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Svajonė listened quietly as Aurelia spoke, her head tilted just slightly, mismatched eyes half-lidded with exhaustion but alert. Something about the way Aurelia said her name, slow, deliberate, with that clipped confidence, made a small smile flicker at the edge of her muzzle. It felt… grounding, somehow, like being acknowledged properly for the first time in weeks.

She shifted her weight, careful of her healing leg, pulling it closer against her belly so it wouldn’t throb as badly. I promise I’m not planning to run laps around the territory, she said with a tired little huff that might’ve been a laugh. Standing up without seeing stars is already enough of a fight for me.

The admonishment didn’t bother her. If anything, it soothed her a little. Being told rest by someone who wasn’t tiptoeing around her grief felt… normal. Almost comforting.

I’ll be careful, she added softly. I… learned the hard way what happens when I don’t listen to my limits.

Her gaze drifted briefly—too briefly for Aurelia to catch. A flicker of something private. Pain, maybe. Or the memory of. Then it was gone again.

When Aurelia spoke of trusting one’s gut, Svajonė let out a faint snort. It’s gotten me into trouble as much as it’s gotten me out, she admitted. But… you’re not wrong. It’s kept me alive too. And given me one good thing in this world. Her voice softened at the thought of Reid, of his little paws and morning squeaks, but she didn’t elaborate unless asked further to.

What Aurelia said next surprised her.

You… think you could learn from me? Svajonė blinked, a little taken aback. She wasn’t used to being seen as anything useful outside of claws and teeth. That’s… kind of you to say. I don’t know how long I’ll stay, but I’d like to be more than just someone taking up space.

Her ears perked when Aurelia began outlining the roles. Wisdom. Courage. Power. The way Aurelia described them — like parts of a single living body — actually made sense to her in a way she didn’t expect. She pictured it all while Aurelia spoke: a pack breathing, moving, thinking as one whole creature.

It reminded her of home.

She mulled over the choices — though maybe she already knew the answer before she even opened her mouth. Wisdom. Courage. Power. What was she, really, now that her body was broken and her world had shifted? A wolf who’d recently limped through death and birth was unlikely to chase the horizon anytime soon. But that wasn’t what swayed her.

…I think Wisdom fits me best, she said at last, her voice slow and thoughtful. My mother taught me a lot of old things, she said. Stories, omens… herbs for sickness, herbs for pain.

I may not be able to do much currently, but I can support. I can learn. And I can share what I know.

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