The first year in Menagerie passed without trouble.
The Belladonna house was small but open. There were plants by every window and books stacked on every table. The air always smelled faintly of sea salt and tea.
Senti learned quickly what peace sounded like—distant waves, the creak of floorboards, Blake humming softly while reading. She hadn't realized silence could be warm until then.
She was twelve now, taller, sharper, still restless. Her wolf ears twitched at every new noise, and her tail gave away what she refused to say out loud—irritation, curiosity, joy. Blake teased her for it constantly.
One afternoon, the two sat under a tree near the shoreline.
Blake was reading again, her tail-less silhouette steady against the sunlight. Senti lay on her back in the grass, tail flicking side to side as she chewed a piece of mango.
"You ever get bored of reading?" Senti asked.
"No," Blake said, turning a page.
"How?"
"I like stories where people choose to be better."
Senti smirked. "That's all of them, isn't it?"
"Not really. Some don't even try."
Senti rolled over and propped her chin on her hand. "And you think I'd like that?"
Blake gave her a side glance. "You don't strike me as someone who reads much."
"I don't," Senti said. "But I like stories that don't end the way they should."
"That's depressing."
"It's honest."
Blake closed the book. "You think everything honest has to hurt?"
"No," Senti said. "But if it doesn't, people stop listening."
Blake frowned. "You talk like you've already seen everything."
Senti's ears twitched. "I've seen enough."
Later that week, Senti helped Kali carry boxes through the marketplace. The vendors had started to recognize her—some still wary, others amused by the wolf Faunus with a sharp smile and sharper teeth.
"Two mangoes, Miss Belladonna?" the fisherman asked.
"Three," Kali said. "And one extra for her."
Senti grinned. "He knows me."
"He knows you because you haggled over fruit last time," Kali said. "For thirty minutes."
"It was a good deal," Senti replied.
Kali shook her head but smiled. "You've fit in faster than I expected."
"I'm adaptable," Senti said. "And loud enough that people stop trying to whisper about me."
Kali stopped to look at her. "Does that still bother you?"
"The whispering?" Senti asked.
"The way people look at you."
Senti shrugged. "Not anymore. They can stare. I've seen worse."
Kali rested a hand on her shoulder. "You shouldn't have had to."
Senti didn't reply. Her tail stilled for a moment, then flicked again.
At night, when the markets went quiet, Senti would climb onto the roof. She liked the air up there—clean, unfiltered, open. Sometimes Blake joined her.
"Mom worries when you sit up here too long," Blake said one evening.
"Tell her I'm guarding the house," Senti said.
"From what?"
"Seagulls," Senti said, smirking.
Blake laughed. "That's not convincing."
"I don't need to convince you," Senti said. "I just need to look like I could."
They fell into silence for a while.
Blake finally asked, "Do you ever think about Mantle?"
Senti's ears lowered slightly. "Not if I can help it."
"Do you remember anyone?"
"No. Just noise."
Blake's eyes softened. "Does it still follow you?"
"Sometimes," Senti said quietly. "But not when I'm here."
Blake nodded. "Good."
Senti's gaze lingered on her. "You always sound sure when you say that."
"Because I am."
"You shouldn't be," Senti said. "People change."
"Then I'll change with them," Blake said simply.
Senti smiled faintly. "You really believe that, don't you?"
"I have to."
The months passed easily. The Belladonna home became more than shelter—it became rhythm.
Mornings were chores and errands. Afternoons were training. Evenings were books.
Kali taught patience. Blake taught empathy. Senti, in return, taught both of them how to throw a punch.
"Not everything can be reasoned with," she said one morning while sparring with Blake.
Blake ducked a swing. "You sound like Dad."
"I sound like someone who's been hit before."
Blake swept her leg, and Senti caught herself mid-fall, tail flicking to counterbalance.
"Show off," Blake muttered.
"Survivor," Senti corrected, panting but grinning.
Kali clapped from the porch. "Enough before someone breaks something valuable!"
"Blake started it," Senti said quickly.
"I did not!"
"Did too!"
Kali sighed. "You two are impossible."
Senti grinned, revealing her pointed canines. "You love us."
Kali smiled. "More than you'll ever know."
That night, Blake found Senti sitting on the dock, legs hanging over the water. The tide rolled in soft waves beneath them.
"You look like you're thinking too much," Blake said.
"I'm listening."
"To what?"
"The ocean," Senti said. "It's loud, but not cruel. Feels… alive."
Blake sat beside her. "Mom says Menagerie is where the world breathes."
Senti tilted her head. "Then I guess I'm finally breathing with it."
"You didn't before?"
Senti's voice dropped. "Not really."
Blake didn't press her. She just leaned against her shoulder.
Senti froze for a second, then relaxed, tail curling slightly around Blake's back.
Neither of them spoke again until the stars came out.
For the first time, Senti didn't dream of collapsing mines or screaming echoes. She dreamed of waves.
She dreamed of warmth.
She dreamed of Blake's laughter somewhere in the distance.
And for once, that was enough.