FIA
My breath caught as a distant memory slammed into me.
Stubborn, that was the word Father had used. It was two words, actually. Stubborn and reckless. I remembered the lock sliding into place, the click loud in the quiet of my room. I remembered being banned from leaving the grounds of Silver Creek, confined like a child for daring to look for a cure when the healers were already certain my mother would die.
Leaving pack territory to gather herbs, grinding them in secret, hoping to slow the rot eating her alive, it was all too damaging to Father's reputation. I was told I was chasing nonsense. That I was only breaking my own heart and wasting time.
The door hadn't mattered.
No one watched me closely enough to notice when I vanished into the secret passages of the estate.
I remembered the meadow far beyond Silver Creek. The way it smelled wild and untouched. I remembered having hope so thin and stubborn. The kind my mother had taught me to cling to.
