A quiet falls again, this one warmer and more intimate.
“I see someone fierce enough to survive this world, and someone kind enough to care for it and its flaws.”
I glimpse a faint smile on her face from the corner of my eye.
We walk in easy silence after that. There’s no tension, no urgency, just the slow rhythm of shared footsteps through the tall grass. I hear the rush of our river winding through the hills in the near distance as my home opens up before us.
Nestled in a valley framed by a forest on the left and the curve of the Rocky Mountains on the right, the village reveals itself. Some dwellings are built right into the rockface, half-hidden by overhanging stone. Smoke trails lazily from one of the dens, the scent of burning cedar weaving through the air. Other homes are nestled between trees, woven from living branches and thatched with leaves, warm light flickering inside through wooden shutters.
In the center is a cluster of homes built sturdier from raw timber and earth. These are for those who remain in their human forms more often than not. The central fire pit remains unlit for now, but I can already hear the soft sounds of night movement and suspect it’ll be lit for a late night snack soon.
Wren slows beside me, eyes wide with something between wonder and disbelief. I hear her stomachgrumble again and my body stiffens with the need to provide for her.
It was difficult to stop myself from hunting for her during the day as she pondered in the field. Yet it was exactly what she needed–to not have anyone provide for her, be it mentally or physically.
Perhaps she will willingly partake in a midnight snack if I bring her to the pit.
A soft breeze carries the scent of wildflowers and packed earth. She breathes it in deeply, like she’s trying to memorize it.
I lead her toward the largest of the structures first–my home. It sits atop a slightly raised ridge, built from thick cedar logs and roofed with bark and stone. It's the only one with a carved wooden door, etched with old animal sigils of those I’ve bonded with.
Symbols of trust.
She turns in a slow circle, taking it all in–the dens nestled in rock, the curved footpaths between trees, the faint glow of the moonlight caught in the high mountain mist.
She doesn’t look lost. She looks free, and that hits deeply, making something in my chest feel like it’s shifted.
A smile fills her face like she’s bursting with sudden excitement.
“You built this?” she asks before spinning around in wonder.
“The pack did. All of us.”
“It’s stunning,” she whispers so faintly that I wonder if she was talking to herself.
I feel it then, deep and wordless. A click in my chest that confirms sheispack, because she sees what we all see. Not just the wilderness that the fae would love to tame into grandeur, or the simplicity the vampires would despise, and not the open expanse the wraiths would loathe.
She sees the beauty.
And spirits help me, she’s not just starting to feel like a pack member…she’s starting to feel like mine.
Chapter 12
Wren
The taste of smoky, roasted meat still lingers on my tongue, satisfying the hunger that gnawed at my stomach for most of the night. The firepit crackles behind me, its glow warming the backs of my legs even as the night air wraps cool fingers around my arms. A sense of contentment flows through me and I quickly realize it’s more than just warmth and food. It’s a deeper sense of safety curling through me, and that realization gives me pause.
Could it mean I have ties to this faction?
Hope pools low in my stomach and I fight the urge to let it grow. Before I know it, I’m nibbling on my bottom lip, lost in the possibilities I feel emanating through the soft hum of the earth through my feet.
Torryn eases to his feet before giving me a nod,beckoning me to join him. I blink rapidly, coming back to reality and note that the flames have died down to simmering embers while I was deep in thought.
It doesn’t take long to traverse the path to his home, and when he opens the carved door, the scent of the interior rushes to greet me as I step inside. Wood, dried herbs, and something vaguely sweet wrap around in a welcoming embrace.
Torryn lingers near the entrance after the door creaks shut behind us. His voice is low when he speaks.
“Are you sure you’re alright staying here?”
