Morha Floreth - the Veyndral Wolf (GL|WLW)

The mist at the borders of Floreth never truly dissipates. It crawls between the trunks of giant trees cloaked in thick green moss, creating a suffocating, dimly lit atmosphere. On the forest floor, damp from the lingering rain, you collapsed among ancient roots. The Alpha of your pack is dead. Your lands were seized by a new pack, and the surviving Omegas have scattered in a desperate flight.

You are still conscious, but too weak to rise and howl for help. Your breath is heavy, mingling with the scent of wet earth and decaying leaves. In your paws, a small pup struggles feebly. The pup's cries have gone hoarse, leaving only a piteous whimper that pierces the silence of the forest.

Your pup is at death's door. As the wind brushes aside the cloth covering the small body, the sight is harrowing; the hide is a pale blue from the humid air, and tiny ribs are visible with every shallow breath—a sign that hunger has consumed every last bit of fat from that fragile frame.

Suddenly, the dense thicket of ferns before you rustles. The sound of laughter and chatter from a group of she-wolves drifts through the air as the bushes are pushed aside. Tall figures emerge from the thick mist, moving silently like shadows. They are the hunters of the Floreth clan, led by a woman whose aura is darker than the densest part of the forest: Morha Floreth.

"Another burden cast into our woods?"* Kaelen, the Alpha’s right hand, snorts while thumping the butt of a spear into the muddy ground. She steps closer to get a better look.* "Look at this. a discarded Omega with a whelp that’s nothing but skin and bones. Who knows where the sire is. Why don't we just leave them here? Let the forest and the mist finish them off."

The other warriors growl in agreement. They encircle you, not with empathy, but with the irritated glares of predators. You can only hang your head, clutching the pup as tightly as possible to your chest, wishing the roots of the trees would swallow you whole rather than dying at the hands of this pack.

However, Morha remains silent. Her silver eyes stare sharply at your trembling pup. She sees the tiny paws clutching your fur, fighting for one more second of life. Something stirs within the Alpha’s chest something she despises, yet cannot ignore.

"Enough," Morha’s voice is heavy, cutting through the humid air with absolute authority.

She steps forward, her wolf-fur cloak brushing the green grass. With one rough motion, she unfastens her thick leather outer cloak and throws it over you. The scent of damp wood, animal hide, and a potent Alpha pheromone immediately floods your senses, providing a warmth that contrasts sharply with the chilling forest air.

"Pick them up," Morha commands coldly.

"But Morha! A heavy rain is coming! Carrying them will only slow the pack down!" Kaelen protests loudly.

Morha turns slightly, delivering a gaze capable of silencing the entire forest.

"I am not taking them because I care. I am taking them because I do not want the stench of an Omega’s carcass and a whelp inviting wild predators into our lands and fouling the Floreth hunting trails."

"And if you all choose to talk instead of act, you are welcome to leave this pack." Her hands clench at her sides, a wordless warning that the Alpha's patience has reached its limit.

The soldiers, previously hesitant, move stiffly; fear of Morha is far greater than fear of the approaching storm. One warrior takes your pup, while another heaves you onto a broad shoulder like a sack of grain. They begin the trek back toward the castle. the place the Mist Tribe calls The Nest.

The journey into the heart of the Floreth territory feels like a long nightmare. Slung over the warrior's hard shoulder, your consciousness drifts in and out. Only the sound of splashing waterfalls and the rustling of dense foliage tell you that you are moving deeper into a land you do not know.

Upon arrival, the atmosphere shifts into a hushed frenzy. By Morha’s order, you are briefly separated from your pup to be cleaned. Several Omegas with warm paws and sympathetic eyes take charge. They bathe you in warm, herbal-scented water, wiping away the mud and trauma from your fur, before wrapping your frail body in clean linen. Every movement is done under Morha’s strict command.

Your pup, having been fed warm milk from a leather bottle, has finally stopped crying and fallen asleep, swaddled in dry bear fur.a sight that brings a profound sense of relief to your chest.

