The day was coming to an end when the girl showed up.
Not a soldier. Not a scout.
But a girl. Not older than sixteen with ripped boots, ears and arms covered in dirt. Her jaw suggested grit.
She appeared to be from Hollowreach, slightly out of breath but carrying a neatly folded letter covered in waxed cloth tied with red strings.
Mia ran into the girl and met her on the southern trail, where treetops glimmered in golden sunlight. Instead of Words, she offered her Water first. After the girl was done drinking, Mia took the letter.
No seal. No crest. Just a familiar sentence written in sharp, bold, and urgent letters.
Mia, read in silence.
Lucas came looking for them as he followed the girl's scent from somewhere down the ridge. The first thing he looked over was Mia's face, then the note.
"What is it?"
Mia kept quiet for a moment, feeling the need to strangle the letter after explaining the meaning to keep the grip.
"Ferrowind," she finally said. "There is movement again."
Lucas's expression darkened. "Where?"
"East. Close to Hollowreach's border. They are not attacking, but circling. Waiting."
He grumbled and crossed his arms. "So it starts yet again."
Mia shook her head. "No, not begins. Continues. This was never over. It was only resting."
______________________________________________________________________________________
By the time the sun dipped fully beneath the horizon, the council had convened—not in panic, but in preparation. They knew how to move now. How to listen. How to steady one another with silence when fear knocks on the edge of the room.
"Mia, are you alright?" Renna called after me, her voice laced with concern.
"They're not breaching," she said. "But they're watching the Hollowreach outer circles. Same behavior as before."
"I feel as if something else is troubling you," she pressed, and I could hear the feather-like steps she took towards me.
Responding would be futile. She would just hound me till the end of time.
"They are not breaching," she mumbled while staring at the map. "But they are continuing to observe the outer circles."
"That would mean they are testing for some kind of weakness," Cade added.
"They won't find it," Ember said. "Hollowreach has trained under our methods. They've built their defense circle. Their archive. Their voice."
Mia watched her speak. Not with pride. With relief.
Because the seeds that were sown in Silverpine were growing elsewhere and not as an imitation, not as a copy. As a legacy.
Do we go intervene?" Lucas questioned.
"Not unless they request our assistance," Mia chuckled, standing up from her seat and reclaiming the comment section of the document.
The council went quiet.
And reluctantly, in the end, came to terms.
This time, the assistance would not be forced upon her.
_________________________________________________________________
Mia had her evening stroll that night. That was her custom after council sessions. Not to refresh her brain, but rather, to burden herself.
The lodge was calm, with her wolves in slumber, fires softly shining, and faint sounds of merriment could be heard from the garden where two apprentices were likely indulging in the kitchen's supply.
Stopping them was not something she'd entertain.
Changing into a wolf happened almost instantaneously when she reached the place where sharp winds and echoes mixed beautifully, with her self silencing the primal urge deceptively placed deep within her instincts and instead, aligning with something far greater.
Her head held high, allowing her voice to break free.
Not a warning.
Not a call.
A declaration.
Not of war.
Of watchfulness.
Somewhere, she knew, Ferrowind ears would hear it.
Somewhere, Coren would tilt his head toward the sound and recognize it for what it was.
Not fear.
Not surrender.
But resolve.
__________________________________________________________________________
Nope! She didn't utter a single call for caution or an informative notification either. Her howl reeked of control wrapped around the pure emotion of watchfulness. Even now, it's safe to assume Ferrowind ears will catch it. Or Coren, not afar, waiting for the sounds, would directly associate it with such.
Revoke, at all. It was tangled in a resolve wrapped in not solely giving out. Surrender, however, was only intertwined with her howl as an underlying emotion.
Lucas had been with steaming mugs when Mia got home a bit after midnight, saying, "I heard you," with a wink. "I wasn't being quiet," Mia confirmed.
Handing her the mug, he said nothing. It was accepted. She sat next to him. The drink warmed her fingers and sent pleasant tingles down her spine.
"We're not done, are we?" he remarked. Lucas asked?
"No," she replied in a low voice. "But we are not fractured beyond repair, either."
He flipped open to yet another section of the book. Not a council scroll or pack document.
This one belonged to her.
A preserved and copied letter from her past.
Mia focused on the open page. The words were fuzzy, but the emotion was clear, returning to her like a whiff on the wind.
"Girl, who thought no one in the pack would ever hear her. Look how far your voice has traveled."
Gently, she shut the book.
Not to end it, but rather preserve what came next.
_______________________________________________________________________________
In the days that followed, Silverpine town went straight to war preparation.
No.
They prepped for survival instead.
Scouts cycled into the Hollowreach area, not as heroes, but as equals. Council envoys carried training supplies. A hoard of tales and weapons for planting. Not swords.
Mia wouldn't let Ferrowind fire be met with more fire.
Instead, it was met with presence.
Let them circle.
Let them watch.
Let them see.
This was not the same Silverpine they once tested.
And the world beyond was no longer fractured.
It was becoming something whole.
It was morphing into something undivided.
____________________________________________________________________________________
One day, Mia went back to the Archive of Names. She hadn't added anything new for weeks, but the stone displays were expanding—thanks to voices overlapping gently, one after the other. Some were tales of love while some were tales of loss. There was even one poem about a rabbit who married a crow and flew high into the sky.
She placed a note at the bottom of the shelf.
This time, it's not a letter.
Only one line is written.
"The strength of the pack is not in its howl. It is in its ability to remember."
Without saying a word, she walked out of the archive.
The stars flickered above her.
And for the first time in a long time, Mia permitted herself not to expect.
Not to devise a scheme.
She allowed herself to be.
Not a Luna.
Not a symbol.
Not an emblem.
But a wolf.
With roots that reached deep and a voice that echoed not because she shouted—
But because she had stayed.