Olivia
The radiant sun had passed its zenith, and the shade beneath the age-old trees had begun to stretch. We stood, Nathan and I, in the clearing where tradition had taken root over countless generations. We waited.
Minutes turned into what felt like hours. Every rustle of the trees, every distant bird’s cry, heightened my anxiety. The babies, oblivious to the tension, squirmed softly in their robes.
Nathan held my hand, his grip reassuring but equally expectant. This was his world, his tradition. And yet, as the time ticked by, I could see the confusion seep into his amber eyes.
“Where is it?” I whispered, glancing around. “Is this normal, Nathan?”
He shook his head slowly, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “I’ve never heard of the Ancient Wolf being this late.”
