The howl carried through Mistveil like wind moving through ancient trees, rising over the low clouds and drifting through the mountain valleys below. Melanthe’s ears immediately lifted toward it from where she had been resting near the den Jakten had given her.

Her body had grown heavy now.

Very heavy.

The pups had settled low enough that every movement had become slow and deliberate, her swollen stomach pulling against her once effortless gait. They would come soon—she felt it in the aching weight in her body, in the quiet shifts beneath her ribs, in the instinctive awareness humming somewhere deep inside her.

Still, curiosity pulled at her.

Slowly, Melanthe rose and began making her way toward the gathering.

Mist curled around her long legs as she walked, charcoal-and-gray fur brushing softly against the cold air. Fresh traces of Jakten lingered within her coat now, mingled with mountain air and pine. She still wasn't accustomed to carrying the scent of a pack with her.

Not after so many years alone.

As she approached, yellow-green eyes quietly studied those gathered. Saga and Snuh she knew. The others she did not.

So many wolves. So many voices.

Melanthe slowed slightly at the edge of the gathering, uncertainty flickering across her expression as she quietly watched them greet one another and prepare.

Then her eyes settled on Saga.

Leaving. Traveling. The realization brought an unexpected ache to her chest. For a brief moment, something inside her pulled toward it instinctively—the endless roads, distant mountains, unfamiliar scents carried on changing winds. Traveling had been her life. It had been purpose. Movement had always felt as natural as breathing.

A part of her wanted to follow.

Wanted to walk beside them into distant places and lose herself to wandering paths once again.

But her gaze lowered toward her stomach.

No.

Her children would arrive soon.

She could not run roads anymore.

Not now. Not when the last hope of her people rested beneath her heart.

Quietly Melanthe moved closer toward Saga, taking care not to disturb the gathering too much. Her movements remained hesitant around larger groups, but Saga had become familiar—a rare thing for Melanthe.

As she reached her, her eyes briefly searched the smaller woman's face before lowering again.

Saga...? she asked softly. Her voice almost disappeared beneath the mountain breeze. For a moment she hesitated. Sadet's face surfaced in her thoughts—the grey fur, blue eyes, silent understanding shared between two wandering souls who had spent too much of their lives alone.

Her chest tightened. She did not know whether he had survived. Did not know if death had brought him here as it had somehow brought her. And if she truly stood here with their children still living within her, then perhaps the cycle had ended. Perhaps there had been no rebirth. That the centuries and centuries of war, turmoil and strife against the Wyrm and the Weaver had truly been for nought. Perhaps there would be no more Silent Striders after them.

Melanthe swallowed quietly.

But still, she had hope.

If... Her ears lowered slightly. If you see a grey wolf with blue eyes during your travels who is named Sadet.. She looked down toward her stomach as the pups shifted beneath her. Please tell him... Her voice softened further. Tell him I am alive. A small pause. Her paw rested gently against the curve of her belly. Tell him the children are okay.

For a moment Melanthe simply stood there quietly, eyes fixed on her pups as though imagining someone very far away hearing those words.

If he desires to come with you to see me and the children…please let him.

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