The Heartwood see myself as a ghost

the way she corrected herself, the quick shift of words—it spoke of a history weighted with regret, or something close to it.

she is well, he answered simply, a nod following. moonglow still stands, strong as ever. her daughters, her people—they thrive. his voice was steady, but there was something beneath it, something heavier. the moonwoman had woven a legacy that would not fade, and it seemed this woman before him had once been a thread in that tapestry, now unraveled.

his ears flicked slightly at her mention of a court, and he watched as she turned away, as if the past she spoke of was something she could physically escape.

then you knew her before she built moonglow, he mused, a slight tilt of his head. before she was mother, before she was wife. he did not press, but his words lingered, an unspoken invitation for her to share if she wished.