Page 69 of Wolf's Reckoning
“I don’t follow instructions well,” he said quietly. “Ask anyone.”
I didn’t smile.
Couldn’t.
“Rowen…you can’t stay here,” he said, voice low so only I could hear over the wind.
I shook my head. “I need to.”
“You need to breathe,” he murmured. “And stand.”
I closed my eyes, the weight of everything I’d lost pressing harder. “They’re watching me.”
“They always will,” he said. “But you decide what they see.”
I opened my eyes again. The wind was stronger now, tearing through the trees like it knew something had broken loose.
“I don’t want to be strong today,” I admitted, my lips barely moving, feeling another tear roll down my cheek.
“You don’t have to want it,” Wolfe said quietly. “You just have to stand, princess.”
Princess.Goddess, I hated that name. It made me sound spoiled.Weak. I was not weak.
I rose into a sitting position. Slow. Controlled. Bones aching from restraint.
I looked at him through blurred vision. The mountain gave nothing without effort—no shelter, no comfort. Only height. Only space to fall.
Wolfe stepped closer and extended his hand, palm up, fingers open. No command. No claim. Just an invitation.
My heart thundered. To reach for him would be to admit I needed help.Hishelp.
But the pack below needed their alpha’s daughter on her feet, and I knew in this moment that I couldn’t rise without him. I closed my fingers around his. His grip was firm, steady, solid as the mountain itself. He didn’t pull me up. He let me haul myself to standing.
For a long moment, we simply faced the wind together, the home of the pack far below us, out of sight. Here, it was just the two of us and the memory of what was lost.
When I found my voice, it was just above a whisper. “Thank you, but I shouldn’t lean on you.”
He didn’t turn to look at me. He stepped slightly closer, still subtle, still respectful of my space. “Leaning’s okay,” he said. “You’re already standing, Rowen.”
I inhaled, lungs burning, even as they trembled, but I straightened even more. Wolfe lingered a moment, and then he just turned and walked the few steps back to where he had been, ready to say his own goodbye.
The wind carried away my last tears, and when I turned to face the Hollow again, I knew I could fall apart later. But not today. Not on the ridge. Not in front of the dead.
With a deep breath, I left the ridge and began the long descent. I took the long way down, as was my right, knowing that there would be many behind me on the ridge who would get back to the pack hall long before me.
But I didn’t care—this I was allowed to do. I also knew I wouldn’t be alone in taking this route; some would need the longer journey to reflect and remember before the final ceremony.
The pack hall came into view through the thinning trees. I hadn’t realized how far I’d gone until the ridge was behind me and the wind shifted. The scent of my pack hit next—pine and earth and mourning smoke. They were gathered. Waiting.
I hated that I had to walk into it like a leader instead of a grieving daughter.
I crossed the edge of the clearing, my spine straight, my face blank. The moment I stepped back into view, voices hushed. Pack stilled. They tracked my every move. They’d seen me walk that path alone.
Now they wanted to see if I’dstand.
The druid stepped forward first.
Their robes were heavy with dew, hem darkened from the damp earth. Their expression was unreadable, carved from centuries of ritual. But their eyes—those always held truth. Old truth. Deep truth.
