Training nearly broke me that morning.
Not in the way pain usually does.
Being sharp, immediate, obvious.
But in a quieter, more terrifying way.
Like something inside me was being pried at with patience.
The elders had brought me back to the standing stones, the same circle where the wind never stopped singing.
My feet were bare against the cool ground, my palms slick with sweat, my back aching under the weight of my belly.
"Breathe," the eldest murmured again. "Into the spine."
I did.
I always did.
The pull came faster this time.
Stronger.
My wolf surged upward, furious and desperate, clawing against something unseen.
I gasped as the pressure slammed into my ribs, my vision flashing white for a heartbeat.
Then there was a crack.
Not sound.
Sensation.
Like a seam tearing.
I cried out, instinctively clutching my stomach as my knees buckled.
Hands caught me immediately.
"Enough," the elder snapped.
