Thomas's apartment above the clinic was quiet, too quiet. It was the kind of quiet that made thoughts echo.

  He sat in the armchair by the window, a veterinary journal open on his lap. He'd read the same paragraph about feline renal dysfunction four times. None of it had stuck.

  The raccoon was fine. The surgery had gone well. Cazador would monitor recovery. Everyone should be happy.

  Why couldn't he stop thinking about the look on Tabby's face when she'd walked out?

  There was a knock at the door.

  Thomas frowned. It was past nine. It must be an emergency and someone had tracked him down.

  He opened the door. It was Tabby.

  "Listen, I know you think I'm an idiot and don't know what I'm doing—" The words came out in a rush, tumbling over each other like she'd been rehearsing them the whole way here and couldn't wait to be rid of them.

  Thomas blinked and then studied her. She was slightly out of breath. Her mane was disheveled. She was a wreck.

  "Why don't you come in," he said, standing aside.

  She pushed past him into the apartment. She didn't sit, but started pacing instead.

  "—and I want to know more and it's just so frustrating because you can't show me. With Tiny, I mean, I didn't have to hide this part of me!"

  Thomas closed the door and leaned against it.

  "You're not hiding it," he said.

  "I am, though! Every day, pretending I'm just some—some assistant who takes temperatures and files paperwork—"

  "You're not hiding it," Thomas repeated, quieter. "You need to have a solid base to learn from, even for magic. That's what I'm giving you." He paused. "And that, I think, is what Tiny intended for you all along."

  Tabby stopped pacing and stared at him. "Well, I don't even have clinic training anymore!"

  "Why do you say that?"

  "I mean—" She threw up her hooves. "I'm sure you don't want me showing my face here ever again."

  "I never said that."

  "It's implied." She turned toward the door, toward him. Her jaw was set, her eyes bright with something that might have been anger or might have been something else entirely.

  Thomas stood aside, but held out a hoof to forestall her. "Wait."

  She looked at him inquisitively.

  Thomas chose his next words carefully. "You're impulsive and reckless."

  Her expression flickered. Here it comes, she was clearly thinking.

  "But you have a heart," he continued. "And a desire to learn. And I can work with that."

  She was silent for a moment. "So what does that mean?" she said at length.

  "It means I expect you at work tomorrow at whatever time you manage to drag yourself in."

  Her face brightened. For just a moment, it was unguarded, genuine, and relieved. Then she caught herself and schooled her features back to neutral. But he'd already seen.

  "Okay," she said.

  And then she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her, hoofsteps clattering down the stairs and out into the night.

  Thomas stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door.

  # # #

  The conversation replayed itself, unbidden--her standing on his doorstep, words spilling out before he'd even said hello, the pacing, the frustration, and the way she'd turned to leave, so certain he was about to reject her.

  And before all that—there had been the moment he'd opened the door and seen her face.

  His first thought hadn't been what does she want or why is she here or even it's nine o'clock at night. His first thought had been: She's going to quit. And something in his chest had clenched.

  Thomas frowned and moved away from the door. He sat back down in his armchair.

  The veterinary journal was still open on the side table. Feline renal dysfunction. He didn't pick it up.

  Why had that felt like a blow?

  She was competent--that was undeniable after today. Whatever her methods, she'd stabilized a dying animal under poor conditions with no preparation. Also, she knew the local clientele—the farmers, the cryptid owners, the ponies who trusted folk medicine over formal credentials. She'd built relationships in this community that he couldn't replicate. Training a replacement would take months, and there was no guarantee he'd find someone half as capable.

  This was a business decision, he told himself. Keeping her on was the practical choice.

  But the tightness in his chest when he'd seen her go to the door—that hadn't felt like business. That had felt like something else, something he wasn't prepared to examine too closely.

  He shook his head and pushed the thought aside.

  But his mind wouldn't settle. It needed something to chew on, some problem to solve, and if he wasn't going to think about that, he'd think about something else.

  Tiny: the sasquatch medicine man who'd trained her for three years, who'd taught her to heal lacerations and stabilize trauma and sense tumors. The one who'd sent her out into the world with an incomplete education and, apparently, no warning about what she didn't know.

  With Tiny, I didn't have to hide this part of me.

  She'd said it like it was an accusation, like Thomas was the one holding her back. But Thomas hadn't been the one who'd left gaps in her training. Thomas hadn't been the one who'd let her believe she was ready when she wasn't.

  What kind of teacher does that? What kind of mentor trains someone for three years, builds up their confidence, and then sends them off without teaching them basic surgery?

  Thomas's eyes narrowed.

  He wanted answers.

  # # #

  "And how's Biscuit's appetite been since we adjusted the dosage?"

