Serena could barely rember what else had happened that day. Once Amara had finally taken her leave, Serena had walked back to her quarters in a daze, shut the door, and ensured the lock clicked firmly into place. She pressed her back to the door and exhaled slowly.
That conversation had been... unnerving. It was even putting that lightly, sohow she wished Charlotte had stayed with her longer.
Amara of Redfall. There had been sothing in her eyes, an intense curiosity cloaked beneath poise, a sense of calculation. The conversation had felt less like polite courtly talk and more like a well-disguised interrogation. Serena couldn’t place why it had left her so shaken. Perhaps it was the familiarity Amara hinted at. Perhaps it was the unnerving sense that Amara saw more than she let on.
Serena rubbed her temple and let out a breath through her nose. "Focus," she whispered.
Her stomach let out a low grumble in response.
She hadn’t eaten since dawn. After changing out of the stiff diplomatic dress and into a loose gown, Serena headed for the tray that had been left for her on the table near the hearth. A roast pheasant leg, so thick bread with herbed butter, and a chilled fruit compote that tasted faintly of honey and lavender. She sat near the open window, allowing the wind to tousle her hair as she ate slowly, savouring each bite.
Food had always helped her think. Her father used to say that an empty belly made a loud mind louder.
Still, no amount of slow chewing helped her make sense of Amara’s strange references, the way she’d said, "You are not what I expected from Crimsonclaw." Or how her gaze had lingered like she was trying to peel Serena open and find sothing hidden beneath.
The na Redfall echoed in her head.
She wiped her hands with the cloth provided, stood, and made her way to the long wing of the estate that housed the modest castle library. Her footsteps echoed across the polished stone as she entered the quiet hall. The librarian, an older wolf with narrow spectacles and graying hair, offered her a stiff nod before retreating back into his records.
Serena took her ti scanning the shelves. Most were dusty, organised by the and subject, so in older dialects. Her fingers traced the spines of titles about trade law, border treaties, flora of the southern isles... and then finally she found a series of tos about pack histories.
She brought several to the table and opened the first one with the care of soone used to fragile pages.
Dawnbreak Naming Conventions, Lineages and Mating Traditions was one of the first she browsed. It was all written in dense, flowery prose, the kind ant to deter the average reader.
Apparently, most northern packs, Dawnbreak included, used a system where nas carried weight in hierarchy. Firstborns often bore nas pulled from the Old Tongue, with anings tied to celestial or seasonal ons. Riven, she noticed, was listed among nas typically granted to warriors or leaders, derived from "rivaen," aning "divided light" or "splintered fla." How poetic.
Mating conventions were stricter than she had expected. Fated mates were highly revered, but status and role still mattered, especially when one belonged to an older bloodline. This seed all like a headache to her, these customs were strange to her. Her father in theory was even a rogue and she married the Beta of her pack. No one really care all that much, if you discovered you had a fated mate then it was thing of joy.
She flipped further along and found sothing that gave her pause.
Redfall: Once a recognised stronghold nestled in the northeastern frontier, Redfall was older than Dawnbreak, so say as old as the first unifications of the north. Not quite a pack in the formal sense, but more of a "clan structure," ford of several noble bloodlines with common ancestry. The wolves of Redfall were known for their striking appearances, pale-eyed, silver-haired, and prone to gifts of foresight and insight at the ti but now had greatly deviated from their ancestry. They were not militarily dominant but held a powerful political sway.
Serena read on.
Redfall eventually beca absorbed into the greater Dawnbreak collective when the region faced internal collapse due to famine, inter-clan feuding, and disease. Their customs were preserved in parts, and many of their bloodlines were still viewed with noble regard. Those descended from Redfall were often respected, though rarely held positions of power in modern governance. Notably, there was a single footnote at the bottom of the page:
See: Bloodshade
Serena frowned. There was no imdiate reference or explanation. She sifted through the remaining pages, looking for any more ntions, but there was nothing. Just a passing phrase, no definition.
Bloodshade. What did that an? Was that another na for the Redfall wolves? She closed the book and leaned back in her chair, letting her eyes fall shut briefly. The air in the library had grown still. Outside, the shadows were long and amber with late afternoon light.
Who are you really, Amara of Redfall? she thought.
Serena stood, stretched the stiffness from her limbs, and returned the books neatly. She lingered at the shelf for a mont before turning back toward the corridor. She had co looking for clarity, and yet she walked away with more questions.
Serena mulled over the conversation as she made her way out of the library, the word Bloodshade clinging to her thoughts like a stubborn child. Sothing about it gnawed at the edges of her mory, familiar, yet slippery. A na she ought to know.
She turned a corner and collided with soone. "Oh, pardon ," she said quickly, stepping back.
The man gave a polite nod and continued on.
Serena stood still a mont longer, that strange itch persisting behind her eyes. Bloodshade. It tugged at sothing buried deep, like a whisper from a dream half-forgotten. She pressed her lips together and kept walking.
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