I started writing down my thoughts. Sort of listening. Sort of not listening.
The root-mark places, bound and old, drink deep of what the duskburst holds.
I stopped my pen mid-word and turned to look at him.
Acorn was tucking another duskburst sprig into his pile, smoothing it with both paws.
“Hey.”
He looked up and blinked.
“What did you say?”
Root-marks drink the duskburst bloom.
Root-marks. An old term I hadn’t heard before, but the meaning was clear. It spoke of seal sites, and the locations Feral had pointed out on his map that morning.
I stood up so fast the chair scraped across the floor.
Acorn went back to grooming.
I moved fast, pulling my duskburst sketches out to spread across the desk. I grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and redrew the seal-site map larger and more detailed. Then I wroteHelen’s statement down word for word, dated it, and noted the context. Acorn’s rhyme followed, written in his exact phrasing. I underlined it twice.
The cross-reference formed itself in my head even as my hands moved.
Duskburst could be a component used in pack rituals. Helen had confirmed the old alpha used it in ceremonies. But the duskburst wasn’t indigenous to the creek region.
The question was whether someone had planted it for a reason or if the placement was random.
It was time I questioned my grandmother.
I pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward me and began dictating to my pen.
Grandmother Elizabeth, I require information regarding wolf pack ceremonial practices, border seals, and duskburst. Any historical references you can provide would be invaluable. Please respond soon. —Victoria
I read it over twice, making small adjustments to the wording. She’d understand the shape of the questions. She always did. I didn’t include everything I knew. Just what I needed answered.
The sprite bell sat in my supply kit, tucked between my magnification lenses and spare vials. I pulled it out and rang it once, the tone high and clear, tuned to a frequency most creatures couldn’t hear.
Within minutes, a sprite appeared at my window. Smaller than my thumb, his wings beating so fast they blurred.
I handed over the letter, sealed with a small wax mark.
“For Mistress Elizabeth Thornwick. Urgent,” I said.
The sprite took it in both tiny hands and flitted away in a shower of sparks.
I watched it go, my hand still raised.
I should find Feral and tell him what I’d found, but I needed the full picture first. And if I was right about my theory, the implications extended beyond a broken seal in a creek bed.
I walked over to the window where Acorn’s duskburst hoard sat in its basket and picked up one of the sprigs. Turned it over in my hand. The purple and white petals had dried perfectly, their color still vibrant.
Acorn blinked up at me from his bed.
I set the sprig back carefully, exactly where he’d placed it.
“Good job,” I said.
