Velara's POV.
The sky has turned to ash again.
Mist clings to the forest like an old sadness, curling through the branches and draping the earth in silver threads of quiet. Rain falls softly — not heavy enough to wash anything clean, but just enough to make the world feel damp and heavy.
I sit by the window, my fingers curled around a warm cup of tea that’s long since gone cold. I don’t bother reheating it. Some things are meant to be held, not fixed.
Yesterday feels like a dream now.
A rare, radiant day. The sun broke through the veil of gray that usually hangs over Black Hollow like a shroud, and we all came alive in it. Laughter, running feet, shifting fur and playful snarls. Children chasing butterflies. Mates stealing kisses. For a brief, golden sliver of time, the world was kind
