She doesn't know yet.
Years she lived there. Built the place alone. The garden, the goat pen, the shelf where her jars sat. All of it, by herself.
"Keer?" Rhen watching my face.
"Stay on patrol. Tovar, report to Axan—tell him I want those tracks followed before they fade. Liara, find Kestria."
"You're telling the human yourself?" Tovar's eyes narrow.
"I said report to Axan."
He holds my gaze for a second. Nods. Goes.
I'm already walking. Toward her.
Pack members notice. Eyes tracking me, conversations dropping.
The clearing has changed. A goat grazes near the fire pit. The wolf passing it doesn't alter course—steps around without looking. Bram is crouched by the pen, checking a post, hands steady. A pup sits cross-legged beside the spotted female, scratching behind her ears while the animal leans into the touch.
Days ago none of this existed here.
She did this. Brought livestock into a wolf territory and the pack just absorbed it.
No vote. No discussion.
She looks up when I'm close. Mid-sentence, hand still in the air, mouth curved.
Smile fades.
"What happened?"
Her voice catches. Already. Her hand drops. The chickens keep pecking around her feet.
"Your cottage. They burned it. Human accelerant. Nothing left."
She blinks.
But she doesn't—
Goes back to feeding the chickens.
"Melori."
"These ones need extra feed." Her hands keep scattering grain. Manic. Tight. "They're still adjusting to the new environment and stress affects their digestion, you know, so I have to make sure they're getting enough nutrients because otherwise—"
"Melori."
"—they won't lay properly and we need the eggs, we really need the eggs because protein sources are limited here and I've been thinking about setting up a rotation system where the older hens get supplemental grain in the morning and the younger ones get theirs at evening because their metabolisms are different and if we don't account for that the yield drops and—"
Her hands are shaking. Both of them. Wrapped around the empty feed bucket.
She's still talking but the words are coming wrong.
Somewhere underneath the chickens and the grain rotation and the metabolism schedule, she knows. The rest of her hasn't caught up yet, but her voice has. Her hands have.
Don't move toward her. Not yet.
Kestria appears. Steps in and takes the feed from Melori's hands.