  Trillium beamed, stroking the elderly terrier on the exam table. "Oh, much better, Dr. Fairfax. He's eating like a horse again. Well, not literally. You know what I mean."

  "Good. We'll keep him on this regimen for another two weeks, then reassess." Thomas made a note in the chart. Then, casually: "I've been meaning to ask—have you ever visited the healer in the Dark Forest? I've heard mixed things."

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  The mare's expression shifted, and something guarded crept into her eyes.

  "Tiny? Oh, he's... well, he's been around forever, hasn't he?” she said vaguely. “My grandmother used to take her cats to him, but I don’t like the trek into the woods." She busied herself gathering Biscuit's leash. "Why do you ask?"

  "Professional curiosity."

  "Mm." She didn't elaborate. "Same time next month?"

  # # #

  "Tiny?" Old Garrett snorted, his arthritic hooves braced against the counter as Strawberry processed his flea medication. "Folk medicine nonsense. My cousin swore by him, spent half her life taking 'magic tonics' for a lame leg. You know what finally fixed it? Proper medical care. Rest and anti-inflammatories. Not mushroom juice or whatever he was peddling."

  Thomas nodded neutrally. "So you've never been yourself?"

  "Wouldn't waste my time." Garrett snatched his receipt. "You're the real deal, Doc. Don't let anyone tell you different."

  # # #

  The young mare with the rabbit hutch was more forthcoming.

  "Oh, Tiny's wonderful," she gushed, cradling her holland lop. "He saved Clover's mother when she had that infected abscess—the vet in Hayton said there was nothing to be done, but Tiny fixed her right up. I don't know what he did exactly, but she lived another four years."

  "Do you remember how to get to his clinic?"

  She tilted her head. "You're not thinking of shutting him down, are you? Because a lot of folks around here depend on him, and I know he's not exactly licensed, but—"

  "Nothing like that," Thomas said smoothly. "Just curious about the local... practitioners."

  She relaxed. "Oh. Well, it's in the Dark Forest. Past the old mill, then you follow the creek for a while. There's a big boulder shaped like a sleeping cat—turn left there. You'll smell the woodsmoke before you see it."

  "Thank you."

  # # #

  The old mill was easy enough to find. After that, things got complicated.

  Thomas followed the creek for what felt like miles, the forest pressing in on either side. Roots jutted from the earth at odd angles.

  He missed the boulder the first time, but found it after doubling back—it did look like a sleeping cat, if you squinted and tilted your head. He turned left and immediately lost the path.

  Twenty minutes of pushing through the underbrush later, he smelled woodsmoke.

  The clinic materialized out of the forest like it had been waiting for him to give up. A low wooden structure, built into the hillside, its roof thick with moss. Smoke curled from a crooked chimney. Bundles of herbs hung from the eaves, drying in the dappled light.

  Thomas approached slowly and took it in.

  It wasn’t what he'd expected. He'd imagined something more... primitive. This was clearly a working medical facility, just built from different materials than he was used to. Through the window, he could see shelves lined with jars and bottles, a treatment table, and equipment he didn't recognize but could guess the purpose of.

  It was rustic, but functional.

  The door opened before he could knock. Tiny filled the doorframe.

  Thomas had known sasquatches were large. He hadn't quite internalized how large until one was standing three feet away, looking down at him with eyes that gave nothing away. Tiny was massive and shaggy with a face like weathered stone.

  Thomas straightened and reminded himself he was a professional.

  "Dr. Fairfax," he said, extending a hoof. "I run the veterinary clinic in Misty Hollow. I believe we have a mutual acquaintance."

  Tiny looked at the extended hoof and didn't take it.

  There was a long pause. The forest seemed to hold its breath.

  "I know who you are." The voice was deep, resonant. It wasn’t hostile, exactly, but not warm either.

  Thomas lowered his hoof, and Tiny stepped back from the doorway. Not an invitation—more like a concession. Thomas entered.

  The interior was dim, lit by oil lamps and the glow from a wood-burning stove. Herbs hung from the rafters in neat bundles. The smell was complex—smoke and dried flowers and something earthier underneath.

  Tiny didn't offer a seat. There were stools by the treatment table, but he made no move toward them. He didn't offer tea or water or any of the basic courtesies Thomas would have extended to a visiting colleague. He just stood there, arms crossed, waiting.

  The message was clear: You came here. Say what you came to say.

  Thomas cleared his throat. "I wanted to discuss Tabby's training."

  Tiny said nothing.

  "As her current employer, I have a professional interest in understanding her capabilities. Her background. Where she excels, and where there might be..." He searched for a diplomatic word. "Gaps."

  "Gaps,” Tiny repeated.

  "In her education,” Thomas explained patiently.

  Tiny's expression didn't change. "You came all the way out here to tell me my student has gaps."

  "I came to have a collegial conversation about—"

  "I didn't want her to take this job,” Tiny bluntly interrupted.

