Firefly Glen petals so pretty, roots too strong

Morwenna stood quietly, watching the small gathering come together. Her eyes fell on Anatolia, noticing the way the young wolf lingered with an uncertain air. She seemed to waver in the space between them, the anticipation and nerves visibly clinging to her, as if held by invisible threads.

With a gentle warmth, Morwenna lowered herself to Anatolia’s level, her gaze kind and inviting, without the weight of expectations. She allowed the silence to stretch a little before speaking, the tone of her voice soft but grounded.

It’s all right, she murmured, her own form solid and sure, as if offering a quiet reassurance that the world around them would hold steady. Anatolia edged closer, leaning into Morwenna’s side, and the older wolf let her stay there, unmoving, allowing her presence to say all the words neither of them needed to voice just yet. She felt anxious in the presence of the other woman watching her own child cling to a stranger. Go to your mother.

As she watched Anatolia pause, Morwenna let her gaze drift toward her mother. I'm Morwenna, miss. This little one— she gestured to Anatolia, was lingering near the outskirts. It was most appropriate to return her.