Herbalists' Cache cen

morwenna did not flinch.

though her blood roared and her womb ached, though the breath of her husband curled the air around her like a threat—she did not flinch.

"see?" dark fang had said.

her stare turned to him, sharp as a blade unsheathed. her voice, when it came, was cool and cutting—elegance honed into something final.

see what when they have not yet opened their eyes? she echoed.

to black hawk, her gaze softened—if only slightly. enough, she said. not a rebuke, but a protection. a quiet command laced with gratitude. they want our fury. do not give it so freely.

then she moved, cutting a line between her husband and the den.

her body barred the way.

she faced him without fear. her voice, once velvet, now steel. we will move.

she would not risk her children—not for her pride, not for his.

but they do not touch them.

not dark fang. not meleys. not any wolf whose teeth trembled for blood. not any whose womb had proven incapable of love. she would not let the curse of violence cling to her children like it clung to those wolves. there were women—gentle women, mothers, caretakers—who still had the right.

ishmira and other shore will carry them. a pause. it is a woman’s job. let a mother have this.

her eyes were on sun eater now.

there was no challenge in her tone—but neither was there submission.

i will not run. i will not defy you before your warriors. but i will not give them over to monsters.

then she turned, and with a quiet murmur, brushed her tail against ishmira’s side.

go. take two. other shore, the other two.

she needed ridgeback. kekoa. and she will find them swiftly.