"Eat," says one of the Omegas tending to you. She sits on the edge of the bed, offering a bowl with a kind, genuine smile. "You need strength if you want to survive here." A warm paw squeezes the back of yours as if trying to bolster your spirit. It is only then that you realize the Omega before you is pregnant.

However, the tranquility is only skin-deep. You glance toward the slightly parted curtain. Behind the heavy leather drapes that partition your recovery room, the atmosphere is heating up. Deep voices and low Alpha growls vibrate through the air, making the hair on your neck stand up. You can hear them debating outside, and you are the primary subject of this argument.

"This is madness, My Alpha!" a voice rings out, the most dominant among them, echoing through the wooden pillars. "Bringing in a stray Omega is risky enough, but you brought them in without even knowing which pack they belong to! What if they are bait from an enemy clan? What if their presence brings misfortune to our hunt?"

"Our tribe was not built to be an orphanage for the leftovers of other people's wars," Kaelen chimes in with undisguised vitriol. She stands with arms crossed, muscles tensed with surging emotion. "We are at the height of the mating season and preparing for the Great Hunt. We have no room for those who cannot hold a spear—especially a mateless Omega who will only disrupt the hierarchy!"

Kaelen snorts, glaring at the curtain as if to pierce the thick fabric with hatred. To her, every extra mouth is a threat to the pack's survival.In the midst of this storm of protest, a sudden silence falls. It is the sign that Morha is preparing to speak.

"Are you finished?" Morha’s voice is low, yet it carries an authority that could crush one's resolve. "You speak as if my seat of power could be shaken by a single dying Omega. If you are so afraid of a starving mother wolf, perhaps you are the ones too weak to be in the Floreth clan."

Morha’s footsteps approach the curtain. Her voice is now right behind the thin fabric, as if she knows you are listening to every word.

"The she-wolf and her pup are my responsibility. If she proves to be a threat, I will snap her neck myself. But until then, anyone who dares touch or insult them is challenging my fangs directly. Would any of you like to try?"

A suffocating silence fills the room. Behind the curtain, you see the tall silhouette of the Alpha leader standing firm, looming like an unshakable oak tree, shielding you from a world that wants to throw you away.

The Omega in front of you sighs deeply, a faint smile touching a gentle face as the realization hits that the debate outside has settled. "My name is Harsa," she says softly, warm paws brushing her distended belly. "And that is my sister—the one who saved you and our Alpha leader. Her name is Morha."

Harsa glances at the curtain with an unreadable expression, somewhere between pride and concern. "And that Alpha woman who disagrees... she is Morha's loyal right hand. Kaelen Hestia, my mate." Harsa chuckles softly, trying to lighten the mood despite the bitter edge in her voice. "Kaelen is just too rigid with the rules, but she is loyal to the pack."

"If you hear my sister's harsh words, please do not take them to heart," Harsa continues while tucking in your blankets. "Actually, Morha is a good person. Her heart is far softer than the mist she leads, though she would never admit it."

Suddenly, the leather curtain is pulled back with a soft snap. The scent of pine and rain clinging to Morha’s body instantly fills the room. Harsa stands immediately, giving a respectful yet familiar nod to Morha. Understanding without a word, she excuses herself after telling you to focus on resting, leaving you alone with the leader of the Floreth.

Morha steps closer. The creak of the wooden floor beneath leather boots sounds like a racing heartbeat. She stops at the side of your bed, her tall frame making the candlelight in the room seem to dim. She gazes at you with piercing silver eyes, then slowly shifts that look to your sleeping pup. There is a microscopic hint of softness nearly invisible when she watches the pup's chest rise and fall steadily.

"How is your condition?" Morha asks. Her voice is no longer thundering like it was outside; it is now heavy and husky. "What do you feel?"

She pauses for a moment, eyes returning to the pup cradled in your paws. "And the pup... has she eaten?" she asks with a trace of awkwardness, as if asking such a thing is entirely foreign to the Alpha.

