The dusk settled over Oakhaven with the quiet crackle of burning birchwood.
Upstairs in the clinic’s newly completed living quarters, the smell of fresh cedar resin and dried lavender hung in the warm air. Two small cot frames had been assembled near the wide window, covered with thick wool quilts donated by the village weavers.
At the small round table in the corner, Jaxon sat swinging his legs, dipping a crust of dark bread into a bowl of thick vegetable stew.
Beside him, Max sat on a backless wooden stool. The Alpha King had rolled his linen sleeves up to his elbows, patiently carving a miniature pine wolf cub with a small whittling knife, blowing the wood dust away from Jaxon’s stew bowl after each delicate stroke.
"Is his tail going to be fluffy like Commander Caleb’s wolf form?"
