The Start of the End

The sun was low by the time I rose from the bench in the exam room. The basket Tamsin left sat heavy in my arms, but the weight wasn't just physical—it was symbolic, a cradle of new beginnings tucked into jars and herbs and folded linens.

I walked slowly through the halls of the pack house, each step echoing softly on the stone floors. The quiet comfort of the building, the smell of woodsmoke and herbs, the faint laughter of healers somewhere in the upper rooms—it all felt too warm, too gentle for the war still looming beyond the walls.

When I stepped out into the open air of MoonHaven again, the square had begun to quiet. Shadows stretched long across the cobbled streets, the last golden streaks of daylight catching on the edges of the stonework and polished glass windows.

Children ran barefoot near the fountain, their giggles sharp in the air, chasing one another while their parents watched from stoops and benches. It made my chest ache, just a little.