Chapter Fifty-Nine: A Luna Rises
Chapter Fifty-Nine: A Luna Rises
The smoke still hung low over Rainfall pack by dawn, heavy and sour in the back of Faith’s throat.
The scent of burnt wood and singed fur was everywhere. The east gate sagged like a wounded limb, and the pack square was littered with the debris of battle — splintered shields, bent blades, blood drying dark against the frost.
David was already speaking with the senior warriors, his voice a hard, sharp thing. Faith could see the tension in their shoulders, the way some nodded but others avoided his eyes. She didn’t need to hear their words to know the doubt from last night was festering.
She couldn’t let it spread.
When the first of the healers emerged from the tents to report casualties, Faith stepped forward before David could speak.
“We’re rebuilding today,” she said, her voice carrying across the square. “Not tomorrow, not next week — but now.”
Heads turned. Warriors and pack mates alike looked at her, surprised.
“Get ropes and poles to the east wall,” she called, pointing. “We’re bracing what’s left until we can cut new beams. Anyone who can swing a hammer is coming with me. Hunters, your snares and lines stay out past the ridge. We feed everyone before nightfall.”
A few men glanced at David as if waiting for him to correct her — but he didn’t. His eyes followed her as she strode toward the broken gate.
Faith grabbed a length of rope from the supply cart and hauled it herself, planting her boots deep in the mud.
The warriors moved hesitantly at first, then faster as they realized she wasn’t giving orders from a distance — but she stood among them, shoulders aligned, sharing their burden. Dragging beams, hammering nails, and hauling debris until her palms stung raw.
When a beam slipped from its supports and nearly crushed a young pack mate, she was there first, bracing it with her shoulder until two men came to help.
When the food lines formed, she carried the baskets herself, mud streaking her face and blood still drying on her sleeve from the night before.
By midday, the rhythm had shifted. The same warriors who’d muttered about her now came to her for direction — asking where to place the new barricade, which houses to check first for repairs.
At one point, Elder Nareen passed her in the crowd and murmured, “They’re watching, Faith. And they like what they see.”
Faith didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
When the last of the wounded were settled in the healer’s care, she joined the work crew at the east gate, pushing with the others until the final support beam slid into place.
She stepped back, chest heaving, and for a moment, silence settled over the workers.
It was one of the younger warriors — a man who’d nearly lost his arm the night before.
“Luna Faith,” he said, not in mockery, not with the sharp edge she’d heard before, but with something almost reverent.
A few others repeated it, softly at first, then louder.
Luna Faith.
David’s presence came before she saw him, the weight of his gaze pulling her attention.
He stood at the edge of the crowd, arms folded, mud on his boots, his expression unreadable. But there was a glint in his eyes — not pride exactly, but recognition.
Faith met his gaze without flinching.
She was still bloodied, still aching, but she stood tall in the cold morning air.
She hadn’t asked for the title. But she also wasn’t going to give it back.
The whispers followed her as she left the gate, not fading, not dying in the air — but spreading, like the first slow crack of sunlight over a horizon.
Luna Faith.
Not insult, not defiance — but truth.