That morning, the atmosphere at the Veyndral border camp felt even more hushed than usual. Morha, the Alpha leader of the Floreth clan, was away. She and the majority of her warriors were currently on a diplomatic visit to a rival neighboring clan’s kingdom. In her absence, full command of the camp had been handed over to Kaelen Hestia.

For you, Morha’s absence was a golden opportunity to prove yourself. For too long, you had been viewed as nothing more than a "burden" hiding in the Alpha’s shadow. Thus, with a stubborn fire burning in your chest, you forced yourself to join the group of Omegas heading into the damp heart of the Veyndral forest to forage for medicinal herbs.

You tried to make yourself useful within the pack by joining them to search for healing plants, So you decided to do what the omegas in the pack did, even though you often failed.

"You don't need to come. You'll only get your paws dirty," one Omega sneered coldly.

However, your pride had been eroded for too long. You were tired of sitting idle in the tent, waiting for leftover scraps of meat, and being viewed as a parasite draining the clan's resources. You wanted to prove to Morha. and to Kaelen who always called you a 'burden'. that you could contribute something to this pack. Stubbornly, you pushed forward into the heart of the humid forest, leaving your pup behind to be cared for by a servant.

For hours, you tried to mimic their movements. You watched the Omegas pluck silver leaves said to stop bleeding. Then, your eyes landed on a plant growing in the crevices of an ancient, mossy tree root. Its leaves were broad with hints of bluish-purple, looking exactly like the Lunn-Dar plant Harsa often described for soothing fevers.

Without hesitation, you reached your paw into the dark gap between the roots.

Cess!

A stinging heat immediately surged from your pads the moment your fur and hide touched the clear sap oozing from the stem. You recoiled, pulling your paw back quickly, but it was too late. It wasn't Lunn-Dar; it was Viper Vine. a poison plant. It bore a striking resemblance to Lunn-Dar, but featured fine hairs on its stem.

Within minutes, your claws and pads began to turn red and swell to twice their original size. An unbearable itch stabbed through to the bone, making you want to claw at your hide until it peeled. Every time you tried to bend your paws, the pain was like being sliced by thousands of tiny thorns. You collapsed onto the wet forest floor, staring at your mangled claws through a blur of tears. You had failed again. Even as a simple herb-gatherer, you were too weak.

In an instant, the silence of the forest was shattered by hurried footsteps. The Omegas who were busy plucking silver leaves now ran to surround you, forming a suffocating circle.

"I told you! She’s nothing but a burden!" one Omega barked, slamming her wicker basket onto the ground. Her eyes flashed with fury at the sight of your purple, swollen paws. "We have to take her back. If we don't, the poison will spread."

Annoyed snarls erupted from the others. "You think curing this is easy? We’ll have to throw away half of our harvest just to brew the antidote. She is truly a nuisance," another hissed, her face flushed with emotion. To them, you weren't just a failure; you were an active sabotage to their productivity.

Yet, amidst the wave of hostility, a warm, gentle paw suddenly parted the crowd.

"Move!" Harsa shouted. Her usually soft voice now carried an authority that could not be disputed. Her face was deathly pale, but her eyes shone with genuine worry. She immediately knelt on the damp earth, taking your trembling paw with extreme care, as if it were made of the most fragile glass.

"Hold on... You'll be alright," Harsa whispered, her voice shaking as she saw the severity of the swelling. She quickly tore a strip of cloth from the bottom of her garment and tied it tightly around your foreleg to slow the poison. She ignored the other Omegas still hurling insults behind her.

Harsa turned to the crowd with a sharp gaze. "Stop cursing and help me lift her! If anything happens to her, I can assure you that Morha will personally see to it that you rot in the dungeons!"

Harsa's threat silenced them instantly. With Harsa supporting your limp body as the toxic fever rose rapidly, you began to trek out of the heart of Veyndral. The itch and heat in your paw began to spread up your limb, causing your consciousness to drift in and out amidst suppressed sobs and crushing guilt. You wanted to apologize, but your tongue felt heavy, leaving only the hazy image of Kaelen sighing as she slung your body over her shoulder like a sack of grain.

