The days after the battle were a blur of grief and duty.
We buried our dead beneath the ancient oaks, their names carved into stones that would stand for generations. Ren. Dara. So many others. Families wept, and I wept with them, my own pain swallowed by the greater sorrow of the pack.
Damon was everywhere and nowhere. He led the funeral rites, spoke words of comfort to the grieving, planned the rebuilding of our defenses. But at night, he didn't come to our hut. Didn't come to me. He slept in the meeting hut, alone, and I didn't have the right to question it.
Caleb threw himself into work—training new warriors, reinforcing the borders, hunting for food to feed the pack. I saw him across the clearing, always across the clearing, never close enough to touch. He looked as exhausted as I
