Rowan
I was scanning for anywhere that might offer temporary refuge when I spotted a bent over old woman. Grey-haired, small, and struggling with a wooden crate that was clearly too heavy for her. She had set it down on the street and was trying to catch her breath, one hand pressed to her lower back.
No one stopped to help.
Wolves moved past her without a glance, absorbed in their own concerns.
'Well, that's harsh.'
I slowed my pace.
"Rowan?" Violet's voice was quiet.
"Come."
I crossed the street quickly.
The woman looked up as I approached, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. Up close, I could see the deep lines carved into her face, and the weathered texture of her skin. She had lived a long time and worked hard for most of it.
"Need some help with that?" I asked.
She studied me for a long moment. Her gaze swept over our clothes and faces before stopping at the bags.
"You're not from here," she said flatly.
'Well, this is a serious problem…'
