Phoenix Maplewood graphite

Druid’s lips pressed together when Redd insisted that a strong pack chose its leader. That wasn’t her truth, yet she did not refute her friend. Maybe she was right about both packs being strong, maybe not. She didn’t say anything to that either. She did nod her head to concur with the conclusion Redd drew, supposing that much was true. Que sera, sera, she thought, trying to remember who’d taught her that phrase.

Everything about the Wealda’s body language telegraphed a readiness to depart back to her life, which made Druid suddenly—and very disproportionately—very sad. She didn’t want this rendezvous to end. The hunt could wait. The pups could wait. Rivenwood could wait. This was Druid’s time and she wanted to savor it—

Her mouth fell open as Redd’s head touched her shoulder. She felt a shock of warmth spread through her. Druid didn’t even think, only reacted. She turned her head, ignoring the slightly severe angle of it as she touched her nose to the Wealda’s jaw. She wanted to press it to her cheek, though the little show of submission felt so much more appropriate.