Chapter Six-The Weight of Silence
The clearing did not return to normal after the injured riders were brought in.
Lanterns still burned, but their light felt thinner now, stretched too far across too many worried faces. Wolves paced where they normally rested. Humans spoke in lowered voices that carried anyway.
Ava sat beside Charlotte on a fallen log near the outer ring of firelight, her fingers laced together so tightly her knuckles ached. She hadn't noticed when she started doing it. Only that stopping felt impossible.
The trespassers were alive.
That alone unsettled the tribe.
They had been caught in traps meant to maim, not kill iron teeth hidden beneath moss and leaves, designed long ago for hunters who came too close. Outsiders rarely survived them. These ones had. Barely.
Three riders lay near the healer's shelter now, blood cleaned, wounds bound. Not wolves. Not cursed. Human.
A migrating tribe.
Ava kept thinking of the sound the howl had made before it cut off unfinished, like breath pulled away too soon.
Charlotte leaned closer. "You're shaking."
"I'm not," Ava said automatically.
Charlotte raised an eyebrow.
Ava exhaled and loosened her grip. Her hands were cold despite the fire. "I just… it doesn't feel like an accident."
Nothing had, lately.
Across the clearing, elders stood in a tight half-circle. Their backs were to the crowd, but their tension showed in the way their shoulders pulled inward, in the sharp movements of their hands.
They were arguing.
Quietly but not gently.
Ava watched them, searching for comfort in familiarity. These were the people who had named her, fed her, taught her the old songs and the rules that kept them alive.
She had trusted them her whole life.
So why did her chest feel tight when she looked at them now?
One of the wolves old, scarred, his fur dark with age lifted his head and met her gaze. His eyes were tired. Ancient. He had once been a man named Rokan, a storyteller before the curse took him.
He looked away first.
Ava swallowed.
"Do you think they'll let them stay?" she asked.
Charlotte hesitated. "I don't know."
That was answer enough.
A horn sounded low, controlled. Not alarm. Summons.
Charlotte stiffened.
"They're calling for the council," she said. Then, more quietly, "They're calling for me."
Ava turned. "Why you?"
Charlotte's mouth pressed into a thin line. "You know why."
Because Charlotte was firstborn.
Because Charlotte was strong.
Because Charlotte had always been the one the elders watched when they thought no one noticed.
Charlotte stood, brushing dirt from her damp skirt. The yellow fabric was stained darker at the hem now, river water and earth mixed together. She looked suddenly older than Ava remembered.
"If I'm not back soon," Charlotte said, "stay where people can see you."
Ava frowned. "Why?"
Charlotte touched her arm. Just once. "Just do it."
Then she was gone, swallowed into the elder circle.
Ava stayed.
She tried to.
But the quiet pressed in.
Around her, conversations fractured and reformed questions with no answers, fear wrapped in routine. A mother pulled her child closer. A wolf nudged his rider's knee, sensing unease he didn't have words for.
Ava's gaze drifted to the treeline.
For a moment just a moment she thought she saw movement. Not the heavy shape of wolves or the careful steps of patrol riders.
Something lighter.
A shadow slipping between trees.
She blinked.
Nothing.
Her heart began to beat faster anyway.
Ava did not make it ten steps toward the forest before her mother stopped her.
Amelia moved without sound, her large silver-gray body sliding into Ava's path like a wall grown from the earth itself. She did not bare her teeth. Did not growl. She simply stood there, broad and unmovable, her head lowered just enough that her eyes met Ava's.
They were the same eyes Ava remembered from childhood. Soft. Watchful. Afraid in a way only a parent could be.
Ava froze.
"Mom?" she whispered, feeling foolish for speaking out loud.
Amelia's ears flicked backward once. A warning. Not anger stay.
Behind Ava, another presence closed in. Heavy paws pressed into the soil. Noah. Her father. Larger than most, his fur darker, marked with old scars from battles fought before Ava had been born.
He did not block her path.
He turned sideways instead, placing his body between Ava and the deeper forest, his head angled outward as if listening for something Ava could not hear.
That was when Ava's unease sharpened.
Her parents only did this when danger was near.
Not the loud kind. The kind that crept.
Around the clearing, other wolves began to rise.
Not all at once. One here. Another there. Quiet movements, coordinated without sound or signal. They formed loose lines near children, near elders, near the wounded riders resting by the healer's shelter.
No growling. No panic.
Just readiness.
Ava noticed humans reacting to the wolves, not the other way around. Riders tightened straps. A woman pulled her child closer. An elder paused mid-sentence and lowered his voice without knowing why.
Charlotte appeared at Ava's side, her expression tense. "You shouldn't wander right now."
"I wasn't," Ava said. "I just"
Charlotte shook her head slightly. Not a denial. A warning.
Ava looked back at her parents.
Amelia lifted one paw and scratched a symbol into the dirt. Slow. Deliberate.
A boundary mark.
No one crossed it.
Ava swallowed. "What's happening?"
Charlotte didn't answer right away. When she did, her voice was careful. "Something is close. That's all I know."
That should have comforted Ava.
It didn't.
The forest beyond the clearing felt different now. Not hostile. Watchful. Like it had turned its attention fully toward them.
Then faintly laughter drifted through the trees.
Just once.
Soft. Almost gentle.
Ava's breath caught.
Before she could speak, Noah's head snapped up. His body tensed, muscles coiling. Several wolves turned in the same direction at the same time.
If the wolves heard it
It was real.
The laughter faded, swallowed by distance, but the wolves did not relax.
Amelia pressed closer to Ava, her flank warm and solid against Ava's side. A grounding weight. A promise without words.
You are not alone.
Ava leaned into her without thinking.
The necklace at her throat remained still.
But the forest felt like it was waiting.
Later, when the clearing finally settled into a tense, uneasy quiet, Ava sat on the ground between her parents near the edge of the firelight.
She hadn't asked to be there.
She'd simply stopped walking and they had followed.
Amelia lay curled on one side of her, her thick fur brushing Ava's arm. Noah sat on the other, upright and watchful, his gaze never still.
Ava rested her head briefly against Amelia's shoulder. The familiar scent of pine and smoke filled her lungs, steadying her heartbeat.
"I know you can't talk," Ava murmured. "But you can hear me."
Amelia's ear twitched.
That was yes.
"I'm scared," Ava admitted quietly. "Not of the curse. Not really. I've always been scared of that."
She paused, fingers digging into the dirt. "I'm scared that something is changing… and no one wants to say it out loud."
Noah lowered his head and scratched a line into the ground with one claw.
A single mark.
Then another beside it.
Two paths.
Ava stared. "There's more than one way this ends?"
Noah nudged the marks apart with his paw. A separation. A choice.
Ava's throat tightened.
Amelia shifted, then carefully placed her paw over Ava's hand. The weight was gentle, controlled. She had learned long ago how to touch without hurting.
Ava closed her fingers around the fur between Amelia's toes.
"You'd protect us," Ava said softly. "No matter what."
Amelia leaned her head against Ava's shoulder.
Noah scratched one last symbol into the dirt.
A circle.
Around Ava's footprint.
Ava exhaled shakily. "I know."
She sat there like that for a long time, surrounded by fur and warmth and unspoken vows, while the fire burned low and the forest kept its silence.
Whatever was coming
Her parents already knew.
And they were ready to fight it.