training began at dawn.
Always at dawn.
They said it was when the veil between body and spirit was thinnest, when the wolf stirred closest to the surface. When the land itself was still half-asleep and more willing to listen.
I was led to different places each day.
Stone courtyards wrapped in ivy.
Clearings ringed with standing stones carved in runes I couldn't read.
High terraces overlooking the endless green where the wind sang constantly.
The wolves who trained me were not soldiers.
They were elders.
Some old enough that their hair had faded silver.
Some young, their power sharp and contained, eyes too knowing for their age.
They never raised their voices.
Never rushed me.
Never showed frustration.
Which somehow made it worse.
"Stand barefoot," one instructed gently.
The stone beneath my feet was cool, almost humming, as if something beneath it recognized me.
"Close your eyes."
I did.
"Breathe," another voice murmured. "Not into your lungs. Into your bones."
