“Well?” she said.

“You’re saying yes,” I said flatly. “It’s been months. That was on a different continent, during a completely different life-threatening situation. And you’re saying yes now.”

“What?” She walked back over to stop in front of me, spreading her hands as she asked, “Do you not want to marry me?”

“Don’t be silly. Of course I want to marry you.”

“Did you not propose?”

“Yes,” I admitted, before adding sheepishly, “But I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

“Oh, I noticed.” She leaned in to give me a chaste kiss on the cheek—an annoying but necessary observation of the “no fluid transfer” rule that was going to be in effect until I received my final clean bill of health, at the end of the twenty-eight-day latency period. “You can’t blame a girl for thinking long and hard before she agreed to marry a Price, now can you?”

“Most of the girls I know on more than a superficial level are Price girls, so that question is a little unfair,” I said. “I don’t have a ring for you or anything. I was sort of not expecting this right now.”

Shelby’s smile was bright enough to light up all the forests of Australia. “That’s all right. We can go to the jeweler’s after all this is taken care of. Nothing says ‘hooray, we didn’t die’ like watching the salespeople crawl all over themselves trying to convince you to buy expensive rocks you don’t really want.”

I blinked at her. Then, slowly, I began to smile, until my expression mirrored hers. “We’re getting married.”

“Well, sure we are, silly,” said Shelby, before turning and sauntering off in the direction we’d been heading previously. “Won’t you at least try to keep up?”

I tried.

We walked almost a mile before we came out of the woods atop a ridge overlooking a broad green meadow that looked almost artificial in its pastoral sweetness, like someone had transplanted it from a movie set in New Zealand. Fluffy clouds of sheep dotted the green, and we were far enough away that they looked a little dingy but not filthy—a beautiful trick of distance. (Sheep are some of the nastiest creatures in the world. They’re smelly, stupid things that have been bred to have way too much hair, meaning that all their bodily fluids and drippings get felted right into the wool. If not for bleach, we’d all walk around covered in sheep shit all the time. Agriculture is not a pretty thing.)

Raina was already on the ridge, having beat us out of the woods by at least fifteen minutes. She had managed to find a stick somewhere, and was throwing it for Jett over and over again. The dog seemed willing to continue this game indefinitely, but Raina reclaimed the stick and didn’t throw it again when she saw us come walking out of the tree line.

“I was starting to think you’d been eaten,” she accused, although she didn’t come anywhere near her previously acerbic tone. She still didn’t strike me as one of the world’s warmest people, but whatever had been broken between her and her sister was no longer festering. “There are drop bears around here, you know. Unless you’ve forgotten how bad an idea it is to mess with those?”

“Didn’t see any,” Shelby said brightly. “Needed to chat with Alex for a minute or two before we had to get back to business. Any sign of Gabby and the folks?”

“Not yet, but they had a bit more of a hike, so I’m not worried.” Raina threw the stick again, sending Jett flying after it in an ecstasy of canine delight.

“I know this is a really awkward, ugly American sort of question, but do Australians not like roads that actually go where you’re trying to go?” I asked. “We seem to do a lot of walking through woods and fields and swampy bits, and maybe it’s me, but I’d expect the roads to take us to those places. It would be a lot easier to run away if we didn’t have to navigate half a mile of hostile forest before we could get to the car.”

“Car’s two kilometers that way,” said Raina, pointing across the meadow. “If we need to run away, we’ll be getting our cardio for the week.”

“Right,” I said, putting a hand over my face. “I’m in a country full of Shelbys.”

“I resent that,” said Shelby. “I’m unique, thank you. It’s not my fault if you’ve no appreciation for our culture.”

I lowered my hand and gave her my best pleading look. It seemed to do at least a little good: she huffed, looking amused, and exchanged a quick glance with her sister, who snorted and flung the stick again.

“What she means by ‘appreciation for our culture’ is ‘you have to understand how much conservation work we do.’ A lot of the land around here is privately owned, and at least partially dedicated to preservation. This is sheep grazing land, yeah, but it’s interspersed with billabongs and isolate tree patches, which provide habitat for a lot of endangered wildlife. Including drop bears.” Jett brought back the stick. Raina threw it again. “So there are no roads because either the roads belong to people we don’t feel like explaining ourselves to—like the rancher who owns this particular patch—or because running a road in would mess things up for the creatures who already live here.”

“Ah,” I said. “I should have thought of that. I just have trouble matching the care you take with the native animals with the disregard you have for the other native sapients.”

Raina frowned at me before giving her sister a questioning look.

“Alex doesn’t understand how we can be so good to the drop bears and bunyip and such when we don’t have good relations with our nonhuman neighbors,” translated Shelby. “Honestly, after spending the last year with his family, I have to ask the same question. We’ve been falling down when it comes to getting on with the other people who live in this country. We ought to be better.”

“Tell it to the werewolves,” said Riley. We turned to see him ascending the ridge, with Charlotte and Gabby close behind. Gabby looked anxious. She was darting glances up at the sky, watching as the sun sank slowly toward the horizon. Charlotte, in contrast, looked perfectly serene and fresh as a daisy, and not at all like a woman who had just hiked a mile through dense forest. “Animals are animals, no matter what they look like. They have instincts, and we can’t blame them for that. People are different. People have to learn to control themselves. Any person who can’t may as well be considered a monster.”