Elara inhaled deeply, steeling herself before stepping out of the Blackwood pack house. The approaching Spring Festival loomed, a fancy dance of expectations and potential pitfalls. The Elders' "assistance" felt more like a noose slowly tightening around her neck. She needed to find something authentic, something beautiful, something that transcended the pack's usual... brutality.
Her first stop was the Ancestry Market, a sprawling collection of stalls overflowing with handcrafted goods, antique textiles, and relics from forgotten eras. This was her haven, a place where she could lose herself in the stories woven into every thread, every carving.
"Good morning, My Lady," greeted Mrs. Higgins, the owner of a small stall overflowing with dried herbs and woven tapestries. "Looking for somet
