Wildstar *

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"Silverfang Gossip and Sun-dappled Laughs"

The glade was alive with the hum of summer.

Dappled light flickered through the canopy, casting flickering gold across fur, leaves, and the small pile of rabbits laid in the center of the Silverfang Brigade. A successful hunt — not perfect, but satisfying — and the group sprawled in the soft grass, tongues lolling, shoulders brushing.

Wildstar, as usual, was at the heart of it all.

She lay on her side, breath even, flanks rising and falling gently beneath her glimmering pelt. Her reddish-brown coat shimmered like windswept bracken, and the cream-white spots at her sides caught the sun like scattered moonlight. Her caribou eyes — deep, calm, and impossibly kind — flicked between her friends as they laughed and bickered.

Nevrith, ever dramatic, was retelling how she almost lost a hare because "a root decided to trip me like it had a grudge." Red-Headed Lovebird and Wildrose howled with laughter, leaning into each other, brushing ears and tails in the way close friends do.

"Maybe the forest spirits are just testing your reflexes," Wildstar teased, nudging Nevrith with a hind paw. "Or maybe they think you're too fast for your own good."

Lovesong, their quiet Stalker, chuckled from her spot in the shade. "She's not wrong. You nearly ran into a tree last moon."

"I slid gracefully past it," Nevrith huffed, holding her head high. "Anyway—Wildstar. Don't think we didn't notice that charming white-furred Wanderer hanging around after the chase yesterday."

"Ohhh?" Wildrose grinned. "Another admirer?"

Wildstar didn't deny it — she just smiled, wide and warm, her expression full of that radiant spark that always made pups and elders alike gravitate to her. "His name's Thistlestride. He asked if my spots were painted by stars."

"Smooth," murmured Lovebird, biting back a giggle.

"They were," Wildstar replied with a wink, "Just not by the kind he thinks."

She rolled onto her back, staring up at the sky. "You remember the first time I met Featherlight? I didn't shine like this then. I was just a dusty traveler with a thousand questions."

"You mean when you didn't stop talking about fur colors for a full moon?" said Wildrose, smirking.

"Exactly," Wildstar beamed. "And Featherlight, bless her patience, asked if I'd ever been kissed by the moon. I thought she was teasing me!"

The others laughed, but they listened closely — they always did when Wildstar spoke of the Dreamwalk.

"She sent me to Herindel. That old herbalist brewed me a sunset-colored drink that made the stars hum. My soul climbed the sky, through constellations like glowing rivers. And there... I met him. The Caribou Spirit."

Even now, her voice grew soft, reverent. "He was massive, corrupted, angry — but underneath it, there was sorrow. He didn't chase me. He watched me. I reached out. We touched — and something inside me changed."

"Your eyes," whispered Lovebird. "That's when they changed, right?"

Wildstar nodded. "And the strength. The stamina. The fire. When I woke up... I knew I belonged."

The group fell quiet, just for a moment. Not with sadness — but awe. Because Wildstar carried her magic not like a crown, but like a blanket, wrapping everyone in her light.

Then Nevrith, ever unable to be quiet for too long, piped up: "So... Thistlestride?"

Wildstar laughed, the sound clear and unburdened. "What about him? I might let him follow me around for a while. If he can keep up."

Red-Headed Lovebird grinned. "You'll break his heart."

"I'll inspire him," Wildstar replied, rising to her feet and shaking out her glowing coat. "Now come on, Silverfangs. Let's race the wind back to camp before someone else eats our rabbits."

As they bounded through the tall grass, legs flying, laughter rising like birds into the sky, Wildstar felt it again — that pulse of life, the joy of running with friends, of being seen, of being home.

And somewhere in the great above, the Caribou Spirit watched and smiled.