The Scene of the Crime

Pack Rule #18: If more than three wolves are shouting contradictory instructions at the same time, assume the Alpha is improvising.

By the time I stepped outside, I knew two things.

First…

Whatever Rowan had done had attracted an audience.

Second…

No one was trying very hard to stop watching.

Half the pack stood in the training field.

Some looked horrified.

Others looked impressed.

Several were placing bets.

That never meant anything good.

“What happened?” I asked.

Without taking his eyes off the spectacle, one of the patrol wolves handed me a folded piece of paper.

“I’ve started taking notes.”

I unfolded it.

Current Situation

* One Alpha.

* One rope.

* One very tall oak tree.

* Unknown objective.

I blinked.

“…This is less a report and more a cry for help.”

“It can be both.”

Fair enough.

A loud voice drifted from somewhere above us.

“I almost have it!”

I slowly looked up.

There, nearly thirty feet above the ground, balanced on a thick tree branch with all the confidence of a man who had never heard the word gravity…

…stood Rowan.

He was holding a coil of rope in one hand.

And reaching toward something hidden in the branches with the other.

I closed my eyes.

Counted to five.

Opened them again.

He was still there.

“So,” I said calmly.

“Has anyone considered telling him to come down?”

A younger wolf raised his hand.

“We tried.”

“And?”

“He told us to trust him.”

Several wolves groaned in unison.

“Of course he did.”

Another wolf pointed upward.

“He’s been saying that every five minutes.”

I looked at my clipboard.

Then at the tree.

Then back at my clipboard.

I quietly wrote:

Possible Future Rule #19: Never trust an Alpha carrying rope.

Beside me, Elder Martha arrived carrying… a picnic basket.

I stared.

“…Did you bring lunch?”

She nodded.

“I had a feeling we’d be here awhile.”

“You planned for this?”

“My dear…”

She spread a blanket on the grass.

“I’ve known Rowan since he was six.”

“…Fair.”

She handed me a biscuit.

I accepted it.

Stress calories didn’t count.

Above us, Rowan leaned farther out onto the branch.

“I can reach it!”

Every wolf below him answered at once.

“NO!”

The forest echoed.

Birds took flight.

Somewhere behind me, the goat wandered into the clearing.

He looked up at Rowan.

Then looked at me.

Then began eating someone’s carefully planted flowers.

No one stopped him.

We all had bigger problems.

“What exactly,” I asked, “is he trying to reach?”

Silence.

Everyone looked at everyone else.

Finally…

The patrol wolf cleared his throat.

“…We’re not entirely sure.”

I stared.

“…You’ve all been standing here for twenty minutes…”

“…and nobody knows why he’s in the tree?”

“He seemed very confident.”

“Confidence isn’t an explanation.”

“It usually is with Rowan.”

Unfortunately…

He wasn’t wrong.

I took a deep breath.

“ROWAN!”

Our Alpha looked down with a grin bright enough to concern medical professionals.

“Oh! Mason!”

“…Get down.”

“I can’t.”

“You mean won’t.”

“No…”

He pointed upward.

“I found the problem.”

I blinked.

“…What problem?”

“The kitten.”

Silence.

I looked around.

Every wolf wore the exact same expression.

Confusion.

“…There’s a kitten?”

A tiny, frightened meow answered from somewhere high in the branches.

Oh.

There really was.

I rubbed my forehead.

Of course there was.

Because apparently the universe had decided rescuing goats wasn’t enough excitement for one Alpha.

“You climbed thirty feet into an oak tree…”

“…for a kitten?”

Rowan looked genuinely puzzled.

“Well…”

“…yes.”

“It was scared.”

“So you climbed the tallest tree in the territory.”

“It looked lonely.”

Mason.

Don’t yell.

He’s trying to help.

He’s trying to help.

He’s trying…

“ROWAN!”

“What?”

“You are the Alpha of an entire werewolf pack!”

“I know.”

“You have patrols!”

“I know.”

“You have ladders!”

“…”

“…I forgot about the ladders.”

Every wolf in the clearing groaned.

Even Elder Martha sighed.

The goat sneezed.

Somewhere in the distance, someone muttered,

“I’d forgotten about those too.”

I looked toward the supply shed.

The ladder was leaning against the wall.

Exactly where it had been yesterday.

Untouched.

I slowly turned back toward Rowan.

He smiled sheepishly.

“…In my defense…”

I pointed at the ladder.

“You don’t get a defense.”

Rowan looked at the ladder.

Then back at me.

“…That’s embarrassing.”

“It certainly is.”

He sighed dramatically.

“Could somebody bring me the ladder?”

I stared for a full five seconds.

“…Rowan.”

“Yes?”

“…The ladder is for climbing before you’re in the tree.”

He considered that.

“…That does make more sense.”

Another meow echoed through the branches.

Rowan’s expression softened instantly.

“Hang on, little buddy.”

The tiny kitten answered.

My irritation melted… just a little.

Because that’s who Rowan was.

He’d forget the ladder.

Forget the plan.

Forget common sense.

But he’d never forget someone who needed help.

Even if they only weighed three pounds.

I sighed.

“Bring the ladder.”

As three patrol wolves rushed toward the shed, I glanced at my clipboard and quietly added another line beneath today’s notes.

Recommendation: Assign one responsible adult to accompany the Alpha at all times.

Then I crossed out adult…

…and replaced it with Beta.