One look at the wreckage strewn across the Dawnveil territory told the whole story. The moment Fenris Voss killed him, every last pack member had followed the Supreme Alpha away without hesitation. Their scent trails led outward, all of them, not a single one circling back.
Not a single one stayed behind to bury him.
For a pack of wolves that heartless, did Master truly believe it was worth it?
Faced with my silence, the Matron's eyes grew redder still.
But she was terrified I would do something reckless, so she swallowed her own tears and forced a smile. I could smell the salt on her, dried lavender and hearth-smoke and beneath it all, the faint undercurrent of tears that never fully dried.
"Lynara, you came back, didn't you? As long as you remember your master, that's enough."
Desperate to smother the hatred in my heart, she hurried into the kitchen and brought out a pot still faintly warm with steam.
"Lynara, our Dawnveil Pack is small. We don't have the power. Let's not talk about revenge."
"Look. Your master stewed this pigeon soup for you right before he died."
"He said you must have suffered on the road. You were already too thin, he said. You needed to eat properly."