Epilogue

LYRA

Sixteen Years Later

I watch as my daughter stares out of the window. The thick layer of snow that coats the ground reminds me of the night she was born. There was so much snow that even Andrew’s Jeep could not make it through the snow. I laugh a little at the irony of it all. Here I am largely pregnant, with swollen ankles, and my feet propped up on a pillow. It is the exact thing that I refused to do a little more than sixteen years ago. The look on my daughter’s face is one of worry and regret. I pat the couch beckoning her to come and sit with me.

Leaning in I whisper quietly so no one care hear me. “She’s awake. Isn’t she?” I ask referring to her wolf.

My question causes anxiety to ripple off her in waves. Hiding her face in her hands she tries to control her breathing. We already know she is a Silver Wolf. We have prepared for this day since she was old enough to understand. I have known that her wolf had awoken weeks ago, I can feel my power waning when