Swiftcurrent Creek One night, a few moons ago

Morwenna felt her face warm faintly at his words, her silver eyes flickering away briefly as if to escape his gaze. Praise was not something she often sought, but it was appreciated all the same. She turned back to the moss, her paws brushing over the delicate green as she carefully gathered more.

I can spare some of this, she said, her voice soft but steady, lifting her gaze back to Akavir. If you’d like it for your den, that is.

Her offer hung lightly in the air before she continued, returning to her task. The rest is going to my own stores, she explained, an edge of pride in her tone. This would be her contribution—not simply to the pack but to herself, a small foundation she could build upon. It felt good to be useful, to have something to offer beyond words or actions.