Echoes Of War

CHAPTER XVII | KAILANI

The next three Suns crawl by in aching slowness, each one a test of patience. The den becomes both sanctuary and prison—its walls close and stifling, the air thick with the mingled scents of sap, soil, and solitude.

She spends the hours listening to the forest beyond, tracing the distant songs of birds and the occasional call of her packmates as they come and go. Each sound feels like a life she’s been exiled from. It gnaws at her, the stillness, the helpless waiting.

If not for Blaze’s constant presence—his soft chatter, his warmth pressed close during the coldest nights—and Rodwen’s steady visits, she thinks she might have gone mad.

Rodwen always brings news from the outside world: updates on the hunts, changes in patrols, the occasional wry comment that almost coaxes a smile from her. Blaze, meanwhile, fills the silence with stories—half real, half wild exaggeration—and when she laughs, it feels like breathing again.

Still, a weight lingers. Beneath every heartbeat, every quiet moment, the memory of Kailani’s spectral voice echoes through her thoughts—its warning chilling her more than the river ever could.

With Thushar’s imminent arrival, time feels suddenly fragile—slipping through her paws like melting snow. She must warn the pack if they are to stand a chance, if they are to prepare for whatever this threat may bring. But how?

How can she speak of spirits and omens without drawing suspicion—without reminding them of what she once was, of what they already whisper when they think she cannot hear?

Her claws press into the soil. What if they refuse to believe her? What if they turn those same wary eyes on her again—eyes that once saw a cursed wolf instead of a seer?

Or worse… what if they believe her, and the pack falls into fear and chaos before the danger even arrives?

A shiver ripples down her spine. The weight of the vision bears heavy in her chest, like frost creeping through her veins.

She draws a long, trembling breath. The choice feels impossible—but silence, she knows, could doom them all.

Then, Silver’s words resurface from the depths of her mind—soft yet unyielding, like the echo of a promise she hadn’t known she needed. His offer, once brushed aside as simple counsel, now feels like a lifeline cast into dark waters.

She must speak with him—before it’s too late.

Lifting her head, Lunis shifts carefully, the faint rustle of fur against earth whispering in the stillness. Blaze stirs beside her. For a moment, she stills, watching the steady rise and fall of his flank, the way exhaustion softens the young wolf’s usually bright features. He had run himself ragged tending to her every need—fetching water, guarding her sleep, refusing to leave her side even when his own body begged for rest.

Waking him feels wrong. Cruel, almost.

But as she rises—quiet as a mouse, her paws brushing over the cool soil—Blaze’s amber eyes flutter open. A soft yawn cracks his jaw, followed by a blink of confusion that melts into sleepy warmth as his gaze meets hers.

“Loony…? You’re up?” he murmurs, voice rough with drowsiness.

A soft sigh escapes her throat, though she hides it behind a gentle smile. Leaning down, Lunis presses her snout against his head, her voice soft and careful. “I need to speak with Silver. I won’t be long.”

Blaze blinks away the last traces of sleep, rolling onto his stomach. His amber eyes—still heavy but bright with concern—find hers. “Oh—he left at first light,” he murmurs, stretching his legs with a quiet groan. “Supply run. He probably won’t be back until Sunfall.”