The Whispering Woods was peaceful that night. A gentle wind moved through the tall ancient trees, making the leaves rustle with sounds that almost resembled distant voices, hence the name.
It was believed that powerful witches came here in ancient times to speak with God.
Near a small, clear lake in the wilderness, Artis and her three cubs had settled for the night. She slept in the middle while the cubs lay around her in a protective circle.
The boys had shifted into human form before going to sleep. It was easier to huddle together that way, and Artis had smiled tiredly when they asked, ruffling their hair before drifting off. They had been in good moods ever since they met their father, Ethan Cromwell. Now they finally had a family.
Lupin, the eldest, slept with his head against her chest, breathing steadily. Sylvan and Grimm nestled into her sides, their faces peaceful.
