PART TWO
They say a war ends when the fighting stops. It isn't true. A war ends when the reason for it dies and some reasons don't die when the wolf who carried them does.
The rain of my wedding night dried, and the celebration faded into the ordinary days of a pack learning to live in peace, and for three weeks I let myself believe the watchful girl at the back of my mind had only been the ghost of old habit. I was a Luna now. Married. The war was won, Damien was dead, Roan was in his cell, and Crescent Hollow was ours to build. The servant who read every room to survive could finally, surely, rest.
She couldn't. And the thing that woke her was grain.
Crescent Hollow's winter stores were short. Not by much a few percent, the kind of gap a quartermaster shrugs at and blames on a wet au
