The following dawn arrived beneath a pale sky, and I rose before the first horn sounded across the pack lands. It was my turn to serve at the healer’s hut near the western ridge, so I left early and did not wait for Theron to stir beside the hearth. After the council meeting ended at midday, a messenger brought word that he sought me through mindlink.
His thoughts reached mine with a faint edge of irritation. Mira, why did you not wake me at dawn? You left the den without warning, and I overslept.
Once, I had tended to him with utmost devotion. After our bond was sealed beneath the full moon and the elders marked our union with sacred oil and moonstone, I rose before him each day. I laid out his tunic and cloak, prepared his meal over the fire, and sent him a gentle mind-call so he would not miss his duties. I believed such care was the duty of a loyal mate.
Yet his tone now carried expectation, as though my devotion were nothing more than an obligation etched into the earth. As if love were a task assigned to me alone.
But I was never his servant—I was his wife by oath. I had every right to refuse.
“If you will be late, then rise quickly,” I replied through the bond.
He asked again, What shall I wear to the gathering today?
“Choose any garments you prefer. They hang in the cedar chest,” I answered.
“But I cannot find—”
A healer summoned me for assistance at that moment, so I cut the link short. “I must attend to my duties. Search for them yourself.”
Not long after, his voice pressed into my thoughts again. The shirts are wrinkled. Have you not pressed them? I cannot stand before the pack in such condition.
Then came another complaint. And no meal has been prepared?
Before I could respond, the pack’s chief healer called me into his chamber. “Mira,” he said warmly, “your strength has returned. The Moon Goddess smiles upon you. The High Council wishes to speak regarding advanced training in the northern territories.”
I had once declined such an opportunity, believing I would soon bear Theron’s heir and remain within our den. But that dream had crumbled like dry leaves under frost. Building a family with him no longer felt sacred—it felt hollow. Remaining beside him seemed not merely futile, but unwise.
“I have reconsidered,” I told the healer with steady resolve. “I will accept.”
He smiled with approval. “A wise path.”
He instructed me to prepare for departure once the moon cycle was confirmed. His encouragement strengthened my heart. Perhaps this was the beginning of a life shaped by my own will, not by another’s shadow.
Work carried me through the day like flowing river water. When at last darkness cloaked the forest, I remained inside the hall sorting parchments. Only when Theron’s mind-call reached me did I realize how late it had grown.
Why have you not returned? Where is the evening meal?
The thought of stepping back into the den beside him filled me with unease. I chose instead to remain and finish my tasks.
“My duties shifted unexpectedly,” I answered calmly through the link. “I shall eat here this night. You may hunt or prepare your own supper.”
Here? His thoughts carried surprise.
In former times, leaving him without a prepared feast would have been unthinkable. I had tended every fire, every meal, three times a day.
“Is there trouble?” he asked.
“No,” I replied. “Only work.”
After a pause, he spoke again, softer this time. Do not exhaust yourself.
“Thank you,” I answered without warmth.
Silence lingered between us before he finally asked, Mira… are you displeased with me?
The question arrived late, like a wolf sensing a scent long after it has faded. A spark stirred within me—something close to anger, yet deeper than that. It was disappointment, quiet and enduring. Did he truly fail to see my feelings, or had he simply never cared to look?
It no longer mattered.
I would not carry resentment any longer. The moon would guide me elsewhere, and my heart would follow its light without him.
