She even wrote another letter to her parents, or at least, had Gally write it for her. Rem left out the dangerous details, only letting them know that everything was fine and that she’d have to marry a shifter. The detail about someone becoming hermatewas left out, as she wasn’t sure how they’d handlethatchange.
Rem wasn’t even sure how to navigate that aspect herself, although she figured she’d find out very soon.
R O N A N
The following day,Ronan stared at the growing tree that marked his father's grave. He had slept terribly; the stress of impending war prevented his mind from easing into the night.
As soon as the sun had risen, he went for a run, ending up in the ghost trees of the Kilvar Clan. Despite his father being a Kilvar, Ronan had his mother's name of Warden.
Although no matter the bloodline, they'd all face death. His father's ashes were mixed in with the soil, allowing his ashen ghost tree to form roots and flourish. Many of the star-shaped leaves remained, despite that time of year, as ghost trees rarely dropped theirs.
Ronan crossed his arms, feeling the solemnness in his face as he breathed in cool, morning air.
A small white flake caught Ronan's attention as it floated by. He looked up at the gray sky with swollen clouds through tree branches that were growing naked—aside from the ghost trees—their leaves mostly orange or red by now. More flurries gently fell with a quiet presence.Winter is coming early.A few more flurries landed on his bare skin, melting from the warmth that still radiated from his morning run.
He looked back to the small tree that stood among the thicker ones, the snow sticking to whatever it touched.
The snow made him think of his father who had always loved winter. Ronan ached for him to return to the living, just for a day. Not only did he merely want his father, but he needed his counsel. What was Ronan to do? How did he handle any of this? Did he focus solely on the hunters, or did he try to find Enola? What did the hunters offer Enola to make her do such a thing? And how did an Elder Witch land among him?
Ronan had no idea. The worst thing about this scenario was that the decision would seal the fate of all shifters that followed him.
The snow fell in fatter flakes, his fondest childhood memories taking place in the cold, dark winters of his past. Eventually, a thin layer of white built up on the surrounding ground, and his sorrow eased.
The familiar scent of his nan broke him from thoughts as he saw the aging shifter walk towards the tree of his father. She had furs on her shoulder, her hair pulled back into a bundle of braids. Even if one didn't know her scent, she was easily identifiable with her iconic, long-faded tattoos on her chin and forehead.
His nan was a formidable shifter in her prime, her mind now sharper than her fangs. Her mate, his grandfather, was a ghost tree, his trunk twice as thick as Ronan's father's, although even that was still no thicker than his thigh. She stood next to Ronan in silence, staring at the stone with the carved nameDagmar Kilvarthat rested at the bottom of his father’s tree.
One generation stood next to the other in a forest that was fed by the ashes of the dead. "The Earth reclaimed him too soon," his nan finally said in a soft voice. "I know his soul has been called upon to journey onward... But Dag should be here with you now. I sometimes wonder if the goddess made a mistake in taking him so early."
Ronan grunted, the muscles in his shoulders and arms tensing. "The Earth will reclaim more souls for this idiotic war, many younger than father."
"Are rumors of war true then, my Ronan?" his nan asked.
He paused and took in a deep breath, a small cloud forming in front of his face as he exhaled. "They are. Among our own, and with the hunters. Enola fled north with Marcus and two of the Silvers. We will have to deal with them, on top of the hunters. I haven't decided in which order."
His nan paused as the snow danced around them, flittering in random directions, landing in her fur and hair. "I can see why you visit. My son was good at strategy. He always had bright ideas," she said with pride. "But it is a good thing you inherited Dag’s mind and Freya’s strong blood. You are just as capable, or you wouldn't be our Alpha. I know you will find the answer."
Ronan couldn't help but feel like a small child again at her words of comfort. She did not dole it out often, although he noticed she was more prone to emotion when visiting her son's tree.
He looked down at her. "They want me to lead more than Warden, you know."
She grinned, a few teeth missing, the wrinkles on her face creating a plethora of lines as she shrugged her shoulders. "I am sorry, my Ronan, but you have Warden in you. That is old blood that led for many generations, even before me, deep in the Exiles. This is a fate that you could not have avoided. Your ancestors helped pave the way to this new life. You are meant to finish it. That might even entail ruling over more than just us to see us through this war."
Ronan looked around the graveyard of recycled life. In the north, where his kind was from, it was said ghost trees existed that were bigger than a warg.
So much history. Why do we still insist on fighting? We will destroy our stories, along with ourselves, at this rate...
"I don't know how to lead more than Warden, honestly. Peace always seems to elude us. I don't even know if it's possible to end a war," he said for the first time out loud, the weight of those words heavier than anyone knew.
Without skipping a beat, and speaking fervently, she implored, "Peace is never meant to last. It is temporary, but itcanbe had, and in it, society can thrive. You are not fighting for eternal peace, but to just give us a break. Let us prosper for a generation or three before we war again." He looked down at his feisty nan, whose brown eyes bore into his. She added, "No one truly knows how to lead, let's be honest. It's more about picking the person who is best at making it up. Dag," she said, nodding to the tree, "did that so well it seemed like he could see the future. It even became a fault, and ultimately, his wolfsbane. He didn't see the ambush coming because of it. Stay humble, my Ronan; stay sharp, and you will find yourself in better circumstances than my son."
Ronan remained quiet as he contemplated her words, his eyes darting between hers. Then, he chuckled. "If I don't succeed, nan, promise me that you'll make sure that Olavi will take you up north, so you don't have to die here. Go be free in the northern mountains and plant your tree there.”
She tutted. "I appreciate it, youngling, but that's wolf shit. I will die here, where my blood is. No point in planting my tree in free land if I am all alone. That's for the goddess's tree, not mine. I want to share the soil of my mate and my son."
"I am serious, though, nan. This might not end well. Bloodshed is coming.”
She rolled her eyes and flicked her wrist. "If we die, we die. More food for the starving wolves." She then pinched his stomach but got nothing. He glared at her but would never protest, despite not used to being touched so abruptly. "Speaking of that, you are too lean and need some fat. Not much, or you'll betoofat. You should hunt a bear that's readying for hibernation. Don't become a starving wolf yourself."