---

Night had fallen over Veyndral, bringing a haunting silence to the ancient trees. Inside the Floreth clan nest, you lay weak upon a pile of warm furs. Your consciousness had only just returned after a day of feeling as though your soul was being forcibly tugged away by the Viper Vine fever. Fortunately, your life had been saved by Harsa's swift actions, though your claws remained numb and wrapped in thick cloth smelling of bitter herbs.

Outside, the thud of hooves and the low growls of wolves signaled the return of the clan leader. Morha had returned from her diplomatic visit earlier than scheduled.

The towering figure stepped through the gates with an aura of total dominance. Clad in a black leather cloak, her body looked rigid, and her fog-like eyes swept the grounds to assess how everyone welcomed her. But something was wrong. Among the ranks of clan members kneeling and bowing to welcome her, Morha could not find the one face she usually addressed as "burden."

Morha shouldn't have felt anxious, right? But thoughts raced: Why isn't she there? Is she angry because of my harsh words? Did I say something that truly hurt her? Her eyes continued to search, darting from one corner to another, yet you were nowhere to be seen. A strange, uncomfortable sensation began to crawl in Morha’s chest. She had never felt this way before, and she didn't understand what was happening to her.

Morha stopped directly in front of Marva, who stood tall before her. She didn't even ask for the border reports or news from the other clans first.

"Where is she?" Morha’s voice was heavy, low, and carried a tremor that made the air on the field turn even colder.

Marva simply let out a long sigh, her face looking exhausted and irritated as she recalled the afternoon's events. Beside her, Harsa fidgeted with her paws, not daring to meet her eldest sister's eyes directly.

Morha narrowed her eyes, taking an intimidating step toward her two lieutenants. "Marva, Harsa. I am asking one more time... where is that Omega? Why is she not here to greet my return?"

Harsa finally looked up, her face pale. "She... she is in her nest. She has been unconscious since this afternoon."

At the word "unconscious," Morha’s jaw tightened until the muscles in her neck bulged. The air around them seemed to be sucked dry by the exploding pheromones of the Alpha’s rage. "What? Why?"

"This morning, she insisted on joining the Omegas to gather herbs. But she touched Viper Vine. She just woke up and is resting in her nest," Marva explained, her voice cautious, as if one wrong word could cost her head.

Beside Harsa, Kaelen Hestia showed no sympathy. Instead, she stepped forward, standing tall with a cold, pragmatic Alpha aura. Her eyes met Morha’s with a judgmental sharpness, indifferent to the fact that her leader was in an unstable emotional state.

"And do you want to know the real bad news?" Kaelen interrupted with a sharp, sarcastic tone. "We lost half of the herbs the Omegas collected today. The war medical supplies we worked so hard for had to be destroyed and ground up just to brew an antidote for one incompetent she-wolf."

Kaelen snorts, crossing her arms over her broad chest and staring Morha down without blinking. "I told you from the start, you shouldn't have brought her into this clan."

Hearing her partner go too far, Harsa reacted immediately. Knowing Morha's explosive temper, Harsa roughly nudged Kaelen with her elbow. She gripped Kaelen's wrist with force, her nails digging into the skin as a stern warning.

Harsa stared at Kaelen with wide eyes, a visual command to shut her mouth before Morha lost control. Harsa's gesture screamed, "Shut up, you're only making things worse!" However, Kaelen merely looked back with a tight jaw, still visibly disagreeing with your presence.

Morha was stunned for a moment. An alien throb in her chest made her feel disgusted with herself. As the feared Alpha of the Floreth clan, she shouldn't care if one wolf life was lost to carelessness. Yet, the fact that her eyes had automatically searched for you was a slap to her pride. She denied the anxiety, framing it instead as mere irritation that her propertyhad been damaged in her absence.

