The cottage looked different now.
Same stone walls. Same thatched roof. Same creaky door that Lumi always forgot to close properly.
But the garden was bigger. The fence was repaired. And in the backyard, a swing set stood — built by Dax, painted by Lumi, blessed by the entire pack. The wood was still fresh, still smelling of pine, still unmarked by weather. In a few years, it would grey and weather, would hold generations of children if they were lucky enough to have them.
"Come on, Papa! Push me!"
Dax obliged. His arms straining slightly as Lumi climbed higher. The swing chains creaked in protest, metal singing against metal, a small sound in the large quiet of the afternoon. The sun hung low and golden in the sky, painting everything in shades of amber and honey.
Even now, mid-swing
