Elara
Dawn hasn’t quite broken when I leave the pack grounds.
The world is caught in that suspended breath between night and day, where everything feels quieter not because it’s empty, but because it’s listening. The sky is pale slate brushed with lavender, the faintest promise of gold pressing gently at the horizon. Cool air stings my lungs when I breathe too deeply, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine, rain still clinging to the ground from the night before.
I don’t question why I’m here.
My feet carry me forward without hesitation, guided by something steadier than impulse and older than thought. This isn’t a run for speed or strength. It’s a run because standing still would feel like lying to myself.
The rhythm settles me. Each step grounds me further, the land answering wit