  Thomas stopped. "What?"

  "Your clinic. Your position." Tiny's arms remained crossed, his voice flat. "I didn't want her there."

  "But I thought—" Thomas frowned. "She said you encouraged her to apply."

  He nodded slowly, but said nothing.

  "She implied—I assumed this was your idea. That you wanted her to gain experience in a formal setting."

  "That this would give her new perspective?" Tiny's tone sharpened. It wasn’t quite mocking, but it was close. "Further her horizons?"

  Thomas hesitated. "...Yes."

  "You don't know what game you're playing,” Tiny said harshly.

  "I'm not playing any game," Thomas said, bristling. "I'm running a business, and I hired her as my assistant. She's talented. Undertrained in certain areas, but talented."

  "Undertrained." The word fell like a stone.

  "Yes. Undertrained." Thomas felt his professional composure slipping. "She identified a tumor but couldn't remove it. She had no surgical training whatsoever. If I hadn't intervened—"

  "You would have let the animal die."

  "That's not—"

  "You were ready to put it down in your clinic. She's the one who kept it alive long enough for your intervention to matter."

  Thomas's jaw tightened. "That's not the point."

  "Then what is the point?"

  "The point is that she can diagnose a problem she can't fix. She can heal tissue but can't deconstruct it. She has half an education—and I'm the one responsible for filling in the other half."

  Tiny was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was quieter and more dangerous. "What exactly do you think you can teach her that I couldn't?"

  “You may know surgery yourself, but you didn’t pass on that training to her.”

  “Maybe there wasn’t time,” Tiny said. "That's not a gap in her training; that’s interrupted training."

  "Then why—" Thomas struggled to reframe. "Why send her to me at all? If she was learning what she needed to learn here, why push her toward a formal clinic?"

  Something flickered across Tiny's face, there and gone. "That's not your concern."

  "She's my employee. It is my concern."

  "She's more than your employee." The words came out rough, almost angry. Tiny caught himself and went still again. "You should go,” he said, moving toward the door. The conversation was over.

  Thomas stood his ground for a moment longer, searching the sasquatch's face for answers he wasn't going to get. "If there's something I should know," he said carefully, "something about Tabby, about her situation—"

  "There's nothing you need to know." Tiny opened the door, and forest sounds flooded in. "Go back to your clinic, Dr. Fairfax. Do your job. Stay in line."

  Thomas walked past him, out into the dappled light, and turned back. "This isn't over."

  "No," Tiny agreed. His expression was unreadable again, but something in his voice sounded almost sad. "It isn't."

  The door closed. Thomas stood on the mossy path for a moment, then turned and walked.

  Sasquatch territorialism. That's what this was — an old mentor, protective of his protégé, resentful of the new authority figure. Of course Tiny bristled at some city veterinarian questioning his methods. Three years of training bought a lot of possessiveness.

  The explanation didn't quite fit, but it was the only one Thomas had. He filed it away.

  One thing was certain: he wasn't telling Tabby about this visit.

  # # #

  Tiny was at his worktable, grinding something in a mortar. The door opened, and he looked up. Tabby stood in the doorway, jaw set and something sharper in her eyes than the last time she'd visited. Tiny set down the pestle and waited.

  "I need to learn surgery techniques. I need to learn how to take things apart." No greeting. No preamble. No "how have you been" or "sorry it's been a few weeks."

  Tiny studied her, taking in the tension in her shoulders, the way her hooves were planted, the frustration simmering just below the surface, barely contained.

  It was wounded pride. He'd seen that look before. On her, on others. Even on himself in his younger days. It was the look of someone who'd hit a wall they hadn't known was there.

  Tiny didn't ask what happened, and didn’t mention the white unicorn who'd shown up three days ago with questions and accusations and no idea what he'd stumbled into. He just nodded.

  They worked for hours. Tiny walked her through the principles of controlled separation—how to sever a blood vessel and keep both ends viable, how to part tissue along natural planes instead of tearing through them, how to maintain stasis on one layer while opening another. The magic felt wrong at first, like writing with her off-hoof. Every instinct she'd developed over three years screamed at her to fuse, to mend, to close. Learning to cut felt like unlearning how to heal.

  "You're fighting yourself," Tiny observed.

  "Because this is backwards,” said Tabby, stepping back in frustration.

  "No. It's the other half." He crossed his massive arms. "You can't rebuild what you can't take apart. I should have taught you this sooner."

  It was the closest he'd ever come to admitting a mistake.

  By the time the sun began to set, Tabby's legs were shaking from the sustained magical effort, but her eyes were clearer than when she'd arrived.

  "Same time next week," Tiny said. It wasn't a question.

  "Yeah." Tabby straightened and rolled her shoulders. "Same time next week."