A Vow Carved in Clay

ROMAN

The Bondfire Festival crackled around me, ancient traditions mixing with the scent of cedar and sage. I rolled the small lump of ceremonial clay between my palms, feeling its cool dampness against my skin. Everyone around me seemed to know exactly what they wanted—what wishes to carve into their tokens before casting them into the sacred flames.

I had no idea what to write.

In years past, this would have been simple. I'd have wished for strength. Power. Victory over rival packs. The arrogant desires of an Alpha who thought himself invincible.

What a fool I'd been.

"Alpha Vance, have you decided on your wish?" The Moonstone priestess approached, her silver robes shimmering in the firelight, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Not yet," I admitted, still working the clay with my fingers.

She smiled knowingly. "The most important wishes often take the longest to form."