The border holds.
I feel it the moment Layla slows, her paws sinking into familiar ground just inside pack territory. She does not cross. She does not even test the line with a step or a lean. Her body stays angled inward, weight balanced, muscles loose but ready, the posture of a wolf who knows exactly where she stands. This is not hesitation. It is choice.
The pull pulses.
Not sharp. Not demanding. It moves in a rhythm that feels intentional, steady and measured, like breath drawn and released. It rolls through me in slow waves, rising and falling with enough consistency that I start to anticipate it without meaning to. For the first time since this began, it feels deliberate in a way that suggests intent rather than instinct. Not a summons. Not a warning.
Communication.
The realiza
