Panther Park Then surely I'll do the same,

vague about preceding events but couldn’t resist

The mountains hid danger, that much was clear. Retracing the Saints’ passage south through the conifers was hardly a safer bet, but at least it was familiar. Of all things Finley had pursued—glory, escape, a fight—this was perhaps one of the most sensible. Between aching injury and incessant rainfall, a little shelter wouldn’t hurt. Just once. As a treat.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad.”

A laugh signaled Finley wasn’t alone. Autopilot had left her memory hazy as the view through rain; she scarcely knew the conifers, let alone the voice or scent. She certainly wouldn’t have recognized the Court, if any traces lingered on the stranger; the Saints’ scent, in turn, had faded from Finley’s. With this encounter she represented no one but herself.

Part of her wanted to stay put, to listen in silence to determine if the stranger was talking to herself, for what reason—but that, Finley had learned, could be seen as stalking, and she was in no mood to incite attack. With her head and tail lowered, the stance of someone averse to a fight, she took a cautious step forward. “What’s not so bad?” The question, though inflection-free as ever, came out softer than usual. High alert had not abandoned her yet.