Chapter 33 #3
“They lack appropriate caution,” Calder replied.
“They like you.”
“They should not.”
One of the smaller raccoons wandered closer, sniffing curiously at Calder’s leg before circling him once and curling up against his foot like it belonged there.
I took one shot, then another, and another.
“You’re seriously telling me you didn’t train them?” I asked, unable to keep the grin out of my voice.
“I do not train wildlife.”
“You accidentally befriended them, then.”
“That was not intentional.”
“Sure it wasn’t.”
Calder crouched beside them, brushing aside a thin layer of leaves near the roots of a fallen log.
A low blackberry bramble had worked its way through the undergrowth there, tangled between moss and bark.
He plucked a few ripe fruits from it and set them carefully on the ground between the raccoons.
The nearest one snatched one immediately.
The others crowded closer after that, bumping clumsily into each other in obvious impatience while Calder watched them with quiet familiarity.
I lowered the camera slightly, studying him instead.
What caught me off guard wasn’t the raccoons, it was how natural all of this seemed to him.
The way he moved around them without hesitation. The quiet patience in every motion. Even the raccoons treated him like part of the forest instead of something separate from it.
And maybe that was what stayed with me most.
Not that wild things trusted Calder, that Calder trusted them enough to exist gently beside them.
“You do this a lot?” I asked.
“They return,” he said simply.
Which somehow answered the question perfectly.
The smallest raccoon lingered beside him even after the berries were gone, nosing curiously at Calder’s hand before settling near his leg.
Calder barely seemed to notice at first.
Then the raccoon leaned lightly against him, tiny body pressed briefly to the side of his calf like it belonged there.
Calder glanced down, brushing one careful hand over its back like this happened often enough that he no longer thought about it.
The raccoon practically melted into the touch, and I think my heart actually stopped for a second.
Which, honestly, felt dramatic until I realized even wild animals seemed completely convinced Calder was safe to stand beside.
And that was the moment I realized I was in serious trouble.
“You’re unbelievable,” I whispered.
Calder glanced toward me, something flaring over his eyes.
I could practically see him considering the words instead of reacting to the tone behind them.
“What does that mean?” he asked after a moment.
The question sounded genuinely curious.
I smiled despite myself and lowered the camera completely. “You just sat in the middle of the forest feeding and petting raccoons like this happens every day, and they trusted you enough to walk right up to you without a second thought.”
Calder listened quietly.
I saw past the size of him then, past the fur and the sheer physical presence that had seemed impossible the first time I saw him.
This was the image that stayed with me, the patience, the care, and the strange, effortless belonging between him and everything around him.
“You make this place feel different,” I admitted softly.
Calder didn’t answer immediately.
He just watched me, completely saw me now while the sounds of the forest moved softly around us.
“It is how the forest functions,” he murmured at last.
“That’s not what I meant.”
His gaze stayed on mine, calm and intent. “I know. You were speaking about me.”
That pulled warmth low through my chest, and I smiled despite myself. “Yeah,” I breathed. “You usually get there eventually.”
For a second, neither of us moved.
The solitude between us felt natural, threaded with the sounds of the forest breathing quietly in every direction. Leaves stirred overhead. Somewhere farther off, branches swayed softly in the undergrowth before going still again.
The raccoons eventually lost interest in us—or the lack of fruit—and disappeared back into the trees in a series of rustling sounds that faded almost as quickly as they’d appeared.
I stayed where I was, not even thinking about raising my camera again.
For once, I wasn’t framing the moment in my head or trying to calculate how to preserve it before it disappeared. I wasn’t searching for angles or light or composition.
I was simply existing with him, and that felt rarer than the photograph ever would’ve been.
Standing in the middle of the forest with a creature I should’ve been afraid of, watching him exist in a world that fit him so completely it didn’t even occur to him to question it—and realizing, with a clarity that took root deeper than anything else had in a while, that this—this right here—felt more real than anything I’d been chasing before.
No staging.
No adjusting.
No trying to make something look like what it wasn’t.
Just… this.
I glanced at him again, taking in the way he stood there, grounded, certain, like he had always belonged exactly where he was.
And for once, I felt like I was part of something.
Nothing here needed editing.