The next afternoon found Aria back in the garden, right where she felt most at peace. She sat cross-legged on her worn blanket, the fabric soft and familiar beneath her. In front of her lay a small pile of yarrow and chamomile, the herbs fragrant in the warm air.
She was tying them into neat bundles, her fingers moving slow and steady through the familiar motions. It was calming work, the kind that let her mind wander while her hands stayed busy. The sun felt warm on her shoulders, pleasant without being too hot. Birds sang from the trees nearby, their songs weaving together into a peaceful melody.
For once, Aria felt almost calm. Almost normal. Like she was just a regular girl doing regular things, not the Little Luna with all the weight and expectations that came with that title.
Then she heard footsteps on the path. They were soft, careful, approaching from the direction of the main pack grounds. She looked up from her work, squinting slightly against the sunlight.
