Dawnscourge *

"Where the Moon Touches the Water"

It was the second night after Verdanveil had joined the great pack. The salt of the sea still clung to his fur, and the stars were scattered across the sky like scattered prey on a wide-open field. The pack was still adjusting to his presence, curious, but respectful. Among them, one pair of eyes watched him longer than the rest — eyes like blue and green will-o'-the-wisps, glowing with mischief and mystery.

Dawnscourge.

She had arrived a day after him — her dark Moonlight coat rippling with deep violet dapples, like bruises left by the stars themselves. No one mistook her for timid. She moved with quiet confidence, equal parts elegance and bite. But while neither she nor Verdanveil were shy, there was still a distance — a pause between two wolves who saw something familiar in the other but weren't ready to name it.

That pause ended when he took her on a hunt.

Featherlight, ever observant, had seen the way Dawnscourge's eyes lingered on Verdanveil as he demonstrated a smooth, precise fishing technique along the tide pools. His strength didn't lie in force alone, but in patience, rhythm, and fairness — traits rare among the wandering studs of most packs. She had pulled Dawnscourge aside, the wind brushing through both their coats like breath from the sea.

"You seem hungry for more than prey," Featherlight said with a small smile. "Build your nest near the hunters, just for a night. See what you catch."

And so, she did.

That night, Dawnscourge joined Verdanveil and the Twilight Omen hunting team. They moved like shadows, like wind and tide, and in the silver of the moon she showed him just how fast and graceful she could be. Not just a match — but a challenge. They fell into step almost naturally, every movement speaking louder than words.

After the hunt, they sat by the water, breath heavy, pelts brushing as they watched the moon dance on the surface. Verdanveil chuckled softly, his voice low and warm like a fire in the dark.

"I think you're the only wolf who's ever made me miss a catch," he teased.

Dawnscourge smirked, leaning in close. "You're welcome."

That was the beginning.

In the weeks that followed, she would only come to his side after the sun had set. They never needed to say much. Their bodies knew each other's rhythm — in the hunt, in the quiet walks, in the slow curling of tails under the stars. She was bold, graceful, full of laughter and sharp wit. With the pups, she became gentleness itself — a mother wrapped in warmth and wonder, who made even the wildest feel safe.

When Verdanveil was named the Stud of the pack, her heart stirred with quiet fear. Would he change? Would she fade behind his duty?

But he never let doubt grow.

He would return from long days spent meeting with outsiders or fulfilling his role, only to nuzzle into her fur with the same softness, the same quiet devotion. He would listen to her laughter like it was the only music the world had to offer. And when they lay together by the sea, his nose pressed to hers, his voice would hum just for her.

"You are my home, Dawnscourge. No title will ever change that."

And when the wind rustled through their coats and the waves whispered secrets, it seemed the stars above nodded in agreement.