That morning’s meal consisted of Ranger Brock’s favorite breakfast sausages, which they’d already had three times that week. Among the pack, Tora and Harlan liked sausages best. Noble seemed not to care much about them either way, but Argus had had his fill. Not only were sausages made in some factory from scraps of leftover and discarded meat, these particular sausages had been flavored with maple sugar and honey. Argus found the combination disgustingly gross, but was too respectful of Phyllis to say so.

“Don’t you want any sausages?” she asked, noticing that Argus hadn’t spooned any onto his plate.

“No, thank you,” Argus said. “I guess I’m not hungry.” That much was true. While he normally ate heartily, the incident out on the trail had taken away much of his appetite.

“More for me!” Harlan said, scooping four sausages out of the pan before Argus changed his mind.

“Are you sick?” Ranger Brock asked, taking a gulp from his big black BC Lions coffee mug. Phyllis placed the palm of her right hand on Argus’s forehead.

Although her hand felt cool against his skin, Argus doubted there was anything physically wrong with him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re a little warm,” she said, rubbing her fingers together to feel for any moisture. Then she placed the back of her hand against Argus’s cheek.

“Really, I’m fine!” Argus repeated.

“Are you sure? I could get the ranger to take you into town to see Doctor Katz.”

“Wouldn’t be a problem,” said the ranger. “It’s on my way.”

Doctor Katz was new in town and was as eager as he was young. Every time Argus or one of the others paid him a visit, he was always asking them questions about their hair and skin, curious as to how the four of them were brothers and sister all the same age, but as unalike from each other as the four seasons. He obviously suspected they were somehow different, and seemed determined to find out one way or another. It was probably best to avoid visits to the doctor unless they were absolutely necessary.

So instead of answering with another “I’m fine,” Argus simply grabbed two sausages off Harlan’s plate and slid them into his mouth.

“Hey!”

Phyllis’s face brightened and her lips curled into a smile.

The sausages didn’t taste all that bad, Argus concluded, grabbing the last of them out of the pan for himself.

“That’s better,” Phyllis said, giving Argus an approving rub on the head.

The ranger finished his coffee and slid his chair away from the table. “Well, I’ve got to go,” he said.

“Already?”