The idea is simple. So simple it almost feels fragile.
A picnic.
Not a gathering. Not a formal outing. Not something arranged for appearances. Just... time. Together.
Rayven chooses the place carefully.
Far enough from the main grounds that the noise of the pack fades into nothing. Close enough that Willow won’t feel isolated. A clearing bordered by tall trees, where sunlight filters through in soft, shifting patterns.
Quiet. Safe. Unwatched. For once.
Willow notices the quiet first.
Not the food laid out. Not the blankets. Not even Rayven standing nearby, watching her carefully without making it obvious.
The quiet. It settles around her in a way that feels unfamiliar. Not heavy. Not suffocating. Just… open.
Talon stirs softly in her arms. Phoenix shifts against Rayven’s chest.
T
