For Eliza, dawn arrived with a pale glow that bathed the castle towers in a silver mist. The mountains surrounding the fortress seemed to emerge from an ancient dream, wrapped in fog, and the air—cold, pure, vibrant—reminded her that she wasn't in her husband's pack.
There, the warmth was different: rawer, more primitive. Here, however, she felt energy flowing through her skin like a soft whisper, a caress that belonged to her. She was in her home. In her pack. With her family.
The waterfall that cascaded beside her balcony roared with a constant melody, and the birds' singing mingled with the echo of water. Everything was so alive, so perfect, that for a moment Eliza allowed herself to close her eyes and breathe. She felt strangely powerful. As if the air itself recognized her blood and bowed before her.
