Echoes Of War

CHAPTER IV | THE SEARCH FOR ANSWERS

The den site hums with quiet purpose, bathed in the tender hush of the cool early breeze. Above the northern pines, the first light of sunrise spills gold across the treetops, casting long shadows and kindling the forest in a slow, simmering glow.

Lying idly at the mouth of the den, Lunis rests her chin atop her paws, ears twitching to the rhythm of a waking forest. From the far edge of the clearing, wolves spill back through the undergrowth, the early light catching on their fur like gold spun into shadow. Barks echo with triumph, tails raised high, brushing the cool morning air as the patrol returns from their sweep of the territory. Their energy hums through the clearing-alive, restless, and full of stories-yet Lunis remains still. Her gaze intently follows their movements with quiet detachment, her expression unreadable. Beneath the still mask of her features, however, her mind is already elsewhere-coiled like a spring, taut with unspoken resolve.

Sneaking out.

It had haunted her all night-coiling through her thoughts like a serpent weaving tighter with every heartbeat.

The vision.

The blood.

The silence.

She needed answers.

But finding them wouldn't be easy.

With her punishment anchoring her to the den and Silver keeping her paws full with endless errands-gathering bark, stripping moss, fetching roots-Lunis knew she would have to carve her escape in the slimmest window of opportunity. One slip, one misstep, and she'd be caught. Again.

Her gaze drifts across the clearing, cool morning shadows still clinging to the farthest corners. Beneath the arching limbs of an overgrown bush, a hollow lies nestled in darkness-a shallow dip in the earth, half-hidden by underbrush and dew-slicked leaves. Easy to miss. Easier to vanish through. If she timed it right.

She then glances toward the massive boulder standing guard beside the den site, its surface slowly brightening beneath the lazy stretch of sunlight. Early light spills across the stone like honeyed silk. She knows this rhythm well. Silver always took his nap during early sun, just as the light warmed the rocks. Rituals of the old.

And sure enough, something stirs at the den's mouth. A shadow unfurls-Silver.

His pelt, streaked with grey and shadow, brushes against the golden light as he steps into the clearing. His jaw cracks wide with a yawn, ears flicking lazily, yellow eyes dulled with sleep. Stretching his spine with the precision of habit, he makes his way toward the stone, haunches rising as he leaps with practiced ease onto its sunlit crown.

A few turns. A quiet grunt. Then, he settles.

Chest rising and falling with the slow tide of slumber.

Lunis doesn't move-not yet. She watches, breath shallow, until his tail stills and his ears droop. Then, and only then, the faintest glimmer sparks in her eyes.

Her window had opened.

Gingerly, Lunis rises to her paws, every muscle deliberate, her posture calm, unassuming-just another wolf stretching her legs beneath the weight of morning. She doesn't rush. Haste would only draw suspicion. Instead, she walks with the ease of routine, her steps fluid and rhythmic, a subtle performance for any wandering eyes that might still linger.

She glides toward the shadowed hollow, the bush's tangled limbs casting a mottled veil across her fur. Pausing beside it, she lowers her head, ears twitching at every distant rustle, every snap of twig beyond the clearing. One paw stretches forward, clawing at the soil with casual indifference, as though merely kicking up dust. But each stroke is purposeful. Quiet. Measured.