The days after the battle carried the weight of survival a fragile, precious thing that tasted like blood and smoke.Blackthorn pack healed in layers. The great hall echoed with low conversations, the sharp scent of healing herbs, and the occasional groan of pain as wolves shifted to speed mending. Scouts returned from patrols with quiet reports no Silverfang movement yet, but tracks circling far out, testing the new wards. The Evergreen Coven’s vines had spread like living armor along the riverbank and northern ridge thick, thorny, pulsing with faint violet light that hummed when touched.
Elara barely left the healing lodge. Liora had made the apprenticeship official with a simple ritual sage smoke curling around them, a braid of moonbloom and wolfbane tied around their wrists, a promise
