Page 62 of Easy, Tiger

The hidden path to the enclave winds through thick pine groves, marked only by subtle scratches on bark, the kind most humans would dismiss as animal damage. Halsey follows without hesitation now, her footsteps sure on the uneven ground.

"You realize what you're about to propose will sound insane to them," she says, ducking under a low branch.

"Breaking a hundred-year-old migration pattern? Completely insane." I pin back a pine bough for her. "Which is exactly why it might work."

The enclave's main gathering space sits in a natural clearing surrounded by ancient pines. Hidden cabins dot the perimeter, their weathered wood blending seamlessly with the forest. By the time we arrive, word has already spread. My dad, Sadie, Owen, and a dozen other shifters wait in the circle of worn logs that serves as our council ring.

"The hunter was at the fundraiser," I announce without preamble. "Asking questions about large predators, migration patterns. He's actively tracking us while mapping out our community."

Hamil, one of the older shifters, squares his shoulders. "How do you know this wasn't merely another wildlife photographer?"

Halsey moves forward, opening her sketchbook. "Because he was wearing boots with the same tread pattern I found at three surveillance sites. And he asked Grace specifically about mountain lions, not the usual tourist questions about bears or deer."

She tears out the sketch, passing it around the circle. "Professional surveillance equipment, questions targeted at exactly the information he'd need to predict your movements."

Dad inspects the drawing. "Could be military or ex-military."

"Which brings me to what we need to discuss." I take a breath, knowing this next part will meet resistance. "We need to abandon the traditional winter migration route."

The reaction is immediate. Hamil shoots to his feet. "Absolutely not. Those paths have protected our families for generations."

"And now they're going to get us killed," I counter. "The hunter is relying on our established patterns to anticipate our movements and use them against us."

Bess shakes her head. "The old routes follow natural shelter and water sources. Mostly terrain that provides cover. There's a reason we've used them for over a century."

"There's also a reason shifters from other enclaves, including our own, are dead." Years of protecting this community back up every word I say. "The world has changed. Our enemies have technology and resources our ancestors never faced."

Halsey enters the center of the circle. "May I?"

I nod, curious what she's planning.

She opens her sketchbook to pages covered with migration route maps, overlaid with attack locations marked in red. "I've been comparing historical records with the hunter's activity patterns. Every attack coincides with traditional migration corridors used by shifter communities across three states."

Hamil shifts his weight forward despite himself. "How could you possibly know our routes?"

"Because they follow the same principles any large predator would use. Water sources, natural shelter, game trails, elevation changes that provide both cover and visibility." She outlines lines on the map with her finger. "The hunter relies on your established routines and past paths instead of needing to track you in real time."

Sadie speaks up. "What are you suggesting?"

"We create new routes," I explain. "Ones that provide what we need for winter survival but follow patterns he can't predict."

"And if we get lost? If the new paths don't provide adequate shelter?" Bess's concern is genuine. "We have children and elderly members who can't survive exposure."

"Then we scout them first. Test them, modify them, and make sure they're safe before we commit." I survey the circle, meeting each pair of eyes. "But we do it together, as an enclave. Not clinging to tradition while our people die."

The silence lingers long enough for wind to rustle through the pines above us.

Finally, Dad stands. "The boy's right. Survival requires adaptation."

Hamil glares at him. "Those routes are sacred. Our ancestors' blood sanctified those paths."

"Our ancestors would want us alive," Dad replies firmly. "Not dead for the sake of ceremony."

Dad's hands rest on his knees as he surveys the circle. "Hamil, you remember the winter of '78?"

"Of course. Worst blizzard in decades."

"Traditional route would have taken us straight through Allegheny Passage. Remember what we did instead?"