Memory pulled her back to the day he'd claimed her. This same field, moonblossoms arranged in a heart shape, Fenris on one knee with a bonding pendant catching the moonlight. His voice, calling her name over and over: "Lyra, I'll be good to you forever!" "Lyra, will you be my mate? If you say yes, it'll be the happiest moment of my life!"
Those promises had once lit up her world like stars.
Now they fell with the petals, shattering into nothing.
She reached into her traveling pack and pulled out the small collection of keepsakes—the carved token, the fang-pendant, the figurine. One by one, she set them in the grass at her feet, like laying to rest a time that had long since rotted from the inside.
Then she turned and walked away without looking back.
One hour before departure.
Lyra arrived at the border crossing with her traveling pack slung over her shoulder.
Registration. Scent-clearance. Departure gate.
Ten minutes until the caravan left, her identity token hummed.
A message from Fenris, with an attached image: "Ceremony design is finalized. Take a look—let me know if anything needs changing."