His face gave nothing away. He listened to the children, responded when necessary, and kept pace with them, his focus always shifting back to their well-being.
At one point, Myra reached back and took his hand without hesitation. He stiffened briefly, then relaxed, allowing it. The action was so natural for her that it startled me. Children did not calculate. They trusted based on feeling and consistency, not on history.
I looked away. The town grew closer, and with it the sounds of preparation. Voices carried through the air. Laughter, calls of vendors setting up stalls, the clatter of wooden structures being assembled. The festival had not yet begun in full, but anticipation was already present. The streets would soon fill with werewolves and humans alike, all drawn by tradition and ro
