บททั้งหมดของ Marked and forsaken : บทที่ 41 - บทที่ 50

“🪷It’s past time!”We turn our necks. The words strike from the hollow doorway—Elder Ysmera, the present eldest of the council, stands there, her face drawn tight beneath the moon’s edge.“Yes,” she continues, her voice carrying both patience and reprimand. “I’ll pardon you. But I fear the moon won’t be so kind. I know you grieve, but the ritual rites must be carried out.”“My elder,” I ask quietly, “what time is it now?”“The washing,” she says, “is both farewell and invitation—helping her shed the mortal scent, so the moon may recognize her.”She steps forward,. “Hurry. The moon cannot call what still smells of earth.”Pelin moves first, her breath trembling, determination cutting through her grief. I follow close behind.When we reach the room, Pelin halts at the threshold. Her steps falter.I move past her—and stop short.Father still clings to Mother’s body, face buried against her chest, as though he could keep her here by will alone.Nyvrae moves closer. Her voice breaks softl

❄️What were you doing when Mother got hurt in the first place?” Elara spits the words. Nyvrae answers cold and steady. “Ask me that question again after this burial. For now, we lay her body to final rest.” My stomach drops. If Elara speaks to Nyvrae like this—Nyvrae, who did nothing wrong, who stood on the battlefield— how much more fury will she unleash on me, arriving only after Mother was injured? The Sun rises. Silver fades into gold. It climbs slowly, hesitant, as if it knows it must bear witness to what the Moon has claimed. It is time. To begin the final honor of the Luna, the ritual that binds the pack to her memory. No one commands silence. This is no rite of silence. Yet stillness hangs in the air, thick as cold dew. Elders, tribesmen and women, the howlers , young wolves and pulp— all stand frozen, waiting. In the heartbeat of that silence, Elders eyes find Pelin. She steps forward. Her body trembles. she seems not to find the strength to ope

The tribesmen carry Mother’s coffin, and we follow behind, our steps steady and silent. The elder hum begins — one voice first, then many — rising and folding into itself like wind through hollow stone. We are meant to walk toward the Luna’s resting ground. But Pelin shifts the path. The tribesmen glance at her, startled, their brows knitting in quiet question. I can’t help but smile. So the new Luna has a surprise planned. The trees thin, giving way to a vast clearing drenched in sunlight. There — spread across the field — rest eleven coffins, each carved and adorned with care. Sunstones glimmer upon them, throwing shards of gold across the grass. A hush ripples through the tribe. The living elders begin to weep — tears caught between gratitude and grief. The tribesmen lower Mother’s coffin onto the stone table prepared for her. The air thickens, humming with memory, reverence, and the weight of the Luna’s bloodline. Pelin steps forward, her head bowed low to the

🍃🍂The shadows stretch long across the forest floor as the danger drifts past. My wolf relaxes just slightly, but tension coils in my chest like steel. I glance down at Eira—her breaths are shallow, but she’s alive. I press a hand to her side again, feeling the warmth of life seep back into her, fragile but stubborn. “You’re not leaving me,” I murmur, more to myself than her. Pelin hovers nearby, trembling, guilt and fury warring across her face. I don’t spare her a glance; there’s no space for doubt, only survival. Nyvrae crouches beside me, twin blades resting lightly against her shoulders, eyes sweeping the dark. The forest hums with unseen watchers, every scent and rustle sharpened by the wolf beneath my skin. We cannot stay. Nyvrae spit I shift Eira carefully across my arms, balancing the weight like she’s the most precious thing in the world—and maybe she is. My gaze sweeps the trees, tracing a path that skirts shadows, avoiding the hunters’ scent. “Let’s move,” Ny

“Eira!” We all lift our heads toward the voice — Elka, running full speed toward us. Eira’s eyes widen. “Elka? But why is she here?” Elka skids to a stop, breathless, then throws her arms around Eira. “My lady—”she greets Eira groans in pain, and Elka pulls back quickly. “Oh! Sorry, sorry—” Before we can ask a thing, more figures appear behind her — a handful of familiar faces stepping out of the trees. Relief floods them at the sight of us, a sound like one long breath exhaled after holding it too long. Elka straightens, voice trembling. “My lady… your father wouldn’t let us move forward. He kept saying we should leave him behind. We waited here for you.” We walk into the small clearing where the others are gathered. As they see us, a collective breath releases — like the forest itself exhales. Then Father rises from among them. He moves toward us too fast for his age, but we still call out, “Take it easy!” He doesn’t listen. He pulls Pelin into a fierce embrace, voice r