As for the moon-gold, there was no mistaking it. Seren Ashvale's initials were etched right into the side.
My fingers flew across the scry-mirror: "Are these really yours?"
The reply came instantly.
"If they're not mine, what—are they yours?"
Before I could respond, more images appeared. A she-wolf draped in spelled silks, cradling an infant, surrounded by heaps of moon-gold and enchanted jewelry like some dragon guarding its hoard.
Then another message:
"I'm looking for a future daughter-in-bond, not a den-keeper."
"I checked your scent-trail. That pup of yours? Not exactly what we're looking for, sweetling."
The casual cruelty of it blanked my mind.
But the howl-thread had already descended into a feeding frenzy.
"Moon's teeth, the poster ate her UP! Some wolves are just bitter!"
"Right? Can't claim it yourself so you accuse others of glamour-forging? Pathetic!"
Someone had even captured my pup's images from my profile: "Poster's not wrong though—her pup is... yikes. And she's trying to get attention under this post?"
"Give it up, omega. The young heir doesn't want your little runt!"
My breath came in sharp, shallow bursts. The scry-mirror nearly slipped from my fingers.