Gravity Has Opinions

Pack Rule #21: If the Beta says, “Nobody move,” the Alpha has already moved.

The goat was still chewing the ladder.

Not quickly.

Not guiltily.

Just steadily, as though someone had assigned him the task and he intended to finish before lunch.

I stared at him.

He stared back.

A small piece of wood disappeared between his teeth.

Crunch.

“Stop that.”

Crunch.

“I mean it.”

The goat blinked.

Then took another bite.

Above us, Rowan leaned around the tree trunk, one arm wrapped securely around the tiny kitten tucked inside his jacket.

“Mason?”

I looked up.

“What?”

“I don’t want to rush you.”

“That would be a refreshing change.”

“But I think this branch is becoming less supportive of the rescue effort.”

The branch creaked beneath his boots.

Every wolf in the clearing took another step backward.

I pointed at Rowan.

“Do not move.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

The branch dipped.

Rowan’s boot slid an inch.

The entire clearing gasped.

He tightened one arm around the tree and pressed the kitten closer to his chest.

“I’m fine.”

“You are thirty feet in the air, standing on a branch that has begun negotiating its retirement.”

“It’s a strong branch.”

Crack.

Rowan glanced down.

“…Strong-minded.”

I closed my eyes.

Deep breath.

I was the Beta of Wolf Ridge.

I handled patrol schedules, territory disputes, winter budgets, supply shortages, and the occasional full-moon-related furniture replacement.

Surely I could handle one tree.

One Alpha.

One frightened kitten.

And one goat with an unexplained appetite for safety equipment.

Probably.

“Secure the ladder,” I ordered.

Four patrol wolves moved immediately.

Two grabbed either side.

One planted both feet against the bottom rung.

The fourth attempted to pull the goat away.

The goat objected.

Loudly.

“I didn’t know goats could make that sound,” someone whispered.

“Neither did I,” I replied. “Add it to the list of things I didn’t need to learn today.”

The patrol wolf wrapped both arms around the goat’s middle.

The goat braced all four legs against the ground.

Neither moved.

It was less of a rescue effort and more of a deeply personal disagreement.

Elder Martha remained seated on the picnic blanket, calmly pouring another cup of tea.

“You could help,” I told her.

She lifted one eyebrow.

“I am helping.”

“How?”

“I’m remaining calm.”

“That is not currently our biggest shortage.”

She smiled and took a sip.

Above us, the kitten gave a tiny, frightened meow.

Rowan’s whole expression changed.

“I know, little buddy,” he murmured. “We’re getting you down.”

I looked at the ladder.

Then at Rowan.

Then back at the ladder.

It still fell short by several feet.

There was only one reasonable solution.

Unfortunately, I hated it.

“I’m going up.”

The patrol wolves turned toward me.

Rowan leaned over the branch.

“No.”

I stared at him.

“You lost the right to vote when you climbed a tree without a ladder.”

“Mason, it isn’t safe.”

Silence swept through the clearing.

Slowly, I looked around.

Several wolves immediately turned away, suddenly fascinated by the grass.

Even Elder Martha hid a smile behind her teacup.

I faced Rowan again.

“You are warning me about safety.”

“I can recognize unsafe choices in other people.”

“Apparently from an excellent vantage point.”

The branch creaked again.

That settled it.

I tucked my clipboard beneath Elder Martha’s arm.

“Hold this.”

She accepted it.

“Should I begin the report?”

“Leave room.”

“For what?”

I grabbed the ladder.

“I have a feeling Rowan isn’t finished.”

“I heard that,” Rowan called.

“It was intended for you.”

I placed one boot on the first rung.

The ladder shifted slightly.

Four wolves tightened their grip.

The goat stopped fighting long enough to watch me with suspicious interest.

“If he bites the ladder again,” I said, pointing at him, “remove him.”

The patrol wolf still holding the goat looked exhausted.

“I’m trying.”

“Try with greater authority.”

The goat sneezed directly into his face.

I began climbing.

The first few rungs were easy.

The next few reminded me that I spent far too much time behind a desk.

By the time I reached the middle, the clearing had gone quiet.

That was worse than shouting.

“Everyone stop staring.”

No one stopped.

Rowan looked down at me.

“You’re doing great.”

“I don’t need encouragement.”

“I think you do.”

“I need you to stop speaking.”

“That also seems fair.”

I climbed higher.

The ladder swayed.

My grip tightened.

The kitten poked his head from Rowan’s jacket and stared down at me with enormous green eyes.

“This is your fault,” I told him.

The kitten meowed.

Rowan frowned.

“Don’t blame him.”

“I’m blaming everyone equally.”

“That seems reasonable.”

I reached the highest rung.

Still too short.

Of course it was.

Rowan crouched as low as the branch allowed, carefully supporting the kitten with both hands.

“Can you reach him?”

I stretched upward.

My fingertips brushed soft orange fur.

The kitten pulled away.

