Chapter 18 — Threads of One Banner

Autumn slipped in on a hush of crimson leaves, and with it the first Harvest Confluence—Moonfang’s pledge to celebrate bounty with Ironclaw. Lanterns bobbed above the training yard; carpenters turned sword racks into banquet tables; pups darted beneath skirts, clutching flag-streamers stitched in both packs’ colors.

Ophelia wove through the bustle, clipboard in one hand, the rolled Charter tucked under her elbow. At every stop she checked tasks:

* Maeve’s kitchens—spit-roasted boar, root-pie towers, berry tarts (✓)

* Rowan’s infirmary tent—herb draughts for overeager drinkers (✓)

* Silver Line honor guard—mixed patrols positioned discreetly, weapons peace-bound (✓)

When she reached the courtyard gate, Thorn appeared astride a dappled gelding, escorting Ironclaw wagons stacked with cedar barrels. He swung down, grinning. “Mountain mead, courtesy of Rurik—and one stubborn Alpha who insists on hauling his own cask.”