The morning of River Day dawned bright and peaceful, a soft gold spilling over the lands of the pack. The day began, with the ritualistic procession to the water's edge. Vilka whi was led by Otsanna, led the solemn line, her voice clear and melodic as she recited the ancient prayers.
She moved with a grace that was both innate and practiced, but beneath the ceremonial robes, her heart was a separate, turbulent thing.
Now, back within the quiet sanctuary of her chambers, she had taken off the heavy clothes of worship. Instead, she wore an elegant gown of lemon-yellow silk that draped around her ankles. She was seated before her silver-leafed mirror, carefully securing a hairpin of woven moonstone, when Alma's reflection appeared behind her. The senior she-wolf offered a polite, deep bow.
"You have a visitor, Luna," Alma announced, her voice a low, respectful hum.
