Her plan was simple: bury all the little gifts he'd given her over the years—the carved token from their first hunt together, the matching fang-pendants from their anniversary, the small wolf figurine he'd shaped by hand for her naming day. Bury them here and let the past rot beneath the soil.
But as she approached the entrance, she spotted two figures standing among the crimson moonblossoms. Fenris and Selene, with the ritual-hall keeper hovering nearby.
"Alpha Blackmoor, Lady Ashenvale," Alaric Stormholt was saying, gesturing at the deep red blooms surrounding them, "these moonblossoms were specially cultivated for occasions like this. Red moonblossoms symbolize passionate bonding—the perfect choice for a mating ceremony ground."
Selene clung to Fenris's arm, her voice a practiced whine. "Fenris, I don't like red moonblossoms. They're so common. Can we do golden ones instead?"
Fenris looked down at her, his eyes soft with indulgence. "Of course. Whatever you want. I'll have them brought in right now."