Page 2 of Cole

"Janice, it's Marcus." Her research supervisor's voice crackled through the static. "Just checking in. How's the data collection going?"

She continued walking toward camera eight, phone pressed to her ear. "Right on schedule. I'll have the October analysis uploaded by Monday."

"Excellent. The grant committee loves your preliminary observations." He paused, then asked. "You still doing okay?"

"I’m good. The cabin still meets my needs," she said, sidestepping a fallen log. "Cantwell's close enough for supply runs. The general store has everything I need."

"Good, good.”

She knew Marcus cared about all his field employees, but given the remoteness of this location, it had been hard to keep someone here for six months. When she was in graduate school, students would have fought to take on this duty. But in her early thirties, many of her coworkers had families, making it more difficult to find volunteers, even with the pay bonus. “Seriously, Marcus, all is well.”

“Okay, I’d trust you to tell me if it’s not,” he replied gruffly. Then, after another pause, he reminded, “Don't forget we need you to video conference for the department meeting on the twenty-third."

"If the internet holds up," she said, already knowing she'd find an excuse to miss it. Department meetings seemed absurdly trivial while she spent her days documenting the subtle shifts in an ecosystem, but it was nice to see the others back home.

The call dropped, as they always did out here. She didn't try to reconnect. Marcus meant well, but he couldn't quite grasp why she'd jumped at this opportunity and chosen months of isolation over the comfortable lab position waiting for her back home in Seattle.

But she’d had her reasons, and over the last months, she’d learned that being alone isn’t the same as being lonely. Sometimes being alone was the only way to claim parts of herself that she’d lost.

2

Camera eight monitored a natural bottleneck where the creek narrowed between two ridges. Game trails converged here, creating a wildlife highway that had already yielded some fascinating footage. Janice went through the familiar routine of checking the battery and verifying the camera angle hadn't shifted.

Movement upstream caught her eye. A pine marten flowed along a branch like liquid shadow, pausing to study her with bright, intelligent eyes before disappearing into the canopy. She grinned, feeling that familiar surge of joy.

The path to camera nine took her deeper into the forest, where the spruces grew closer together, and the underbrush thickened. This was her favorite stretch, where the modern world felt impossibly distant, offering just the whisper of wind through needles and the occasional call of a raven.

She'd positioned camera nine to overlook a small clearing where the creek formed a beaver pond. The industrious rodents had transformed this section of forest, creating habitat for dozens of species. Their engineering prowess never failed to impress her, for they were nature's own climate-adaptation specialists.

She sat on a fallen log to update her field notes. The sun climbed higher, warming her face despite the chill. Somewhere nearby, a woodpecker hammered out its territorial claim on the side of a tree. She dictated quickly, documenting the water levels, the changes in vegetation, and the subtle signs of larger transformations.

A splash drew her attention to the beaver pond. One of the colony's members surfaced near the lodge, its sleek head breaking the water's surface before disappearing again with a slap of its flat tail. Janice watched, fascinated as always by these remarkable engineers.

Movement in her peripheral vision had her turn her head. The red fox had returned, sitting at the edge of the clearing, watching her with that same curious intensity.

"You're persistent, I'll give you that," Janice said, smiling at the animal. "Trying to figure out what I'm doing?"

The fox's ears twitched, but he didn't flee. Just watched, as if he found her as interesting as she found him.

Her phone buzzed again. She glanced at it and grinned. “Hey, Mom.”

"Just checking on you. Dad says hello, too."

“I’m good. Out in the field now, so the call will probably drop.”

“Going into town soon?”

“Yes, and when I do, I’ll make sure to call you from there to talk longer.”

“Okay, sweetie. Love to you.”

“Love to you and Dad,” she managed to say before the call dropped. She pocketed her phone and stood. Her parents supported her work, even if they worried about her being so far from home. Growing up with two veterinarians for parents, she'd been destined for this kind of life. They understood the pull of working with animals, of being where you were needed most.

The fox was still there, watching. On impulse, Janice spoke to him. "My parents run a mixed practice back in Washington. Dogs, cats, and the occasional exotic pet. Dad's got a way with animals that's almost magical. Mom specializes in wildlife rehabilitation. I grew up with injured owls in the bathroom and orphaned fawns in the backyard."

The fox cocked his head, as if considering her words.

"That's where I learned that wild animals deserve our respect, not our interference. Mom always said the goal was to heal them and send them back where they belong. Never to tame them or make them dependent." Janice smiled at the memory. "You'd like her, I think. She'd appreciate how well you're doing on your own."