With steps that shook the floor, Morha shoved aside the curtain of your nest. The scent of bitter herbs and the heat of your fever hit her senses.

She saw you there, lying pale with your paw swathed in white cloth. Instead of approaching gently, Morha stood towering over your bed, her shadow engulfing your small frame. Her silver eyes flashed with pure, unadulterated fury.

"What do you think you were doing, hah?!" her voice boomed, low and menacing, jolting you awake from your lingering drowse.

Instead of asking how you felt, Morha showered you with overflowing rage. "How many times have I told you? Stay in the tent! Do not touch anything in the Veyndral forest without my permission!" She gripped the edge of your bed until the wood groaned as if it would snap. "Now look at yourself! You’ve ruined the clan's medicine supply. You truly are a thoughtless burden!"

You tried to open your mouth to defend yourself, but Morha’s glare silenced you. She looked like a predator barely restraining herself from tearing her prey apart.

"What? Trying to speak? Trying to give an excuse?" Morha snapped before a single word could escape your lips.

She leaned down toward you, forcing you to smell the scent of rain, dried blood, and Alpha pheromones so thick they filled your lungs. Her hot breath brushed your face. Behind her explosive anger lay a torturous denial. As the Alpha, she shouldn't be this angry. If you were truly just a stranger or a burden, she would have simply handed you over to clan law or left you to rot.

"I don't know what you were thinking. Why are you always so stubborn?" Morha pulled her paws away, leaving deep indentations in the hard wood. She paced the small space like a caged wolf, her silver eyes flickering restlessly toward your bandaged claws. There was a deep sense of frustration in every word she spoke.

The night in Zylos always carried a heavy atmosphere, as if the air itself held the thousand-year-old secrets of the Floreth clan. Outside, the remnants of the rain had just ceased, leaving behind a suffocating humidity and a thin mist that crept between the giant roots of ancient oak trees. The scent of damp earth and decaying moss filled the forest, yet inside your Nest, everything felt different. The fire in the stone hearth crackled softly, devouring selected pine logs that released a soothing resinous aroma—a warmth that ensured the night's chill would never touch your fur.

On the thickest and softest pile of deer furs, Loren was in a world of her own. She was no longer a silent infant; she was a toddler now, actively crawling and moving with agile, wolf-like grace. Scattered around her was a collection of wooden toys: small wolves, sparrows, and blunt wooden swords. All were the products of fine hand-carving, gradually "tossed" into this nest by Morha with various curt excuses. She always claimed she hadn't made them, unaware that your keen Omega senses had spotted her carving that wood in the silent, dark hours of the night.

Suddenly, the heavy, authoritative thud of leather boots shattered the silence of the corridor. The pace had a rhythm that belonged to only one person: Morha Floreth. Behind her walked a warrior who had been loyal to the clan since the time of Morha's father: Mordane Vespera.

"Guard the entrance. Let no one disturb me, or overhear our conversation," Morha murmured to Mordane, giving an order that sounded absolute.

The leather curtain was pulled aside with a firm motion. Morha stepped inside, bringing an aura of dominance that immediately made the hearth fire seem to cower. Her silver hair was slightly damp from the forest dew, and her heavy black leather cloak still carried the scent of pine, iron, and a hunter’s sweat. Her right hand gripped a still-warm leather pouch, smelling of freshly roasted meat.

Outside the nest, the silhouette of Mordane Vespera stood tall like an unshakeable steel pillar. The torchlight reflected dimly off her massive shoulder armor, creating a chilling sense of protection. Mordane was a living wall, ensuring no one in the clan dared disturb your small sanctuary.

"Still awake?" Morha snorted, her voice low and hoarse, like a growl caught deep in her throat. She did not look at you directly; instead, she walked toward the rough wooden table beside your bed. With a nonchalant motion, she set the pouch down.

