Deirdra's eyes went wide, her pupils dilating with shock.

"You... what did you just say?"

I ignored her and turned back to the feast steward.

"Pack everything in your finest preservation vessels. I'm settling the honor-debt now."

"Selene, what in the moon's name are you doing!"

Howl finally snapped out of his stupor.

I turned to face him.

"You can come with me, or you can stay. Choose."

His lips trembled. His gaze darted between me and his mother, unable to land on either. I could scent his fear—sharp and sour beneath the lingering aroma of the feast.

Deirdra clutched her chest like her heart might give out.

"Howl Fletcher, don't you dare! If you walk out that door with this wasteful she-wolf, you're no longer my pup!"

Howl's face twitched. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. His wolf cowered somewhere deep inside him, too weak to surface.

I understood. I nodded slowly.

"Very well."

I turned back to the steward.

"Pack it. Now. Have it loaded into my carriage."

Garrick Stonebriar finally unfroze and scrambled to summon the serving wolves.

The private chamber fell deathly silent. Every single member of the Frostclaw gathering sat frozen, mouths agape, watching the scene unfold. I could feel their stares like heat on my back, could scent their mingled shock and outrage.

Deirdra shook with rage, her bony finger jabbing toward me, her claws half-extended.

"You... what is the meaning of this!"

I met her eyes, enunciating each word with the precision of an Alpha's command.

"It means you and your precious bond-daughter can return to your den and enjoy your root vegetables."

I picked up my satchel and walked out without looking back.

Behind me, Deirdra's shrill wailing echoed through the corridor, bouncing off the stone walls.

"Howl! Look at the bondmate you claimed! She's brought nothing but shame to our bloodline!"

Howl remained rooted to the spot—a statue, frozen mid-collapse.

I pulled out my message-crystal and sent word to my pack liaison.

"Hugo, find me the nearest refuge. I have provisions that need to be delivered."

While waiting at the crossroads for the path to clear, I reached through our pack bond and severed Howl's access to the territory resources. The connection snapped clean—I felt it like cutting a frayed thread.

If the Frostclaws were so confident in their self-sufficiency, they could figure out their own Moon-Turn feast.

Howl's attempts to reach me came in—one after another after another. I felt the desperate tugs at the fraying edges of our bond.

I didn't respond.

Harbor Haven Refuge finally came into view, its weathered wooden gates standing open beneath hanging lanterns. Hugo Nightwhisper was already waiting outside, his breath misting in the cold night air.

I brought my carriage to a halt, and a middle-aged she-wolf in a volunteer's marked vest hurried out to greet me. Her scent carried notes of lavender and old grief.

"Thank you so much, Alpha Wolfsbane—this is... we can't thank you enough!"

Behind her, several faces peered through the frosted windows. Elderly wolves. Middle-aged ones. A couple of younglings hovering uncertainly, their ears flattened with shyness.

"Some dishes need to be warmed over the fire, but most can be served immediately."

I opened the back of the carriage.

"Have everyone come help carry it in."

Thirty-some wolves with nowhere else to go gathered in the refuge's main hall.

Worn wooden tables had been pushed together into one long surface, now covered with the ceremonial vessels.

Slow-braised venison in moonflower sauce. The traditional Seven-Herb Stew. Fresh greens dressed in bone broth...

The dishes Deirdra had dismissed as pretentious excess received an entirely different reception here.

Wolves ate while murmuring their thanks between bites. Some wept openly, tears tracking down weathered cheeks. The scent of gratitude filled the room, warm and overwhelming.

Hugo and I sat among them, sharing the meal.

Mara Riverbloom, the volunteer who'd greeted me, settled into the seat beside mine and pressed a cup of warmed cider into my hands.

"These wolves..." She gestured around the room. "Some traveled to the central territories for work and got deceived by false pack promises. Some lost everything to circumstances beyond their control. Others fell ill and their own kin cast them out of the den." She paused, her voice catching. "It's Moon-Turn night. Everyone deserves a proper feast. But our storehouse is so bare—we were only planning to serve plain grain porridge tonight..."

That evening, I heard story after story.

Kaelen Stonewright, in his fifth decade. A craftsman who built dens and walls. His pack leader had abandoned the territory three winters ago, and he'd been chasing his owed resource shares ever since.

Faye Dawnshard, twenty-three winters old. Escaped a violent den. Still carried the marks—claw scars visible beneath her sleeve when she reached for bread.

And an elderly bonded pair whose son hadn't returned to the den in three years. They'd traded their territory claim in the outer woods to search for him in the central lands, only to discover he'd joined a new pack without leaving word. Changed his scent-markers too, making himself impossible to track.

"Alpha Wolfsbane."

A male wolf in his early thirties approached, his posture humble but his eyes holding a spark of hope.

"My name is Marek Stormhollow. I heard the council talk about your pack's work." He hesitated, then pressed forward. "I trained in forge-craft and metalwork." His voice steadied. "Are you... taking on new pack members, by any chance?"

Desperation flickered in his eyes, tempered by a fragile pride he was trying hard to protect.

"Did you bring your credentials?"

He blinked, then scrambled through his worn satchel, pulling out a crumpled leather folder.

I took it and flipped through the pages.

Solid experience tracking prey routes and managing territory logistics. A few innovative hunting techniques formally recognized by the regional council.

"Come to the pack grounds for a trial on the eighth day after the Moon-Turn."

I pulled out a carved bone token and handed it to him.

"Ask for Borin Ashbinder, our Role-Keeper. Tell him I sent you."

Marek Stormhollow's hand trembled as he took the token.

Then he bowed—deep, formal, exposing the back of his neck in the ancient gesture of submission and gratitude.

"Thank you, Alpha!"

He held that bow for a long time.

As I was leaving, Mara caught my arm and pulled me aside.

"We must capture this moment. Let the packs see there are still kindhearted wolves in this world!"

We gathered in the center of the hall—over thirty of us—and posed together beneath the shelter's worn banner.

I didn't think much of that image.

I had no idea that by nightfall, it would spread like wildfire through every howl-network channel.

The Harbor Haven Refuge's messenger ravens carried the news far and wide:

"#WarmthOnMoonTurn: A heartfelt thank you to Alpha Selene Wolfsbane, who brought her own ceremonial feast to share with our refuge wolves. 108 courses. 108 hearts, warmed."

The image was attached.

The responses flooded in like a rushing river.

"By the Moon! Are those feast platters behind them... a full ceremonial spread?!"

"The refuge keeper confirmed it—yes, a complete 108-course Moon-Turn feast!"

"Who IS this Alpha? Beautiful AND generous!"

"Found her! Selene Wolfsbane, Alpha of the Skyward Pack. They craft healing instruments blessed with ancient magic. Won the regional innovation honor last season!"

"True Alpha behavior! Stunning, powerful, AND kind-hearted!"

My den was under siege—messenger birds arriving nonstop, their tiny scrolls piling up.

Congratulations from allied pack leaders. Curious messages from old friends. Meeting requests from council chroniclers.

Then a familiar howl echoed through our bond-link. Howl.

"Selene, why did you sever my access to the territory stores?"

His voice was tight with irritation.

"After you stayed behind, Mother ordered another full ceremonial spread. She's waiting for someone to settle the debt right now."