A soft, high-pitched cry that echoed through the half-finished den, waking Sienna before the sun dared to rise. She blinked the sleep from her eyes, heart already quickening as instinct overtook her grogginess.
Liora.
Curled against the warm furs, their daughter squirmed in her sleep—tiny, silver-coated, eyes still shut to the world but already carrying the scent of home.
Sienna cradled her gently, her own body aching in a way that had nothing to do with the healing from childbirth. It was the ache of love, sharp and protective. Liora's fur was soft beneath her fingers, impossibly fine, like spun moonlight. She nestled closer as Sienna whispered, "You're safe, little one. You're safe."
Outside, the world wasn't.
