Rourke POV
The land doesn’t feel shaken.
There is blood in the soil, certainly, and the sharp scent of it lingers in the air while healers move through the pack with calm efficiency, checking wounds and binding what needs binding. Scratches mar the bark of nearby trees, clumps of torn earth mark where bodies collided with enough force to gouge the ground, and the undergrowth lies flattened in chaotic patches that will take weeks to fully recover.
But beneath that surface disruption, the land itself holds steady, it recognises who stands on it.
That steadiness moves outward through the pack as well, flowing like a quiet reassurance beneath the noise of movement and the murmur of voices. Wolves do not pace nervously or argue over what happened. They reorganise patrol lines, gather scatte
