Page 32 of Wolf Revealed

Artemis

We found ourselves gathered around our mother, each of us forming a warm, protective circle around Luna, a pillar of strength and love in our lives. Her frail form lay within the cabin walls she had called home since we were pups. It was here that we had been raised, where we had been nurtured and taught about the ways of our kind. Now, it was here that she was faltering, her life force flickering like a flame in the wind.

Gretel was trying, her fingers casting a soft glow as she wove her magic in an attempt to heal Luna. But despite her efforts and the inherent healing power that flowed in our wolf blood, it wasn't enough.

I could see the despair creep into my sisters' faces. Jezebel, her eyes welling up with a potent mix of fear and fury; Petra, her usually steady demeanor giving way to trembling lips; and little Syriah, her tiny hands clenching and unclenching as if each fist could fight off the approaching inevitability. I felt the echo of their emotions in my own heart, a sinking dread that our mother was nearing the end of her journey.

Luna's eyes, the beautiful windows to her soul, fluttered open amidst her pain. A fleeting moment of lucidity allowed her to gaze upon each of us. Her eyes shone with a sorrowful acceptance but also held the fierce, untamed love that had defined her. She knew time was ebbing away, so many words still left unsaid and actions left undone.

"Sisters," I called softly, "Let's give Mother a memory, a reason to fight."

In the dim, homey glow of the cabin, we began to sing. Our voices blended into the lullaby Luna had sung us to sleep within our tender years, a melody that tasted of simpler times and innocence. The song breathed life into the room, cloaking us in familiar comfort.

Despite her failing strength, a faint smile danced on Luna's lips. Her hands reached out to ours, her fingertips gently tracing our skin as if imprinting the feel of us, the essence of her daughters, into her memory.

"My beautiful girls," she murmured, her voice a raspy whisper yet carrying the weight of her love.

Tears formed in our eyes, each droplet a testament to the sorrow gnawing at our hearts. Yet, as we held onto each other, our sisterhood became a beacon of hope. We were on the precipice of heartbreak, but our bond, our family, radiated a power that even death couldn't quench. No matter what happened next, we were a part of Luna, and she was a part of us, forever entwined in the tapestry of our shared lives.

With an effort that seemed to drain most of the color from her face, Luna managed to voice a request, "Artemis, alone. I need to speak with her alone.”

My sisters hesitated, their gazes shifting uneasily from Luna to me. After a moment's pause, they nodded, their faces a tableau of reluctant acceptance and concern. They moved away, leaving Luna and me in the solitude of the cabin, the soft whispering of the wind outside the only sound.

I was puzzled, my heart heavy with confusion. Time was of the essence, every tick of the clock stealing away moments my mother should have spent with us all, not just me. I had always been the eldest, the protector, the one who stood between my sisters and any harm that came our way. But now, in this room where we had shared so many memories, I felt helpless, unable to protect the one who mattered most.

"Artemis," Luna called my name again, her voice weaker than before. Her hand reached out, and I held it, her cold, fragile fingers wrapped in the warmth of my grip.

"Mother, you should be with all of us," I began, but she cut me off with a soft shake of her head.

"No, my eldest, there's something I must tell you," she insisted, her gaze locked onto mine. I could see a spark in her eyes, a flicker of the old Luna that held a strength beyond what we could fathom. This was important to her. She had held on to this message, gathering her last remaining strength to pass on to me.

I nodded, swallowing down the lump in my throat. I didn't know what my mother wanted to tell me, but I understood one thing—it was something she deemed important enough to spend her final moments on. It was an honor but also a daunting responsibility.

So, I sat with her, our hands entwined in a silent promise. I would listen, understand, and carry her message forward, not just for her but for all of us—for Jezebel, Petra, and Syria. As her firstborn, I was tasked with a responsibility that weighed heavily on me. But at that moment, with Luna's frail hand in mine, I knew I was prepared to shoulder it for my mother, my sisters, and our pack.

"Artemis," Luna's voice, though weak, held a note of firmness, "While you were away, searching for your sisters, Gretel and I... we embarked on a task of our own."

I looked at her, my eyebrows creasing in confusion. Luna was always a woman of secrets, but this sounded different, bigger. She continued, her gaze steady, "We started assembling a grimoire of sorts, a collection of everything we knew and learned over the years."

“Before you can continue, first you need to drink, Mother," I coaxed softly, cradling a cup of cool water to her chapped lips. The fire crackled quietly in the hearth, casting a warm, albeit somber, glow on her weary face. Every line on her visage was a testament to her strength and resilience. Each wrinkle was a badge of the wisdom she had gathered over the years.

Carefully, I tilted the cup, letting the soothing liquid trickle onto her tongue. I held my breath, watching the rivulets travel down her throat, nourishing her parched voice. Her throat worked in a swallow, and a sigh of relief escaped her lips. The gratitude shining in her tired eyes was more eloquent than any words she could have uttered.

In the quiet that fell between us, the crackling of the fire seemed deafening, the silence heavy with emotions unspoken. As if sensing my turmoil, she reached out, her frail hand finding mine. Her grip was weak, but the love radiating from it was potent and invincible. I gently brushed the back of her hand with my thumb, my heart swelling with a mix of love, fear, and impending loss.

Once she had drunk her fill, she reclined back into her pillows, her chest heaving slightly with the effort. I replaced the cup on the bedside table, never releasing my hold on her.

She gathered herself then, her eyes finding mine. Her gaze was steady, resilient even in her frailty, a spark of the fiery woman she once was. “Like I was explaining, we started assembling a grimoire," she began, her voice husky but clear. "A collection of everything we knew and learned over the years."

Her words hung in the air, a testament to their secret endeavor. A grimoire—a tome of wisdom, spells, and family history—was no small feat. The knowledge that my mother and Gretel had undertaken such a task behind the scenes, documenting our shared history, sent a jolt of surprise through me.

I settled into the chair next to her, my hand still holding hers, ready to listen, to understand, and to accept this last legacy from a dying mother to her eldest daughter.

A grimoire. I could hardly contain my surprise. In our world, a grimoire was not just a book but a legacy. It contained spells, rituals, history, wisdom, and much more. Each line was a testament to the lives we led, the challenges we faced, and the secrets we harbored.

"From the day you girls were born," Luna added, a softness creeping into her voice, "we documented it all the way to the present. Each of your first steps, first shifts, every triumph, every struggle. Our encounters with other packs, our alliances, and yes, our enmities too."

Her voice faded as she caught her breath, her chest rising and falling with effort. I held her hand tighter, my other hand brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.

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