The smell of hickory and charred meat curled through the clearing long before the first laugh rang out.
I stood at the edge of the porch for a moment, fingers wrapped around a glass of lemonade, watching my pack arrive—our pack—and felt something in my chest loosen that had been knotted tight for years.
They came in twos and threes at first. Then families. Then elders leaning on canes carved with old runes, children darting ahead of their parents with grass-stained knees and shrill laughter. Trucks lined the drive, pack banners fluttered from the trees, and long wooden tables had been dragged out into the open, already heavy with covered dishes, bowls of fruit, and homemade bread.
This wasn’t just a birthday barbecue.
This was a showing.
Support. Loyalty. A quiet but powerful declarat