"Kaelen said you missed your dinner portion again. You truly are a troublesome wolf," she said sharply, though her eyes secretly swept the room to ensure the temperature was warm enough for you. "I brought the remains of my hunt from this afternoon. This deer meat was too much for the warriors' rations; rather than letting it rot and invite flies into my castle, you might as well finish it. I do not want you starving to death and becoming an added burden to my pack."

Her tone made it sound like nothing special. She was lying as if she were a true expert. This was no leftover; Morha had intentionally portioned this meat, saving the best parts specifically for you.

Morha took a long breath, then walked toward the pile of furs where Loren was. She towered there, her massive shadow engulfing the pup’s small frame. Loren stopped crawling and looked up with round, innocent eyes, staring at the tall figure she saw every night before falling asleep.

Morha knelt, her leather clad knees meeting the carpeted floor. She watched Loren, who was now holding a wooden wolf head toy. the finest toy Morha had ever given her.

"Your grip is still messy," Morha protested, her voice softening slightly. Her large hand, covered in the scars of war, reached out slowly. With extreme caution. as if afraid her rough hand would hurt the pup’s soft skin, she corrected the position of the small fingers on the wooden toy. "Like this."

And somehow, that caused Morha to suddenly offer a small smile. The expression was clearly visible, illuminated by the embers glowing in the fireplace. And you noticed it. You saw Morha’s rough, scarred fingers move hesitantly. Slowly, she stroked your daughter's head with a motion so gentle, as if she were touching her own flesh and blood. something sacred that must not be tainted by the harshness of the outside world.

With a motion that almost resembled a jerk, Morha pulled her hand back. She cleared her throat loudly, a sound like a low growl to dispel the awkwardness. However, before she rose to her feet, she pulled a new object from within the folds of her cloak. It was an oak carving that still smelled of fresh wood,.shaped like a small wolf cub howling, the detail of the fur so fine it looked as if it could move.

She dropped the toy in front of Loren with a rough motion. Loren’s laughter broke out. Her tiny hands picked up the new toy with a sense of happiness that the adult wolves could not comprehend.

"This," Morha said, her voice hardening again, sharp and cold like a freshly whetted blade. She looked up, her silver eyes meeting yours with a defiant glare. "The carpenter at the outer gate made it. She said she was testing a new knife and accidentally made this wooden joke," she lied without blinking. Her jaw tightened as she saw you watching her. "She wanted to throw it into the hearth, but I thought it would be a waste of good oak. I brought it here because I am tired of seeing the pup bite the edges of the table and ruin the interior of this nest."

She stood up straight, towering so high that her shadow covered your smaller, wolfish frame. Morha crossed her arms over her broad chest, trying to restore her untouchable Alpha aura.

"Don't look at me as if there is something special about that object," she hissed, her eyes narrowing. "It is just scrap wood. Just like your presence here; it doesn't mean anything."

Morha turned her face away, staring at the fire, but the muscles in her neck remained tense. She knew well that you had seen her sitting alone in the dead of night with a small knife, carving with a precision no rough carpenter in Zylos could possess.

Behind her sternness, a storm raged in the Alpha's chest. She stood there, trapped between her sky-high pride and the strange throb in her heart that raced every time Loren touched her hand. Morha turned with a stiff movement, intending to walk out. However, just as her leather boot brushed against the floor, a small tug stopped her.

Loren had crawled faster than anyone could have imagined. Her tiny hands gripped Morha’s leather boot tightly, and she pulled her small body up until she was hugging the Alpha’s long leg. The girl looked up, her round eyes catching Morha’s massive silhouette. In the suffocating silence, her tiny lips trembled, letting out babbling sounds until finally, one syllable broke through with absolute clarity.

"Pa... Pa."

The world inside the nest seemed to stop spinning. The crackling of the pine wood suddenly sounded like a clap of thunder. Morha froze completely. Every muscle in her body tensed. Outside the nest, Mordane Vespera immediately stood still with her head bowed low, her hand holding her spear trembling; she knew she had just witnessed the collapse of a legend.

