Ronan stepped into the dining hall, the familiar scents washing over him. Roasted meat, fresh bread, warm spices, and the layered scent of his pack filled his lungs. His body was tired, but in that good way that came from pushing himself hard. He had pulled his shirt back on before coming into the pack house, and now it clung to the sweat beading along his back, the damp fabric cooling quickly against his skin.
The dining hall was a huge space, filled with both round tables and long rectangular ones, all organized to allow wide aisles between them so plenty of people could move easily. Also so that his Uncle Donovan, who used a wheelchair, could maneuver without difficulty.
His father had always impressed on him the importance of creating a space that was accessible to every member of th
