Elara POV:
The packhouse is already awake when I come down after breakfast, not loud or restless, but alive in that steady, purposeful way that speaks of habit and trust rather than tension. Training rings are active, patrols rotating in and out with the quiet efficiency of wolves who know their roles, and conversation hums at an even pitch that never quite spills into noise.
No one stops when they see me. They adjust, a shoulder shifts to make room as I pass, a conversation pauses for a fraction longer than necessary, waiting to see if I’ll speak, then resumes easily when I don’t. A younger wolf nods as he goes by, respectful without stiffness, curiosity bright in his eyes instead of uncertainty, and the absence of hesitation tells me more than any bow ever could.
It’s subtle but it’s
