Echoes Of War

CHAPTER VII | A BREATHE OF LIFE

A stillness grips the pack like frost seizing the earth. Heads lower, ears slick back, and uncertain murmurs weave through the group in uneasy ripples. The sound of them—half-whispered, brittle—crawls along Lunis' skin.

Her chest aches. She knows well enough that rogues—wolves without the shield of a pack—rarely survive long. Hunger, the bite of winter, or the jaws of another predator will sooner or later claim them. But this...

Her gaze drifts back to the silver-coated stranger. A mother. One who had fought not for her own life, but for the tiny heartbeat curled into her side.

For such a young pup to be taken—so violently, so soon—it cleaves something deep within Lunis. There's no lesson here, no circle of life she can quietly accept. This is no gentle fading beneath the stars. This is cruelty. Raw and senseless.

The air is thick with the unspoken. No one steps forward. No one breathes too loud. And yet the weight of it presses into their pelts, sinking its claws deep.

Lunis' gaze drifts to Rohan. The oak-hued Alpha leans close to Navira, pressing his muzzle into the sleek fur along her neck. Her sapphire eyes—usually sharp and steady—are wide, glassy, and brimming with something that steals the air from Lunis' chest. Shock. Maybe even grief.

Navira's lips move, shaping words too soft for Lunis to catch. Rohan listens, his frame still as stone, save for the faint twitch of an ear. He nods once, slow. Then Navira growls low, the sound rumbling through the narrow space between them like distant thunder.

They pause—locked in a silent conversation that speaks louder than any bark. Lunis sees it in the subtle shifts: the angle of Rohan's head, the flicker of hesitation in his amber gaze. A heartbeat later, she reads the shape of his words—Are you certain?

Navira's answer is in the firmness of her nod. No waver. No doubt.

Her gaze steadies, sapphire eyes sharpening with resolve as Navira turns to face the gathered wolves. Lifting her head high, she lets her voice carry over the clearing.

"We will hold a burial ceremony for this rogue and her pup. Rohan and I—" her words falter, catching on a knot she forces herself to swallow, "—Rohan and I will be their stand-in relatives."

A hush blankets the pack, as though the wind itself has stilled to listen. Every eye fixes on their leaders, the weight of Navira's decree settling heavy in the air.

Lunis can only stare, her thoughts scattering like startled crows. A burial ceremony—for rogues. The tradition is sacred, reserved only for the fallen of the pack. It is their final honor: the kin laying the body to rest, followed by the howl to Falla, calling the spirit to guide the dead to the afterlife.

But rogues... rogues are denied that passage. To die exiled is to be condemned to wander forever, unseen, unheard, unclaimed. That is the fear that keeps every wolf loyal to their pack, even when loyalty is a chain.

And now, Navira would break that unspoken law.

Lunis' chest tightens. This was no simple gesture of kindness—it was a defiance that could stir whispers for many Suns to come.

Still, Navira doesn't falter. Without another word, she turns toward the silver rogue, her movements steady, deliberate, as if the weight of her decision is carved into her very bones.

For a heartbeat, Rohan's gaze locks with Lunis'. Those amber depths are heavy—laden with something unspoken yet sharp enough to slice through her chest. She almost steps forward, drawn to the gravity in his eyes, when—

"Summar's flaming eye—Rohan!" Navira's bark cuts like a crack of lightning.

The oak-furred male whirls around at the sound of her voice. The matriarch's cry pierces through the murmurs, rising above the tension. "They're alive!!"