-----Lyra-----
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Sam asks as I pull on an old black skirt of hers, one I have altered for this exact occasion.
"Yes," I say with a nod. "We'll both do our duty at the pack house, and then we'll have our own little Christmas dinner."
Sam smiles at me fondly.
"You're a good egg, Lyra," she says, disappearing from the doorway.
I slip my arms into the short-sleeved white shirt and begin fastening the buttons.
It is not made for shoulders like mine, or arms with any real muscle tone, but I only have to endure it for a few hours.
Just long enough to serve Christmas dinner to the senior pack members.
There are only eighteen dining today. Quite a few of those who might have attended are instead anchored off the coast of some luxury island in the Caribbean.
