Becky POV
The first light of dawn barely touched the edges of the clearing when I finally stirred. Moonlight still lingered faintly on the dew-damp grass, leaving silver trails across the tips of the blades. The wolf inside me stretched lazily, rolling in the earth, teeth bared in a silent snarl, claws digging shallow grooves in the soil. The night had given her freedom, and now she wanted to linger, to savor the taste of air, the scent of other wolves, the bond of survival.
I, however, had obligations beyond instinct.
Slowly, I rose and surveyed the clearing. Wolves were still scattered, many curled in clumps, others walking in slow circles, half-shifted forms illuminated in fading moonlight. Laughter and low murmurs drifted in the cool air — a sound that was foreign, yet comforting, almost like peace. Not long ago, peace had been impossible here.
