The Lunar Legacy
They’re yours, my heart—build, rest, bloom.
Sam knelt by the trellis, green eyes sweeping—Mara’s herbs, Jasper’s wool, Lila’s mats, pups’ chatter. “It’s alive,” she said, voice warm, clear, tying a vine, leaves brushing her fingers. Her tattoo tingled, Luna’s purr a balm—Zane’s shadow was ash, her pack a hearth, hers to lead, cherish.
Sikat na Kabanata