The healer arrived at sunset with a soft, respectful knock.
"Come in," Alex called, sitting up and smoothing his borrowed shirt.
An elderly female wolf entered—the same silver-furred elder who had spoken of ancestors in the heart-lodge.
Up close, her glow in the firelight and ancient, compassionate eyes were striking.
"I am Moss," she said, voice like wind through dry leaves. "Senior healer. Here to ensure you and your young thrive despite today's stress."
She set down a jingling leather bag with graceful efficiency.
"May I?" She gestured to his stomach.
"Yes." Alex fought instinctive defensiveness. "What do I do?"
"Lie back. Relax. I examine by touch and scent—effective, though different."
Moss settled beside him, warm hands pressing carefully along his abdomen, locating each of the six forms with precision.
"Active. Good response to stimuli," she murmured. "But agitated. They miss your mates' dual scents."
"Is that bad?" Anxiety spiked. "Will it hurt them?"
