Jade Fern Grove chafa

There was a certain silence before the rain fell—the sweep of it similar in sound to the thrashing of a tide, and it matched the hammering rhythm of the man’s heartbeat. There was little to be said of her revelations of Crowfeather and his abandonment of her—his eyes remained riveted upon her, rain washing the sweta and dirt from him—pressing his gaze to narrowed slits… Or perhaps that was the news of Wren and her now known whereabouts.

It reeled him—this news. Not that the two were together—Wren had always insisted she had loved the silver dove. And Akavir had hardly blamed her—had disliked it, but all the same, he had not blamed her. In truth, he had carved his way to Eshe to help make room for the ex-Creek wolf… for her life had been undeniably miserable.

But hadn’t all of theirs?

And Wren’s promise had fallen short, as so many before her. She would not return to the creek, as she had said. Had not even bothered to let them know that she was well, after they had worried…

… And yet it was not surprising to the man that yet one more wolf in his life turned out to be untrustworthy.

The rain continued—his lip curled, and he moved forward then, curling near her, hovering next, but not touching—as if he could shield her from the angry surge of spring. “Come,” he growled out, taking this pause in what she had revealed to digest it.

To allow his heart to continue its sundering.

There, he would lead her to a hollow—a cavern in the depths of the grove he had found in his younger days. His more naive days—when his worries had been whether his parents would stay together or not.

He waited for her to duck in first to the cave—to spare her from getting sick when now, her sides swelled with the pride of life. And if there were tears upon his cheeks she would be none the wiser... for the rain had hidden it well.