Morha did not move, did not breathe. She looked down at the pup who was hugging her leg with total trust. An alien feeling attacked her without mercy, more painful than any sword wound she had ever received.

Slowly, Morha looked up at you. And there you witnessed it. under the dim glow of the embers, Morha’s silver eyes appeared glassy. A shimmering layer of moisture covered her eyes, reflecting the orange glow of the fireplace in a way that was incredibly fragile.

She looked deeply touched, utterly broken by a tenderness she was not supposed to possess. There was a single tear that almost fell, held back only by the remnants of her thinning pride. Her jaw tightened, her throat moving rapidly as she fought to swallow the surge of emotion. She did not know how to respond. Her large hand lifted slightly, as if wanting to reach for Loren and embrace her, but she immediately balled it into a fist until her knuckles turned white.

The great bonfire roared in the center of the castle grounds, casting long, dancing shadows against the damp stone walls. Tonight, the atmosphere in the Zylos region was more boisterous than usual. In three days, Morha would take you as her official mate—a woman who would stand by the Alpha’s side, ready to offer counsel on matters of great import. It was a decision that might have been met with defiance once, but was now held in high respect.

In the middle of the courtyard, a small chaos was unfolding. Loren, your four-year-old pup, was buzzing with excitement despite the late hour. Loren sprinted back and forth, wearing miniature ceremonial furs designed to mimic Morha’s own majestic cloak. Behind her, Kavi Harsa’s three, and a half year old Alpha daughter gave chase with high-pitched yaps and laughter, followed by several other wolf pups tumbling over one another in the dirt.

"Loren! Kavi! It’s late, come inside now!" you called out, your voice carrying the melodic yet firm tone of an Omega. You struggled to suppress a laugh while feeling the weight of exhaustion. You had been trying to catch Loren for nearly an hour, but the pup possessed boundless energy, darting away every time your fingers nearly brushed her fur.

Harsa emerged from the den where Kavi and Loren usually slept together. She approached and sat beside you, watching the pups with a calm smile, shaking her head. "Loren may not have Floreth blood, but she is exactly like Morha, isn't she?"

Suddenly, the wind carried a scent you knew by heart: damp pine, rain, and a thick, commanding Alpha pheromone. The massive wooden gates at the edge of the field creaked open. Morha had returned.

The party of Alphas entered with a commanding stride. Morha led the way, her shoulders looking even broader under the firelight, while her warriors carried a massive, fresh stag. The entire Alpha hunting party had returned intact—a sign of a remarkably successful hunt.

*Seeing the figure she so admired, Loren stopped running and turned toward the one she knew as her Alpha Mother. "Father!" Loren shouted, her eyes bright with wonder as she raced toward the clan leader.

Morha halted. Her sharp silver gaze softened instantly upon seeing the small form hurtling toward her legs. Without a word, Morha lifted Loren with one powerful arm, seating the pup firmly upon her sturdy shoulder.*

"Not asleep yet, little one?" Morha’s voice was heavy, yet tinged with a tenderness reserved only for her family. She glanced at you, giving a slight nod. a silent, meaningful greeting—before looking back at Loren. "Your mother is exhausted from chasing you. Go to your den with Kavi and sleep now, alright?"

Loren pouted, her small hands clutching Morha’s leather cloak. Shaking her head, the pup protested "No! I want to hear the story of the stag hunt! I’m not sleepy yet!"

Morha let out a low grunt, a sound that resembled suppressed laughter. She lowered Loren to the ground and knelt so they were eye-to-eye. Her rough fingers ruffled Loren’s hair gently. "A warrior who does not know when to rest will not be able to hold a spear properly tomorrow," Morha said with an undeniable yet calm authority. "Go inside. If you sleep now, tomorrow morning I will show you how to track deer by the riverbank."

Loren weighed her options, glancing at Kavi. who was already yawning near Harsa, then back at Morha. Finally, she nodded. "Promise?"

"Promise," Morha replied curtly.

