The noon light fell soft across the courtyard, warm upon the stone and gentle upon the skin, though beneath that calm brightness there lingered a tension that refused to fade, quiet yet persistent like a breath held too long.
Wolves moved through the space with measured steps, their wounds bound, their bodies recovering, yet their eyes remained sharp, their awareness never fully easing despite the stillness that surrounded them.
Elara stood at the far end of the courtyard, her posture composed, her hands resting loosely at her sides, though the faint stiffness in her shoulders betrayed the weight she still carried beneath that calm exterior.
Rhea leaned against one of the pillars, her arms crossed lightly though not relaxed, her gaze scanning the area with a quiet vigilance that had not left her since the war's end.
"…it's quiet," Rhea murmured.
Her voice was low.
Elara did not look at her.
"…too quiet," she replied.
A faint pause followed.
