The near miss

The forest carried its own rhythm that evening, a low hum of settling shadows and whispering leaves. Even the wind seemed cautious, moving with soft deliberation across the edges of the clearing where the pack had been working just hours before. Lyra and Oscar had stepped away briefly to assess repairs near the southern ridge, leaving the younger wolves organizing supplies under watchful eyes, but not so watchful as to notice the small shifts in the darkness beyond the tree line. Rowan Macleod moved with a careful, unhurried precision, her long ginger curls catching the last of the slanting sunlight, glinting like threads of fire tangled in the shadowed green of the underbrush. Every step was deliberate, calculated, measured to leave no telltale crunch underfoot, yet her mind catalogued everything—the rhythm of the wolves, the subtle patterns of their movements, the faint scent of Solstice still lingering in the air, a tether she had tracked for months, almost obsessively.At twenty-t

Shadows of guidance

The forest lay heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine, twilight weaving long shadows between the trees. Lyra moved among the pack quietly, letting her presence blend into the dim light as she observed the subtle shifts in posture and expression. Even in the calm that followed the previous council, the tension of survival lingered like a soft tremor beneath the surface, threading through every gesture and movement. Wolves paused mid-step, ears twitching toward sounds she could barely perceive, tails flicking in silent conversation with one another. Her gaze swept the clearing, cataloging each nuance, noting the hesitant glance exchanged between two younger wolves, the faint tightening of shoulders in another, the small exhalation of relief that came after a whispered suggestion from a more experienced member. Every detail mattered, every movement spoke volumes about the internal state of the pack, and Lyra absorbed it all, letting the undercurrents of emotion map themselves across

Threads of trust

Lyra POVThe forest woke slowly, a tentative hush stretching between the skeletal branches of early spring trees and the damp earth beneath them. Mist lingered low in the hollows, curling around roots and rocks like fingers of memory, shadows reaching across the soft moss and scattered leaves. Lyra moved carefully, boots crunching softly on the undergrowth, each step deliberate, aware of every texture beneath her soles. Dawn did not just bring light—it brought clarity, the contrast between shadow and illumination sharpening her senses, whispering truths she might otherwise overlook. The near miss from yesterday—the sudden, sharp threat she had felt at the edge of the territory—still pulsed in her chest, a reminder that vigilance and instinct were inseparable from guidance and leadership. Fear lingered in her awareness like a ghost, but it no longer dictated her movements. Instead, it was a quiet teacher, a shadow shaping her, threading through her decisions, reminding her of what matt

All Chapters of The moon rocks lost luna: Chapter 31 - Chapter 33

The near miss

Shadows of guidance

Threads of trust