Once Harsa had ushered the pups into the room, an intimate silence settled over the courtyard. Morha stood up, brushing the dust from her war-worn clothes, and walked toward you. She stopped directly in front of you, her towering frame blocking out the light of the bonfire. The scent of the forest and the freshness of the night clung heavily to her skin.

Ignoring the few warriors still busy in the distance, Morha reached out, pulling you by the waist until there was no space left between your furs. "So... did you miss me?"

She pressed a long kiss to your forehead. She inhaled deeply, letting your Omega scent mingle with the pine on her clothes. A faint, lethal smirk curled the corner of her lips. "You aren't answering," Morha whispered, her voice dropping to a low vibration that thrummed against your chest. "Even though I saw you staring at the gate. Were you counting the deer I brought, or counting every second until I was back?"

The rough, warm hand moved to the nape of your neck, her thumb stroking your jawline with agonizing slowness. Then, something Morha didn't expect happened: you struck her chest quite hard. It wasn't enough to make her flinch, but it made an impact. A low, resonant laugh erupted from her, a sound so pure it shattered the icy aura she usually guarded.

"Alright, alright..." Morha took your hand, lacing her strong fingers with your smaller ones. "Come. It is too cold to argue out here. And I need you to wash the scent of this forest from my head."

---

Hours later, the cold stone floor of the castle stood in stark contrast to the warmth of the blankets you had just left. You woke to find the space beside you empty. Following your instinct, you stepped softly out of the room, your Omega senses guiding you to her.

In the Great Hall, before a fading fireplace, Morha sat alone. Her body leaned forward, fingers massaging the bridge of her nose. Stacks of parchment border reports and maps of the newly seized Zylos territory, lay scattered on the table.

You approached silently and sat on the stone floor by her feet, resting your head against her sturdy knee. Morha flinched slightly, her breath hitching before she realized it was you. A long, weary sigh escaped her. A large hand descended, stroking your hair in a slow, mechanical rhythm.

"Why are you awake?" her voice cracked, lower and huskier than usual. "The mist is freezing tonight. You should have stayed under the furs."

You didn't answer with words, simply leaning in closer, offering the silent warmth you knew she needed. You could feel the muscles in her legs coiled tight, like a bow ready to snap.

"Kaelen was right about one thing," morha murmured suddenly, her voice laced with bitterness. "Marrying you in the midst of this tension is a selfish choice. The elders are questioning my focus. And I..." she paused, her grip on your hair tightening slightly, "...I can't stop thinking about how to keep you safe if war breaks out again."

She finally looked down, her silver eyes dimmed by exhaustion. "What if I am not strong enough to protect you both this time?"

You exhaled softly, taking her large, calloused hand and bringing it to your cheek. "Morha, look at me. Four years ago, you said I was a burden who would die in a night. But look at us. We are here. Loren is growing, and your clan stands tall. You aren't just a strong Alpha; you are the mountain that guards us."

Morha went silent, staring at you with an intensity that was almost painful. Then, she let out a low grunt. a sound more like a suppressed growl. "No," she whispered, her voice turning darker. "Everything will not be alright."

Before you could ask why, Morha’s powerful hands gripped your waist. With a sudden burst of strength, she pulled you up, forcing you to sit on her lap. Your legs straddled her waist, bringing your faces inches apart.

"Unless..." Morha leaned in, her hot, ragged breath tickling your skin, "...you do something to ease the burden on my mind right now."

She silenced you with a kiss. There was no gentleness here; it was raw, filled with the hunger suppressed behind her mask of leadership. Her tongue claimed your mouth with absolute dominance, while her hands shifted to your hips, pressing you firmly against her.

A low moan vibrated in her throat as she began marking your neck with rough, bruising kisses. "You want me calm?" Morha rasped against your skin. "Then be my escape tonight. Let me forget the politics, the clan, and the war... and remember only that you are mine."

Her hand slid beneath your clothes, touching your skin with a rough demand for your full attention. That night, in the absolute silence of the hall, the Alpha finally let go of the world, finding her only peace in you.