THE BRIGHT white light hurt Connor’s eyes. He squinted briefly at the strange room and closed them again. The bed was soft—at least softer than his own at home, but everything hurt. His head pounded worse than when he was a nosey kit and a ewe struck him for getting too close to her lamb, but back then he was more embarrassed to show his pain in front of his sister. Mab…. Mab had her babies. He shielded his eyes and opened them.
“Good afternoon, Connor.” A woman in a light blue uniform adjusted his pillows. “You took a nasty tumble, but luckily all you hurt was your leg and possibly your pride.”
Connor tried to sit up, but the nurse gave him a scolding look and told him, “No sudden movements for a while, young man. Take some time to rest until your head clears, and then I’m sure the doctor will release you to your family.”
“I have to go home now,” he said and attempted to move.
“I don’t think so. There should be someone here tonight to collect you, but right now you have to just stay where you are.”
Connor knew there was no point in arguing, but he also knew there’d be no one to pick him up. Both Mab and Gran were in fur and they’d be relying on him to do the hunting. He covered his face with the crook of his arm to block the light and to make sense of the swirl of thoughts and half memories. He remembered he was angry—a red rage that twisted his gut and banished reason. Bile soured his mouth. He’d lost his father, his mother, and now Mab’s mate to the fur tree, and Mab’s little boy didn’t get the chance to take his first breath of the forest. Connor gulped down a sob. But I got him out of that tree! He frowned. I must have. I held him when…. The memory was there but just out of reach. I was on a branch with Rob in my arms when… when the light exploded around me—in me—the tree shook and threw me out.
I have to go home.
It was easy to lie there and feel sorry for himself, but what was left of his little family needed him. He carefully sat up and clutched the railing on the side of the bed until the spinning room settled. Slowly the urge to fall or throw up eased and he felt around for something to release the rail.
“I don’t think you should be doing that.”
Connor looked up at the man standing in the doorway and instantly recognized him as the local police officer. He groaned. They’d had several run-ins before, and Connor had received so many warnings he’d lost count—some were deserved, most weren’t.
Dave pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat down with a grunt. “How’s the head?”
Connor glared.
“Okay, that tells me you’re not dying and still your surly self.” He took a notebook from his pocket and opened it to a fresh page. “First up, you’re not in trouble unless you made the lightning strike the tree?”
No response.
“Let’s get to it, then.” He began writing. “Connor Coutts, age sixteen.”
“Seventeen almost eighteen.”
Dave glanced over his glasses and corrected himself. “Connor Coutts, age seventeen. Now, why were you in the tree?”
No response other than a stare that could wither.
“Come on, Connor, you’re almost an adult, and I simply need to know what happened.”
“It’s wrong to hang….” He took a breath and lowered his voice. “I don’t think it’s right to hang foxes or any animal in a tree. It’s wrong to shoot them, and it’s worse to hang them there.”
“So you suddenly decided to climb the tree during a thunderstorm to get the foxes? Why, Connor?”
“I told you.”
“Yes, I know, it’s wrong to hang them there, but that doesn’t explain….”
“When can I go home?”
“When May or even Mab and Rob come to collect you. Until then you stay right where you are.”
“They can’t… they um, they’re away.”
“And left you to your own devices? I thought Old May had more sense than that. Well, how long are they away? Mab’ll be due to have her baby soon, won’t she?”
Connor scrambled to figure out how long Mab would be in fur knowing full well it would be weeks. Vixens rarely took on skin until their litter was weaned, even then, the kits usually stayed in fur a bit longer—it was their choice when they were ready. Mab took skin as soon as she could, but May said they wondered if Connor would ever swap fur for skin. You were having too much fun being a scamp of a kit charging around and bowling your sister over. Connor never saw the sense in being a helpless young human when he could run and jump as a fox.
“A couple of weeks and I can’t stay here that long.”
“No, you can’t.”
Dave sat and tapped his pen on his notebook for a full minute. The room swam again and Connor tightened his grip on the bedrail.
“Well?” he asked.
“I’ll get back to you on that. I have to call Neil MacKenzie.”
Connor watched him walk to the nurse’s station and caught snatches of their conversation, but the intent was clear. If MacKenzie didn’t find Connor’s family, child services would be called.
“No, no, no,” Connor groaned and rattled the bedrail.
Both options were trouble.