Luna came home from Blackthorne's territory differently.
Not dramatically. Not in ways most people would notice. But I saw it. The way she carried herself was with more confidence. The way she spoke about her teaching was with quiet certainty instead of apologetic explanation. The way she'd grown into being an instructor, independent of being my daughter.
Blackthorne's pack progressed faster than any group I've taught, she told me the night she returned, unpacking her bag in her room. Seventy-eight wolves completed basic defensive training. Twenty-three advanced to intermediate level. And Blackthorne himself can now maintain combat-ready shields for two full minutes.
That's impressive. I sat on her bed, watching her carefully fold training materials. How did he treat you? Any problems?
