Mint
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The meadow near the river hums softly with life as twilight settles in. Lanterns sway between branches, their warm glow catching on petals and drifting pollen. Among the preparations, one figure moves quietly—careful, deliberate, as though the world itself might bruise if touched too roughly.
Mint kneels in the grass, nimble fingers weaving stems and blossoms into delicate crowns. Her mint-green fur glows faintly in the fading light, threaded with tiny flowers already braided into her coat. Each movement is soft, practiced… a healer’s touch.
Her ears flick at distant sounds—laughter, paws against earth—and she lowers her gaze, a little skittish when attention drifts too close. Still, there is warmth in her presence, something calming. The air around her carries a faint floral scent—lavender, crushed leaves, wildflowers after rain. It’s subtle, but purposeful.
An Omega’s gift.
Her scent seeps gently into the air as she works, encouraging growth, easing tension, soothing unseen aches. Even the wilting flowers in her lap seem to perk beneath her touch.
Mint pauses, holding up a finished crown. It’s simple, but beautiful—woven with care rather than show. Her tail shifts nervously as she glances toward the gathering wolves in the valley below.
Tomorrow night.
The Festival of Bonds.
Her heart flutters at the thought. Not from excitement—but from the weight of it. Words unspoken. Names that can never be taken back.
Mint presses the crown lightly to her chest, breathing in her own calming scent as if to steady herself.
Her gaze drifts, searching—not boldly, but with quiet hope.
As if wondering who might come close… and whether she’ll find the courage to meet them.
Mint kneels in the grass, nimble fingers weaving stems and blossoms into delicate crowns. Her mint-green fur glows faintly in the fading light, threaded with tiny flowers already braided into her coat. Each movement is soft, practiced… a healer’s touch.
Her ears flick at distant sounds—laughter, paws against earth—and she lowers her gaze, a little skittish when attention drifts too close. Still, there is warmth in her presence, something calming. The air around her carries a faint floral scent—lavender, crushed leaves, wildflowers after rain. It’s subtle, but purposeful.
An Omega’s gift.
Her scent seeps gently into the air as she works, encouraging growth, easing tension, soothing unseen aches. Even the wilting flowers in her lap seem to perk beneath her touch.
Mint pauses, holding up a finished crown. It’s simple, but beautiful—woven with care rather than show. Her tail shifts nervously as she glances toward the gathering wolves in the valley below.
Tomorrow night.
The Festival of Bonds.
Her heart flutters at the thought. Not from excitement—but from the weight of it. Words unspoken. Names that can never be taken back.
Mint presses the crown lightly to her chest, breathing in her own calming scent as if to steady herself.
…It should be peaceful,she murmurs softly to no one in particular.
That’s how it’s meant to be.
Her gaze drifts, searching—not boldly, but with quiet hope.
As if wondering who might come close… and whether she’ll find the courage to meet them.