Claire couldn't sleep.
It was past midnight. Ruth was resting—Sarah had administered the evening medications and reported that vitals were declining but stable, that tomorrow would likely be a turning point, that they should both try to get some rest while they could. But Claire's mind was too full, too active, turning over everything Ruth had told her about David's choice, about the original promise, about Silver saving her mother's life thirty-three years ago.
Seven generations, Ruth had said. The wolves bearing witness now were seven generations removed from the one who'd brought medicine to a dying woman.
How was that possible? How did they remember?
Claire went to the barn.
She didn't bother with a jacket—the cold was sharp but the distance was short and she needed the bite of it
