Page 63 of Easy, Tiger

Hamil's jaw works silently for a moment. "We improvised and found shelter in the old mining caves."

"Saved seventeen lives that night because we adapted." My father's voice retains the authority of decades. "Our ancestors weren't fools, but they weren't rigid either. They changed routes when conditions demanded it."

Bess shuffles uncomfortably. "This is different. We're abandoning everything."

"We're evolving." Dad stands, his presence commanding attention despite his age. "The young ones see threats we've grown blind to. Nolan's proven his judgment protecting this enclave for years."

The elders swap uneasy expressions as doubt eats away at their resistance.

My father resumes again before calling the vote, his gaze moving slowly around the circle. "I've witnessed three generations of this enclave grow up in these mountains. The young ones see what we've grown too comfortable to notice. Nolan's judgment has kept us alive for years now, and Halsey sees patterns the rest of us have never had reason to look for. We adapt, or eventually, something like this hunter finds us standing still."

"Vote," Dad declares. "All in favor of new migration routes."

Hands rise slowly. First Sadie, then Owen. My father's palm joins them. After a long silence, three more elders follow suit.

Hamil remains seated, hands clasped over his chest, lips pinched in a hard line. "The vote stands, but mark me. If something goes wrong out there, it's on your head, Nolan. Not the council's."

"I'll carry that." I stand firm before him, refusing to yield. "And we start tonight."

The next two days blur into controlled chaos. We maintain our normal routines during daylight—I work at the shop, Halsey sketches in town, Owen patrols his ranger routes. But after dark, the real work begins.

"Cache point seven cleared," Sadie reports through the encrypted radio, static crackling through her words. "Supplies relocated to the secondary site."

Hauling another pack of emergency rations through the dense underbrush, I follow GPS coordinates to locations no hunter could predict. My shoulder aches faintly where the old bullet finished healing, a dull reminder of exactly why we're out here at two in the morning instead of asleep. Halsey moves beside me, her night vision surprisingly sharp for a human, picking her way over roots and loose stone.

"You're good at this," I tell her, adjusting the pack against my back. "Most people can't move this quietly in the dark."

"Years of trying not to spook wildlife before I could sketch it." Slipping smoothly beneath a low branch, she keeps her momentum unbroken. "Turns out stalking skills transfer."

The new routes snake through terrain we've scouted but never used for winter migration, abandoned logging roads, forgotten mining claims, seasonal ranger stations left empty during winter months. The ground turns treacherous well before we're halfway there, loose scree giving way underfoot on a steep grade, deadfall stacked three logs deep across what used to be a trail. Halsey stumbles for the third time in ten minutes, catching herself on a boulder, and I stop and set down my pack.

"I can move faster over this than you can and haul more weight doing it." I inspect her face for any sign of alarm, giving her the warning she deserves before I do something that's going to come across as a lot more startling in the dark than it did back in that clearing weeks ago. "This slope's going to eat another hour if we keep picking through it on two legs. You'd have to ride. That work for you?"

She eyes me like I've suggested something faintly ridiculous. "You want me to ride you. Like a horse."

"Like a tiger, technically."

"Absolutely not." But there's no real refusal in it, more reflex than conviction, and I can see her already calculating the alternative, another hour of postholing through drifts that keep stealing her boots.

Stripping down, I stuff my clothes into my own pack before shifting, leaving both packs secured for her to gather once I'm through. The change comes easy and quick after so many years of practice, and when I straighten to my full height in front of her, she still recoils instinctively.

"You better not drop me," she mutters, gathering both packs onto her shoulders before easing herself down onto my back, fingers burying deep into my fur.

A low, rumbling huff escapes me—more growl than words—but she laughs like she understands the joke anyway, kindling something warm low in my chest. Moving cautiously at first, I let her find her balance, then pick up speed once she's balanced, four paws finding sure footing on ground that had her stumbling only minutes ago, ferrying her and both packs through terrain that would have taken us twice as long, stumbling over deadfall and loose stone. She rides with her hands buried in my fur, trusting me completely as I pick a path down the steep, dark slope, her weight and warmth molded against my back the whole way. Moving through the cold autumn night together like this, without a hint of fear from her, secures something in me that no amount of talking ever could.

When we reach the next cache site, I set her down gently and retreat behind a stand of pines to shift back and dress. By the time I rejoin her, she's already sorting supplies with swift competence, pretending the last twenty minutes were the most ordinary thing in the world.

"Never doing that again," she says, not looking up from the crate she's unpacking.

"Sure."

"I mean it, Nolan."

"I heard you the first time," I crouch down to help her sort, hiding my smile. "You loved it."

She doesn't argue.

Each cache point gets marked with subtle symbols carved into bark, invisible to anyone who doesn't know our code.