“No.”

“He’s scared.”

“I noticed.”

“Talk to him.”

I stared at Rowan.

“You talk to him.”

“He already trusts me.”

“Then why is he refusing to leave you?”

Rowan smiled.

“Because he has excellent judgment.”

Someone below laughed.

I ignored them.

“Fine.”

I looked at the kitten.

The kitten looked at me.

His ears flattened.

“Listen,” I said quietly. “I understand that today has been upsetting.”

The kitten blinked.

“I also understand that you may have formed an attachment to the reckless man currently holding you.”

“Mason.”

“Quiet.”

I reached up again, moving slowly.

“But if you stay here, he will eventually attempt something even more foolish.”

“That feels unnecessary.”

“It’s accurate.”

The kitten sniffed my fingers.

Then one tiny paw settled against my hand.

The entire clearing went silent.

I slid my palm beneath his belly.

“There you go.”

Rowan carefully lowered him into my arms.

The moment the kitten touched my chest, every claw he possessed caught in my shirt.

I froze.

He climbed upward and tucked himself beneath my chin, his little body trembling against me.

Something tightened inside my chest.

Not fear.

Not irritation.

Something softer.

Something I preferred not to examine in front of half the pack.

I held him securely with one arm.

“You’re safe,” I murmured.

The kitten stopped shaking.

Below us, Elder Martha made a pleased little sound.

I glared down at her.

“Not one word.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking loudly.”

Rowan shifted on the branch.

“Now climb down.”

I looked up at him.

“What about you?”

“I’ll follow.”

“With what ladder?”

He glanced at the branch beneath him.

Then at the trunk.

Then at me.

“I could jump.”

Every wolf in the clearing shouted at once.

“NO!”

The kitten startled and dug his claws deeper into my shoulder.

I winced.

Rowan raised both hands.

“Fine. Nobody likes the jumping plan.”

“There was no jumping plan.”

“There was briefly.”

I began descending carefully, holding the kitten against my chest.

One rung.

Then another.

Halfway down, a scraping sound came from beneath me.

I stopped.

Very slowly, I looked toward the bottom.

The goat had escaped.

He stood beside the ladder with a short piece of rope hanging from his mouth.

The same rope securing the ladder to the tree.

I stared at him.

The goat chewed.

The knot loosened.

The ladder jerked sharply to the left.

The wolves holding it shouted.

I tightened my arm around the kitten.

Rowan yelled my name.

And before anyone could stop him—

He jumped.

For one terrible second, Rowan was nothing but a blur of dark hair, boots, and exceptionally poor judgment.

Then he hit the ladder.

Hard.

The impact knocked it back against the tree, driving the legs firmly into the soil just as my foot slipped from the rung.

A hand caught my wrist.

Rowan.

He hung from the side of the ladder with one arm, his other hand locked around mine.

Below us, the patrol wolves scrambled to steady everything.

The kitten remained pressed safely against my chest.

The goat calmly continued chewing the rope.

“Mason,” Rowan grunted.

“Yes?”

“Still think the jumping plan was bad?”

I stared at him.

“You jumped out of a tree.”

“And caught you.”

“You caused this situation.”

“And improved it.”

“You are hanging fifteen feet above the ground.”

His grip shifted.

“…That is slightly less improved.”

“Hold on!”

“I was planning to.”

The patrol wolves managed to secure the ladder.

Slowly—and with considerably more shouting than dignity—we descended.

The instant my boots touched the ground, Rowan released my wrist and reached for the kitten.

I turned away.

“No.”

His mouth fell open.

“But—”

“You’ve rescued enough things today.”

The kitten tucked his face beneath my chin.

Rowan’s grin appeared.

“Oh.”

“Don’t.”

“He likes you.”

“He’s frightened.”

“He feels safe.”

“That proves nothing.”

Elder Martha rose from the blanket and handed me my clipboard.

The kitten immediately settled against my shoulder and began to purr.

Rowan folded his arms.

“Still proves nothing?”

I looked down at the tiny creature.

Then at Rowan’s scraped hands, torn shirt, and victorious smile.

Then at the goat, who had somehow fallen asleep beside the damaged ladder.

I took the pencil from behind my ear.

Across the top of a fresh page, I wrote:

Incident Report #248

Under Cause of Incident, I paused.

Finally, I wrote:

Gravity had opinions.

Rowan leaned over my shoulder.

“That seems unfair.”

“You jumped from a tree.”

“To save you.”

“You were the reason I was in the tree.”

“But I did save you.”

I stared at him.

He smiled.

The kitten purred.

The goat snored.

I added one final recommendation:

The Alpha is prohibited from making rescue plans without adult supervision.

Rowan pointed at himself.

“I’m an adult.”

I looked at Elder Martha.

She looked at the patrol wolves.

The patrol wolves looked at the ground.

“No,” I said. “You’re Alpha.”

Apparently, those were not the same thing.