Chapter 28 Silver Isn't Just a Color
Lyra
“Lyra,” I hear Bram’s voice through the mind-link. “Do you think it’s Song Pack or another pack trying to overtake this territory?”
“I don’t know,” I send back, my heart pounding beneath my fur. “They could be the remaining survivors. They could be someone else. Let’s get closer and see.”
“We’re greatly outnumbered. If they catch us spying, it could mean trouble.”
“But we can’t just walk away,” I reply, sniffing the air. “We need to know who they are. If they’re Song, we have to find out if they’re dangerous or desperate.”
We slip down the slope. Our paws fall softly on scattered leaves. I feel the wild energy of my wolf body, powerful muscles, and sharp senses. Bram moves beside me, matching me stride for stride.
“Keep close. Stay silent,” he says.
The meeting hall’s broken door hangs open, its frame sagging like it’s too tired to stand. Inside, voices echo faintly, weaving through the large, empty space.
Bram halts, his ears twitching. “We should go around on opposite sides and see what we can hear.”
I hesitate, but he’s right. “I’ll go left.”
He slips to the right, his dark fur melting into the shadows. I keep low, paws silent on the dirt, weaving between bushes and the ghostly shapes of broken stone columns.
I find a jagged hole in the wall and press myself against the stone, peering in. Inside, I see men and women with hollow cheeks and threadbare clothes. A boy who can’t be more than ten clutches a strip of dried meat.
An older man speaks in a low, rough voice. “We hold this ground until we know the border is clear,” he says. “If Running River finds us—”
“They won’t,” a woman cuts in. “They think Song Pack is gone. Let them keep thinking it. It’s the only reason we’re still breathing.”
Song Pack. The words jolt through me like ice water. It is the remaining members, and we are trespassing on their land.
The older man leans closer to the fire. “We move at first light. Stay hidden. No hunting near the river, and for the love of the Moon Goddess, don’t start trouble with anyone passing through.”
The woman laughs bitterly. “Trouble? We’ve been nothing but trouble to anyone we meet. That’s why we’re in this mess, remember? Because trouble found us first and decided to latch on.”
A murmur of agreement ripples through the group. I hear scraps of sentences, “the raid,” “wolves scattered,” “no one left to lead us,” but the wind snatches most of it away.
Through the mind link, Bram asks, “You hear it, too?”
“Yes. They’re Song Pack,” I confirm. My pulse quickens. “But what do we do with that?”
“We keep listening,” he says simply.
I flatten myself against the stone, straining to catch every word.
“Don’t know how many of us are left,” the man says. “But if we can find the others—”
“They won’t come,” another voice interrupts. “They’ve made their peace somewhere else. We’re the only ones too stubborn to quit.”
Someone lets out a dry, bitter chuckle. “Or too foolish.”
A young voice, wavering but determined, speaks up. “My mother says Song Pack was the strongest once. She says we can be again.”
Silence follows. It’s the kind that’s heavier than words, and it tells me more than anything they’ve said: they don’t believe it. Or maybe they want to, but wanting is never enough.
The wind shifts, carrying the scent of unwashed bodies, damp cloth, and faint traces of blood. Survivors, scarred and in hiding.
Across the way, Bram sends a quick pulse through the mind-link. “We better go before they catch our scent. We can’t be seen. If they know we’ve been here, they might move before we can decide what to do, and I don’t want to hurt any of these people.”
Reluctantly, I back away from the wall, each step careful to avoid fallen branches. We don’t turn our backs until we meet the tree line.
Our paws carry us swiftly back to the clearing where we left our clothes, and we shift back into human form. Dressed and quiet, we step carefully into the dense woods. Tonight, we’ll camp here. Close enough to watch but safe enough to regroup.
We’ve just finished setting up camp when Bram settles next to me, the firelight dancing in his eyes.
I can’t shake the tension tightening in my chest. “We can’t stay here,” I say quietly. “If the remaining members of Song Pack find us this close, they will see us as intruders. They’ll try to kill us.”
Bram pokes the fire then finally looks up at me. “Lyra, do you remember when I said I felt like we were being watched?”
I groan, shaking my head. “Yeah, yeah. I remember. You were right.”
He smirks just a little, the kind of smile that says, I told you so. “Well, there it is. I’m right, ladies and gentlemen. For the first time ever, I’m right.”
I roll my eyes. “I wonder why they didn’t try to run us out of their land, though. They clearly saw us.”
“Probably because they don’t want to fight either. They looked too tired. Like they needed help more than a fight. Lyra, do you even know Song Pack’s signature color?”
Caught off guard, I shrug. “No. I always thought it didn’t matter. I mean… I grew up a Running River warrior. My mate is Running River. This territory’s unfamiliar. Why would I care about a rival’s colors?”
“Silver,” Bram says, with certainty. “Their color is silver.”
“That’s… cool? I mean, I’ve always been partial to silver, but what does their banner color have to do with whether it’s safe to be on their land?”
Bram studies me for a long moment, as if willing me to figure it out myself. “Not their banner color, Lyra. Their wolves are silver…”
The words hit me harder than claws to the chest.
“My mother…” My voice is a rasp, barely more than breath. “She was from Song Pack…?”
I’ve carried my silver fur my whole life as though it were nothing more than a shade on the color spectrum. Something pretty, perhaps rare, but meaningless. I was Running River. I was a warrior under Alpha Kaelen. My loyalties were carved deep in my bone marrow.
Bram takes my hand. “Maybe she was. Maybe she hoped you’d find your way back here one day.”
I shake my head. “I’m not one of them. I’ve never met them. I’ve never stepped foot on their land until recently, and that was without permission.” The words come fast, defensive, like they can shove the truth away, but it doesn’t budge. It sits in my chest, heavy and undeniable.
Bram pushes back. “Your coat says otherwise.”
If Song Pack truly is my bloodline… does that mean I could belong here?
I picture what I’ve seen tonight–the way those people moved into the hall with quiet precision. The wary way they looked over their shoulders. Survivors, and warriors in their own right. Not so different from me.
“I’ve spent my whole life thinking I knew who I was,” I say. “And now it feels like I don’t know anything at all.”
Bram leans in, his voice dropping to a gentler tone. “That’s not a bad thing, Lyra. It means you get to choose who you want to be. And no matter what, we’ll always be together.”
The fire crackles softly between us. Possibility races through me, bright and unstoppable, like sunlight breaking over frozen ground. For the first time since exile, the future doesn’t look like a narrow, lonely road. It looks wider, clearer, wilder, and unknown.