POV: APHRODITE
The scouts don't approach, but they don't leave either.
We make camp that night with tension coiling through the air like smoke. No one sleeps properly. We take turns keeping watch, always aware of the pack scent circling in the darkness, always waiting for the attack that doesn't come.
I lie on my bedroll staring up at the canopy, listening to the sounds of the forest mixed with the steady breathing of the others. Lyra is curled up a few feet away, finally sleeping after hours of restless turning. The twins are on opposite sides of camp, both pretending to rest while the bond between us hums with their alertness.
By morning, I'm exhausted and angry in equal measure. Angry at being hunted. Angry at the scouts who won't confront us directly. Angry at the situation that forces us to live like prey when I've spent my entire life being treated exactly that way.
