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Frost clung to the mouth of the den like lace, glittering faintly in the pale light, and the scent of snow hung heavy in the air. Svajonė lay curled around the tiny warmth pressed against her belly, her head resting protectively over the little body. The night had been long, not sleepless, but restless, filled with the sound of small breaths and the steady ache that loss left behind.

When the soft crunch of approaching paws broke the stillness, one ear flicked, slow and sharp. Her instincts stirred before her mind did, a low rumble catching in her throat — not meant as a threat exactly, but a warning all the same. The pup at her side squeaked softly, twitching at the sound, and she immediately lowered her head again, a gentle nudge calming him back into quiet.

Her mismatched eyes blinked open to the pale morning light creeping across the snow outside the den. The scent that came next wasn’t one to fear and smelled strongly of herbs, pine, and peonies. Dalmatia. She remembered that name, the way others in Dawnbreak spoke of it with respect. Vidarr had mentioned being looked and checked over by a healer of sorts. Perhaps this was her.

The tension in her body eased and the rumble faded away.

Come in, she said softly, her voice rough with sleep and cold, but not unkind. She shifted her weight carefully so as not to wake the little one still pressed tight against her stomach or disturb her injured leg.

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