Chapter 174– Roots and Wings

Chapter 174– Roots and Wings
Dawn’s POV

Morning sunlight spilled across the back garden, soft and golden. The ground still smelled of night rain, sweet and damp, as if the earth itself had just taken a long, cool drink. A thin mist floated above the grass, glowing like silver in the early light.

Rayna ran ahead, a small basket bouncing against her hip. Ryker followed close behind, dragging a tiny wooden spade that left a crooked trail in the dirt.

“We promised to plant the new seeds today,” Rayna said, spinning in a quick circle. Her braid came loose, but she didn’t care. The joy in her voice made my heart feel full.

Vanessa stepped out from the porch, sleeves rolled high and a gentle smile on her face. “The earth is ready,” she said. “Let’s give it something to grow.”

The pack house behind us was quiet except for a few distant hammer blows where the warriors worked on repairs. The sound felt like a heartbeat, steady and safe.

I knelt beside the twins and opened the small cloth bag of seeds. The soil was cool and soft beneath my fingers. “Here,” I said, showing them how to dig small holes. “Only a little deep, like this. Too deep and the seeds will struggle.”

Ryker crouched next to me, his brow wrinkled in fierce focus as he copied my movements. “Will these flowers be strong?” he asked.

“They’ll bend in the wind,” I said, patting the dark earth, “but they won’t break. Just like us.”

Vanessa smiled at that, a quiet pride shining in her eyes. She reached over to help Rayna, who was scooping soil with more excitement than care. “Gentle,” Vanessa reminded, laughter soft in her voice.

For a long moment the only sound was the hush of leaves and the cheerful chatter of birds. The morning wrapped around us like a warm blanket.

When the last seed was covered, Rayna pressed her small palm flat on the soil. “Grow,” she whispered, her eyes bright with secret hope.

We stayed in the garden as the sun climbed higher. The twins took turns carrying water from the well in tiny cups, spilling half of it on the way but never giving up. Their giggles filled the air. Vanessa and I moved more slowly, adding stakes for the young shoots that would appear in days to come.

After the work was done we spread a blanket on the grass and shared bread and berries. The bread was still warm from the kitchen ovens; the berries burst with sweetness on my tongue. Vanessa told the twins stories about her own childhood mischief—climbing apple trees, sneaking honey cakes from her grandmother’s pantry. The children listened with wide eyes and open mouths, then burst into laughter at each surprise twist.

Rayna leaned against me, crumbs on her cheek. “Mama, did you ever climb trees like Auntie Nessa?”

“I did,” I said, brushing the crumbs away. “But I never climbed as high as she did.”

Ryker puffed out his small chest. “I will climb the highest tree in the whole forest.”

I kissed the top of his head. “Just remember to come down safely.”

Vanessa winked at me over their heads. “They have your courage,” she said quietly. I felt a flush of warmth—not only pride, but gratitude. I had lost my wolf form, yet I had gained something deeper.

I was human now, but somehow I felt more connected to the pack and the land than ever. My senses might not be as sharp, yet every sound and scent carried meaning. Each heartbeat around me felt like part of one great rhythm.

Later, when the twins grew restless, we played simple games in the grass. We raced from the old oak to the garden fence and back again. Rayna almost always won, her legs quick and sure, while Ryker’s laughter spilled behind him like music. When they grew tired we lay on our backs, watching white clouds drift across the wide blue sky.

“Look,” Rayna said, pointing upward. “That one looks like a wolf.”

“It does,” I agreed. A soft ache stirred in my chest, remembering the shape I once carried. But the ache was gentle now, more memory than pain.

Vanessa noticed my quietness and placed a hand over mine. “Roots and wings,” she murmured, almost to herself. “You gave them both.”

Her words settled deep inside me.

As the day slid toward evening, we cleaned our tools and stacked the empty baskets. The twins helped as best they could, though their “help” meant more giggles than work. I didn’t mind. Their joy was its own kind of strength.

The sky began to blush with sunset when I heard the steady tread of footsteps on the stone path. I looked up.

Raven.

He came toward us with slow strides, his hair dusted with sawdust from another day of repairs. His shirt clung to him, marked with the sweat and dirt of honest labor. Behind him the fading sun painted the sky in gold and rose.

He paused at the edge of the garden and took in the sight—the fresh rows of soil, the children’s muddy hands, Vanessa’s easy smile, and me, tired but full of quiet happiness. Something in his broad shoulders softened.

“Our garden,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a warmth that wrapped around all of us.

The twins ran to him at once, chattering about seeds and flowers and the brave earth that would hold them. He lifted them both, one on each arm, as if they weighed nothing at all. Their laughter rose like music into the cooling air.

I walked to his side, brushing a smudge of dirt from my cheek. “You worked hard today,” I said.

“So did you,” he answered, his eyes resting on mine. “This is more than a garden. It’s the beginning.”

I slipped my arm around his waist. For a heartbeat I saw the future stretch wide and bright—the flowers that would bloom, the walls we would rebuild, the children who would grow strong under this sky.

Roots and wings.
We had both.