CHAPTER NINETEEN
The soft crunch of twigs underfoot is the only sound that accompanies me as I weave through the dense thicket of the forest. My hands are gentle but purposeful, plucking herbs with an expertise Sarah, the healer, has painstakingly taught me. I can't help but feel a small surge of pride; in this quiet, unassuming task, I am not the weak, shiftless she-wolf my pack sees. Here, among the whispering trees and fragrant earth, I am necessary.
My fingers thread through the foliage, seeking the soft, feathered touch of chamomile and the sturdy stem of echinacea. Sarah's list is clear in my mind, each herb a checkmark towards proving my worth. The pack might discount me for what I lack, but Sarah — she understands the value of knowledge over brute strength.
I crouch to inspect a
