Page 115 of The Ashpaw: Part One

Adela was kind, and would talk to Fern normally as she worked. It turned out they came from neighboring villages, and even knew some of the same farmers who worked the land between them.

“Don’t tell me Jessie is still alive…” she gasped. “That mule was old even when I was still fully human.”

“Alive and kicking. Literally.”

She chuckled, patting Fern on the shoulder as she left. “I’ll be back later with your lunch.”

It was her second day of her “agreed-to” isolation, and she knew she shouldn’t complain too much. It could have been—had been—much worse.

By all accounts, she should have been happy.

And yet nothing quite filled the growing hole in her chest, every breath catching halfway like her lungs no longer knew how to feel full.

Her skin was too sensitive, sometimes finding even the dresses both too much and not enough.

And at night, while the scent of Reinn comforted her, she’d often wake from nightmares she could not remember, only to find her pillows wet with tears, and her body reaching out for someone who didn’t want to be there.

Fern knew it would be easy to end this. All she needed to do was tell Adela to let Darion know she was ready to apologize to Kyntha, and it would all be over. She’d not only be let out of her room, but Darion would finally come to her. And maybe even stay this time.

But at the cost of her dignity? Her pride? Setting a precedent where Kyntha would be forgiven for attempted murder as long as she batted her eyelashes, but Fern was punished for failing to die?

She could be stubborn. As stubborn as Jessie the mule, if she put her mind to it. And she was sure Darion could meet her in that regard.

But while he had everything he wanted and had no reason to give in, Fern was the one losing.

Because Darion didn’t need her, while he was all she needed.

And the disparity would someday be the death of her.

* * *

It had been four days since her isolation began. And the only reason she knew was because every morning, Adela brought her a new rock from Reinn.

Today’s gift was some sort of mineral, snowy white cut with rivers of sparkling green, but Fern didn’t know what it was called. It sat next to others, each so different from the last that she wondered if Reinn was spending all of his free time looking for the next one.

Serich had returned to check her wounds, and he hummed happily to himself as he peeled off the bandages.

“These have healed quite nicely. The wolf blood helps, of course, but it would be a shame for an omega to be scarred.”

Fern snorted, unable to help herself. “I’m sure scarred omegas birth pups just as well as unblemished ones.”

Serich gasped, a little scandalized by her candor. “Goodness, no, I only meant… omegas are rare and precious. To have one injured by her own clan is a scar upon all of us.”

Very right, her wolf snorted. This healer is smart.

Smarter than our alpha?

Unfortunately it seems almost everyone is smarter than our alpha, she growled.

Fern watched Serich clean up his things.

Then why do you choose him?

Because he is ours. He just hasn’t realized it yet.

The door closed, and Fern spoke aloud, the sound of her own voice necessary to beat the silence back.

“Reinn seems a much better candidate,” she said, looking at the neat line of rocks lining the windowsill.