The courtyard of the western pack was still damp from the night's rain. A soft mist clung to the earth, silvering the stones and making the air heavy with moisture. Alpha Vale stood tall, his shoulders squared and dark hair tied back, while beside him his sister Isolde fussed with the ties of her cloak. They had come to their mother's pack for the first time in many months, a return that felt ceremonial though it was nothing more than family obligation.
Arin stood at the doorway of the infirmary, the scent of dried herbs and bitter roots thick on her palms as she dried them on her apron. She was younger than most of those who came to her for aid, her eyes wide and eager, carrying the naive warmth of someone who still believed good work alone earned trust. She greeted the siblings with a small bow.
