Cast Out by My Mate, Crowned by the Moon

Chapter 14 – Rumors and Roots

By the end of the week, the forest knew my name.

Not in the grand, mystical way Maelor’s fanatics whispered it, probably. More in the practical sense that every passing scout, trader, and nosy loner seemed to have a version of “the wild Luna of Wildcrest” they wanted to test against the real thing.

“The what?” I demanded, for the third time that morning.

Orric didn’t even look up from the poultice he was mixing. “The wild Luna,” he repeated blandly. “I hear she’s very tall, breathes fire, and once bit a council member in half.”

I threw a strip of bandage at his head. He dodged with infuriating ease.

“This is your fault,” I told him. “You’re the one who keeps introducing me as ‘Liora, our Luna, try not to bleed on her too much.’”

“Accuracy is important in healing,” he said. “And in rumors. The fire-breathing part is an exaggeration, though. So far.”

Outside, voices rose as a small group approached the camp. Nyssa’s laugh carried back on the wind, followed by a deeper male voice I didn’t recognize.

Orric’s gaze flicked toward the doorway. “Speaking of,” he murmured. “Your audience awaits.”

“Absolutely not.” I planted myself on the stool. “I am on bandage duty. Very important. No time for myth management.”

“Coward,” he said fondly, and went to answer whoever had just rapped on the post.

A moment later, Nyssa stuck her head in. “Liora. Guests.”

“I’m busy pretending to be indispensable,” I said.

“Too late,” she chirped. “They saw your leg.” Then, dropping her voice: “They came from far. If they leave thinking you’re just a story, that’s on you.”

I sighed, set down the roll of linen, and pushed to my feet. “Fine. But if anyone asks me to bless their crops, I’m biting you.”

“Promises, promises,” Nyssa grinned.

The visitors waited near the central fire: three wolves, travel-worn, cloaks dusty, eyes watchful. Their scents were faintly familiar in the way of distant kin—pine and snow and something metallic. Northern, maybe.

Sorren stood with them, hands loose at his sides. His expression eased when he saw me, some quiet tension unwinding from his shoulders.

“Liora,” he said. “These are from Froststep Pack. This is their Beta, Arik. They’ve been hit by Maelor’s leftovers more than once.”

Arik inclined his head, gaze sharp. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Sorry,” I said before I could stop myself. “I keep telling people not to talk.”

A ghost of a smile twitched at his mouth, there and gone. He studied me like I was a weapon he was considering borrowing.

“We came for two things,” he said. “To see if you were real. And to ask how you did what you did on the mountain.”

I stiffened. “I didn’t do it alone.”

“But you were the focus,” he said. “Our elders think if we understood your method, we could replicate a… smaller version. To clear out what’s left of his work in our lands.”

Sorren’s eyes slid to mine, checking, asking. He’d promised: we wouldn’t let the world carve me up into spare parts again, even for a good cause.

A month ago, I might have said yes without thinking, desperate to be useful. A year ago, I’d have deferred to my Alpha, waiting for his command.

Now I took a breath and listened—really listened.

Under Arik’s urgency was genuine fear. Under that, love. For his pack, his pups, his snow-covered hills. Not greed. Not hunger for control.

“Tell me what you’ve tried,” I said. “And what it cost.”

We moved to the shaded side of the clearing, away from curious ears. Arik talked. I listened. He described rituals their shamans had attempted, herbs burned, wards drawn; how sometimes the corruption retreated, sometimes it fought back, sometimes it just… shifted.

When he finished, he looked at me like he was bracing for a verdict that might break him.

“I can’t teach you to be me,” I said. “Wouldn’t if I could.”

His jaw tightened.

“But,” I added, “I can tell you what not to do. And maybe how to build something that fits your land and your wolves instead of wearing my skin like a borrowed coat.”

Sorren’s shoulders eased a fraction.

We spent the afternoon bent over Orric’s table, sketching rough circles in charcoal on the plank wood, crossing out more than we kept. Sivra drifted in at some point, muttering commentary about “young wolves always reinventing wheels,” but her gnarled finger corrected a few symbols with frightening precision.

“Your ground is different,” I told Arik, tapping the crude map of Froststep territory. “Your Lunas are different. If you copy what we did here, you’ll just twist things in a new direction. Maelor got as far as he did because too many packs wanted one answer for everyone.”

“And you don’t?” he asked.

“I want a world where no one ever stands on a stone and gets told their only options are obedience or exile,” I said, sharper than I meant to. I forced my hand flat on the table. “So no. No templates. Only suggestions.”

He sat back, studying me for a long moment. Then he nodded, once, slow.

“That’s more than most would give,” he said. “Thank you.”

After they’d left, promises of future messages hanging between us like new-spun threads, I stepped outside, letting the late sun wash over my face.

“You handled that,” Sorren said, coming to stand beside me, “very… Liora-ly.”

“That’s not a word,” I said.

“It is now,” he said. “You could’ve turned into the high priestess they all want and handed out commandments. Instead you gave them back their own work.”

“I’m allergic to being anyone’s high anything,” I muttered. “Besides, if I solve all their problems, what will they blame when they mess up?”

He huffed a laugh. “You’re getting good at this.”

“At what?” I asked.

“Being a Luna who isn’t a leash,” he said simply.

The words sank in, warm and terrifying and right.

A group of pups tore past us then, chasing each other with sticks, voices bright. Rian yelled something about “Liora’s patrol technique” and promptly ran into a tree.

Sorren winced. “We may need to refine exactly what lessons they’re learning from you.”

I smiled, watching as Lysa doubled over laughing and Nyssa yelled half-heartedly at them to slow down.

“Maybe,” I said. “But they’re running toward the future, not away from it. I’ll take the bruises.”

Sorren’s hand brushed mine, fingers hooking for a heartbeat before letting go again. A question, not a claim.

I held on.