Six months later, I stood on the porch of the main house, watching Hope toddle after a butterfly in the garden. At eighteen months old, she was fearless, so different from the terrified wolf I'd once been. She had Duke's dark hair and my green eyes, and a laugh that could light up the entire compound.
"Mama! Mama, look!" She pointed at the butterfly with chubby fingers, her whole face glowing with wonder.
"I see it, baby. It's beautiful." I smiled, my heart so full it ached.
The sanctuary had grown exponentially in the past months. We now had forty-three residents, with more arriving every week. The Council's official protection had changed everything- packs could no longer threaten us, couldn't demand we return their "property." We'd become a symbol of something larger than ourselves.
