Axel
I found Lowen out on the back porch a little after midnight, forearms braced against the railing, staring at the tree line like it owed him an explanation.
The house had gone quiet behind us. Most of the pack had drifted off to bed hours ago, and the long, slow hush of a sleeping den had settled over the place, broken only by the creak of old timber cooling and, now and then, the far-off call of an owl somewhere deep in the pines. The night air was cold and clean and tasted of resin and wet earth. A thin, silver moon hung low over the field, not quite full, throwing long blue shadows across the grass.
I didn't say anything at first. I just leaned against the post beside him and let the quiet sit there for a minute, because some things didn't need words shoved into them right away.
