Book 19: Take It, It's Yours

Oakley

The night after my bride price was paid, I didn’t fall into bed until long after the moon rose. Wine flowed in the Silverhide packhouse until well after sunset, and a feast was laid out in my honor. The entire pack, including my future grandparents-in-law, if that’s a thing, celebrated me. More merriment will come, like it always does this time of year when the young women of Silverhide prepare for their weddings. But the evening was tinged with a certain kind of melancholy I could see in the eyes of my mother and my aunts. 

I will not be spending the winter in Silverhide. 

I roll over in my bed, jarred awake for some reason, and stare at the far wall. It’s raining, sprinkling, just hard enough to sound on the roof directly above my head while I watch shadows play over my dresser. Memories of the feast last night simmer and fade,