"Lower your weapons!" Harvey's command ripped through the tense silence, his voice raw with authority. The warriors, their faces a mask of conflicting emotions, hesitated.
"But Beta Harvey," the burly warrior from before protested, his grip still tight on his blade, "she... she is a Siberian. And you are wounded!"
"These wounds are not from her," Harvey retorted, his eyes blazing, "but from my attackers, the ones who ambushed us in the ravine. She saved me." His gaze swept over them, daring them to defy him.
Slowly, reluctantly, the warriors began to sheath their weapons. The metallic clicks echoed ominously in the air. Their eyes, however, remained fixed on Elara, burning with a cold, hostile glare that promised no forgiveness. Elara, her heart still thrumming with residual fear, instinctively tightened her grip on Harvey's arm, her fingers digging into his bicep as if he were the only shield between her and their venomous stares.
"Let us pass," Harvey stated, his voice now calmer but no less firm.
The warriors parted, forming a narrow path, their bodies rigid with resentment. As they walked between the silent, glowering figures, Elara felt the weight of their collective hatred pressing down on her. The air was thick with unspoken threats, and she clung to Harvey, his presence a fragile anchor in a sea of animosity.
Once they were past the immediate gauntlet of warriors, Harvey let out a heavy sigh. "Elara, I am truly sorry," he murmured, his voice laced with genuine regret. "This is not the welcome you deserved." He offered a small, reassuring smile. "They're just… protective. And scared."
Elara, however, wasn't buying it. The memory of the drawn blades and the venomous glares was still too fresh. She simply rolled her eyes, a silent but eloquent expression of her doubt.
Her gaze had already fallen upon the village spread before them, and her fear began to recede, replaced by a profound wave of sadness. Stone Haven, once a vibrant hub of activity, was now a shadow of its former self. Figures moved with a slow, listless gait, their faces hollow and pale. The air was heavy with a pervasive scent of sickness and despair. She saw women huddled together, their shoulders shaking with silent sobs, men with grim, defeated expressions, and children whose laughter had been replaced by a haunting quiet.
A thin, gaunt figure, clearly ravaged by the plague, stumbled towards them, his hand outstretched. "Please, a little food... I'm so hungry..." he rasped, his eyes pleading.
Before Harvey or Elara could react, one of the fully armored warriors, who had followed them into the village, roughly shoved the beggar away. "Stay back, you're infected!" he snarled, recoiling as if the man's touch would instantly contaminate him. The beggar fell to the dusty ground, coughing weakly, his pleas lost in the growing silence. Elara watched, a pang of anguish piercing her heart. The fear of infection was so palpable it had twisted compassion into cruelty.
"This... this isn't how it used to be," Harvey said, his voice thick with sorrow, his gaze sweeping over the desolate scene. "Stone Haven was once a place of strength, of pride. Our warriors were renowned, our hunters brought bountiful feasts, our people lived with joy and purpose. The air would be filled with the sounds of training, of children playing, of songs and laughter. We were a beacon of resilience in these lands." He paused, a deep ache in his eyes. "Now... now we are just waiting to be extinguished."
Elara looked from the suffering faces to Harvey, whose own pain was evident and the cruel animosity from the warriors.
Here, before her, was a pack on the brink of collapse, consumed by a disease that stole their spirit as much as their life. Her resolve solidified, pushing away any lingering doubts or fears.
"No," Elara thought to herself, her gaze sweeping over the suffering villagers. "Not if I can help it." A silent vow formed within her, a burning promise fueled by the despair that surrounded her. I will do everything in my power to wipe this disease from Stone Haven.
Elara and Harvey finally arrived at the heart of Stonehaven, where the high-ranking werewolves resided. A beautiful house was prepared for Elara, meticulously arranged with every comfort imaginable. Among its many features, a sun-drenched conservatory, perfect for cultivating rare herbs, stood out, promising a serene space for her craft. Harvey had even foreseen her medical needs, stocking an adjacent room with supplies.
Stepping inside, Elara was immediately captivated. "Harvey, this is wonderful," she said, her voice filled with genuine appreciation. "Thank you."
Harvey smiled warmly. "It was no problem at all, Elara. I had the maids prepare the room for you before I left to pick you up. I wanted to make sure you had a place where you could fully relax and have a clear focus on your medicine making for the pack."
With a gentle nod and a lingering look of concern, Harvey bid her good night, leaving Elara to settle into her new sanctuary.
After ensuring Elara was settled, Harvey made his way to Alpha Lucian's office to deliver the news of her safe arrival. The information seemed to ease a visible tension in Lucian's shoulders, bringing a measure of peace to his face.
"She's here, then?" Lucian asked, his voice carrying a weight of responsibility. "Safe and sound?"
"Yes, Alpha," Harvey confirmed. "She's settling into the house now. It's been prepared just as you instructed, with everything she needs."
Harvey then recounted their journey, detailing the ambush they had faced. He described the ferocity of the attackers, their unfamiliar scent, and the tactics they employed. A shadow crossed Lucian's face as he listened intently, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the armrests of his chair.
"They were clearly after Elara," Harvey emphasized. "They didn't seem interested in anything else."
Harvey hesitated, a knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach. The air in Lucian's study, usually thick with the scent of old parchment and pine, now felt heavy and charged. He steeled himself, his voice laced with a mix of apology and suspicion, barely above a whisper. "Alpha, I apologize for even needing to ask this, but... were you the one who sent those attackers? Their methods... they were too precise, too organized for mere rogues."
Lucian remained motionless behind his large, carved oak desk, his posture rigid. His eyes, usually sharp and commanding, were now like chips of flint, reflecting nothing. He simply stared back, his expression a mask of stone, revealing no anger, no surprise, no denial. The silence stretched, taut and suffocating. Harvey met his gaze, a curious frown creasing his brow, his own heart hammering against his ribs. He searched desperately for any flicker of emotion, any subtle tell, any confirmation in the Alpha's unyielding eyes, but found only an impenetrable wall. The question hung between them, heavy and unanswered.