Lyra
They let me back in to pack my things.
That is how it was phrased when the message was delivered to me. A flat administrative permission relayed to me by a low ranking member of the pack, who delivers the message without meeting my eyes and is gone before I could even reply. I was giving till morning to collect my belongings.
I hesitate at the entrance of the pack house for a moment before I go in.
Through the wooden door I can hear movement in the house. I hear the low murmur of wolves going about their evening. Pressing my palm flat against the door and feeling the familiar texture of it, I push it open and step inside for what feels like the last time.
I feel the change in the atmosphere immediately.
Their reaction isn’t dramatic as nobody screams or yells. It is much mo
