“Yes. A stranger. And Fisher did it anyway. He bonded a small part of himself to the scrap of life that was clinging on inside me, and that was that. I was still sick as a dog, but death loosened his grip on me. I knew I was going to live, and so did Kingfisher. He told me he was leaving to find the other wolves and that he’d be back in three months. He said I could go as soon as I was feeling better, if that’s what I wanted to do, but that there was a place here for me as well, if I preferred the idea of that instead.”
