Overture Downs I told you a lie, désolé, mon amour

Morwenna’s eyes softened as she took in the state of the injured she-wolf—her tangled fur, the strain in her stance, the quiet, unspoken pride that kept her standing despite the pain. She inclined her head gently, her tone low and steady, each word chosen with care.

I am no healer, she replied, her voice barely above a murmur, but I know enough to help you through this. Morwenna stepped forward, her movements deliberate, unhurried. Her gaze remained fixed on the wounded wolf, as if to assure her there was no shame in needing aid.

Come, she whispered, lowering her body to guide the other into a seated position. Let’s ease the weight from your leg. She waited, her posture open, patient—a quiet offer of refuge amid whatever hardship the stranger had endured.