Chapter 7
The Alpha's Doubt
Her father, Thistle, remains wary, his pride clashing with leahs burgeoning power. He sees her gifts as a disruption, not a salvation, deepening the rift between them.
The air in the Alpha’s den was thick with a silence that pressed down on me, heavier than any snowdrift. My father, Thistle, sat with his back to me, his massive frame a wall of obsidian fur against the flickering firelight. Mother, Bean, was a shadow beside him, her gaze fixed on the flames as if seeking answers there that she wouldn’t seek from me. It had been days since my return, days since the sky gods had woven their magic into my very being, and the pack still buzzed with a nervous energy, a thousand whispered questions I couldn't answer. They looked at me, at the shimmer that sometimes clung to my fur, at the impossible clarity in my eyes, and saw something they didn't understand. But it was my parents’ reaction that gnawed at me the most.
Thistle finally stirred, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the stone floor. "They say you speak with the wind, Elara."
I kept my voice even, a skill honed by years of observing the subtle shifts in pack dynamics. "The wind carries many things, Father. Whispers, scents, warnings."
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