AELIA REVA
I stand in the middle of our central hall with the weight of a hundred eyes pressing kindly against my skin. Moonlight slices through the high windows, long pillars carved with the old wolf-spirits catching the glow so that the stone seems to shimmer. Candles cluster on every ledge and hang in lanterns from rope and beam, their flames steady and golden. Banners hang between the pillars, deep ochre and forest green threaded with the pack sigil, and flowers in wild, honest colors crowd the aisles and stairways. The air tastes of wax and cedar and something green and clean, like earth just after rain.
