Elder Mora's POV
The goddess does not shout. She whispers.
And most wolves are too loud to hear her.
But I do, and I heard her again tonight.
The fire cracked in the hearth and sent sparks spinning up into the black sky. My bones ached the way they always do just before something breaks, and the whispers brushed against me like the cold.
Blood. Wolves at the border. She is in chains.
I opened my eyes and felt a heavy wave sit on my heart. The visions never came for nothing.
Aisla knelt in the circle of stones, lips moving effortlessly through the chants I had drilled into her for weeks.
Her voice shook and her hands trembled. But she did not stop.
When the last words left her mouth, she exhaled like she had been holding her breath for hours.
"How did that feel?" I asked.
She looked up, tired. "Like I'm still just pretending."
