Whitebark Stream honey and the moon

The pup was gently scolded—the amber eyes of the girl watching with light yearning as she realized that was something she had missed in her own childhood. Guidance. Her father had died in her earlier months of life, and her mother had been primarily absent. There were few memories of Pema, and even fewer of Shale.

Her siblings gone.

Blinking, she pulled herself from those thoughts, allowing them to drift to the background of her mind and heart where she kept them safely under lock and key. When the woman mentioned her own daughter then faltered, there was an unspoken understanding from the young silver girl, and she bowed her muzzle lower with acceptance of such. “I would love a teacher, if possible,” she murmured, unsure how to go from here. This woman claimed she did not have the power to accept her—so now what?

Before she could ask what she could do—already longing to be placed under the wing of the dove before her, an ivory male stalked forward, his eyes kind and his presence demanding the attention he deserved. Her head bowed even lower, if possible, her honeyed eyes drifting to his chest. “Meadow, sir,” she replied, feeling a tinge of nerves flutter in her belly. “I would like to join your pack as an aspiring healer.”