*Bram*
I sit on the edge of the clearing, letting the fall sunset settle on my shoulders. Around the camp, the Song Pack people move through their routines. The children chase one another between the tents, women tend to small chores, and men repair tools or check supplies.
The smoke from the central fire curls upward into the bright blue sky, carrying the rich scent of elk cooking over the flames. It’s been a week since Lyra and I first spoke with Song Pack in their meeting house, and already the rhythm of life here feels different. Lyra kneels beside me at the fire, carefully turning the meat as we work, sparks dancing around her face.
She glances up at me, a smile tugging at her lips. “They’re starting to really trust us,” she says.
I nod, letting my gaze wander. She’s right. In
