned the assumption his past was “sad.” None of it suggested to Finley the root of his bitterness. Studying Colin now, his walk betrayed nothing.

Maybe she should ask? The cloud of her own thoughts parted; they’d all permitted the conversation to drift. An odd tension hung above them, which also baffled Finley—what were they waiting for?

Derg’s chuff broke the stillness, as he dropped into a play bow. Like a pup. First Donovan, now him; at this rate Finley would give up trying to get a read on any of these wolves. “What,” she said, voice no drier than usual, “are you doing.” She offered a conciliatory wave of her tail as accompaniment, lest the air grow fragile again.

Plot twist: Derg could be cocky. Lighting the fuckin’ mood indeed. Suddenly Finley understood a little more what Donovan had seen in him, even if it was, far as she knew, a rarer mood for the scarred male. Even Colin threw in a smile, and now they were playing tag. Near a gorge. In the middle of a journey to a new home.

But clearly, she was outnumbered. It’d been ages since Finley’s last romp, but surely they wouldn’t get away with straying too long? She was about to confirm permission with leadership when something small and wet bopped up against her nose. Tag.

Her tail kept swaying, faster now but still not quite a wag. Fine. If they were playing games, she’d show her how she “played.” Finley drew in a slow breath, as if exasperated (despite her tail’s betrayal)—and without hesitation ducked towards Colin, as if to nip him on the chin. She kept her mouth clamped shut, however; in her version of tag she might have gone for a real bite, but not here. Not now. Derg’s gentle nose had told her this was going to be a very different kind of game.

Game, set, tag. Colin marked successfully.

Finley skidded back, as if dodging a raging elk, but “it” had a new target. Derg stayed close, dropping into another play bow; right, of course, no need to run far. They were still on a journey after all; of course the back-and-forth chase would barely resemble a cross-plain hunt, as the “game” had in Finley’s youth.

It was as though they were but dumb, romping pups. Look at Derg, tongue lolling and tail wagging! at Colin, all his sad miasma nowhere to be found. The invitation for Finley to do the same extended its hand; she took it with the formality of a business meeting, but took it nonetheless.

And so Finley dropped to her elbows with the grace of a poorly-rigged 3d model. Should she raise her tail? Her focus darted from Derg to Colin to the lead couple—oh sweet sun what would they think, their subordinates running around like children like this, but this wasn’t about them—to Derg to Colin again. The best Finley could do, for now, was mirror their gestures, in her feeble attempt at what was cordially known as playtime—and avoid being tagged, yes. That too. Who knew a game could be so harrowing.

From nose to chin to shoulder the title of “it” was bestowed upon each in turn, and as it returned to Derg a light breeze swept around the trio. Was this “fun”? Finley felt more silly than anything, less lighthearted more wondering what in night’s name she’d gotten herself into, but here they were.

With a spring in his step Derg bounded for Colin, perhaps looking to return the tag, and with a sidelong glance towards Finley as not to let her escape their game. What, was he looking for more participation? Ah, what the hell. She’d offer her tag on a silver platter.

For the first time with a stroke of genuity, Finley wagged her tail, then surged at them with the most playful romp she could muster—and not as forced as expected, at that. Tag me next, the move seemed to challenge. If you can!