The air is thick with the scent of pine and earth as I stand frozen, watching the trees tremble with a wayward breeze in the distance, the pine trees softly shushing around me. My mind is clouded, swirling with the encounter with the werewolf. There is something about him, something that lingers even as his presence fades from the forest.

  I can't shake the feeling that his sudden departure hadn't been a retreat at all but a calculated move.

  Something deeper, something unspoken.

  Yet, as I stand there, caught in the web of my thoughts, a different presence makes itself known.

  A flicker of movement catches my eye at the edge of the clearing I'm stood in. At first, it's just a blur of shadow and sound, hooves and footsteps blending together in a familiar symphony. Then, out of the shifting early light comes doe after doe, all dressed in dark wool cloaks that blend with the muted colors of the forest. Their faces, soft but strong, are framed by varying shades of their wool trimmed hoods.

  There are five of them. My heart skips a beat in recognition as their eyes meet mine.

  The others who had followed the call of the Rut alongside me, the ones who had shared in the madness and the rituals. The ones who have started to become my trusted adversaries as I step into my new role.

  Some of them my friends since childhood.

  They are the ones who now stand before me, their eyes full of knowing as they watched me, silently acknowledging the weight of the mantle I am now growing into.

  "Matriarch," the first doe, Madrigal, whispers, stepping forward with grace and reverence as she kneels into a bow before standing.

  Her brown eyes are filled with respect and there is a tenderness in her voice that speaks volumes of the bond we've shared. Birthed in the same month and raised alongside each other since we were fawns, she's much more than a friend.

  Sister.

  Hearing her speak my title of Matriarch means far more than she could ever know as my heart aches at the word.

  "Your journey is not over," another doe, Sadie says, her voice softer, laced with the warmth of friendship and understanding. "It is only just beginning, and we are here to help you find what you seek."

  Seek.

  Lost.

  The wolf's golden eyes hover in the back of my mind.

  I don't speak for a moment, still lost in the haze of the encounter with the werewolf. But the strength of their presence is grounding, bringing me back to the here and now. I feel a flush of warmth rise within me, the bond of our shared experience a comforting weight.

  They had come for me, as they always do.

  They approach me carefully, as if not wanting to overwhelm me. The instincts from the Rut still cling to us all, but their movements are deliberate. Two of them reach out, their hands light on my shoulders, guiding me forward.

  "We've prepared for you," Madrigal says, her words soft, yet firm. "It’s time."

  My heart gives a jolt at the implication.

  Time for what?

  I wasn’t sure yet, but I trusted them.

  The young women around me have always been my companions in this strange, half-Matriarch yet not quite world I'm now a part of as the Matriarch.

  Together, we had stepped into the unknown the night before. But now...now I could feel the shift, the heavy certainty that something awaits me.

  Something bigger than any of us.

  They carefully toss a thick, woolen cloak over me, the hem of it reaching to my ankles as I pull the hood over my head. The chill of the forest I hadn't recognized before is now shut out as they led me through the forest, the scent of earth and moss mingling with the light breeze that tousles my hair.

  The path feels familiar, but also new, as if the very ground I walked on had shifted underfoot.

  I was no longer the pursued doe but the Matriarch, the stewardess of these lands.

  Eventually, we come to the edge of the woods, where the trees give way to a rocky path leading up the side of a short cliff that clings to the side of the mountain range we roam. In the center of a clearing at the top stands a cluster of homes, large wooden structures perched on stilts that stick into the ground like teeth. Their massive windows gleam in the pale light of the rising sun, much of the herd yet to stir after such an eventful night. The homes are grand, their exteriors a beautiful blend of dark oak and natural wood, with towering pillars that support wide decks, each one leading into its own world of quiet luxury. These were the homes of our highest people, the Matriarch and the trusted mated pairs to help with the duties of our herd.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  I had seen the ones who inhabited them moving out the day before, but today, as I walk towards them I feel my claim amongst the homes. Myself and my Sentinel would move into the center while my most trusted herd-mates would move into the neighboring ones that now sit empty save for one on the end, the one that houses my grandmother. Sadie and Madrigal would be among my new neighbors, as they had finally completed their studies at university to help with the financials and health services of the herd.

  They were waiting for me.

  They had been waiting for this moment, the moment when I would be led back to the heart of our compound, to be bathed in reverence.

  The steps creak underfoot as we ascend to the main house.

  My house.

  The doors open wide as I approach and the warmth of the home washes over me like a wave. Inside, the atmosphere is one of hushed excitement, a quiet but palpable sense of anticipation. Everything has been decorated and prepared, my belongings from the previous group home being moved here overnight. I would have the choice to fill it with more furniture throughout the years if I chose to.

  Giselle is who opens the door for me, a soft smile framing her lips as she nods to me. The others flit about, ushering me to the bathroom as they open the door.

  A bath has been prepared.

  A claw-foot tub, polished and gleaming, sits in the center of a wide, high ceiling room with a sweeping view of valley below. The water within is steaming, rising in soft tendrils of mist. The scent of fresh herbs and oils bathing my deer instincts. The fragrance is soothing, calming my jumbled thoughts.

  As I approach, the others gently guide me toward the tub, their hands light on my body, as though I were something, fragile, precious. Something to be handled with care.

  The moment I sink into the warm water, a sense of peace washes over me.

  The tension that has gripped my muscles since the events of the night before melt away with the warmth. The women around me work in a buzzing silence, lending a hint to their deer-like nature. They move gracefully, attending to my every need as they have no need to speak with one another.

  I wonder then if they're speaking to each other telepathically, choosing to keep me out of their conversation as to not disturb my peace.

  One of them reaches for a bowl of honeyed oils, thick and golden, and begins to smear it on my arms, massaging it into my skin with slow, deliberate motions. Another takes a cloth and begins to gently scrub my back, loosening the knots in my muscles, the roughness of the forest fading with each tender stroke.

  The warmth of the bath, the soft touch of their hands, the scent of honey and oils, all of it works together to ease my mind. But it isn’t just the bath that calms me.

  It's the women around me, their presence grounding me in ways I can only explain as our herd bond.

  They are my companions, the ones who have shared in the struggles and triumphs of our kind. They are here for me now, when I need them most.

  But my mind can't help but flicker to the isolation I woke to this morning.

  Of a wolf in the darkness.

  As the minutes stretch into an hour, I was fed fruit, honeyed pastries, and more honey dripped into my mouth, sweet and rich, as the others work on my hair. They dry and braid it delicately, weaving in dried herbs and flowers until my dark, nearly black hair is adorned with a crown of nature itself.

  Flowers to dust.

  Dust to flowers.

  The cycle will always continue.

  The sweet fragrance of lavender and rosemary lingers in the air, mixing with the honey and the warmth of the water.

  Once the bath is done, they help me out, wrapping me in the softest silks and the thickest wool robes, layers upon layers of warmth. The robes are embroidered with intricate patterns of does and bucks, fawns and yearlings, a mixture of silver and gold thread, creating an effect that shimmers even in the dim light of the room as I admire my reflection.

  My eyes are dark, matching my black hair. A tan always inhabits my skin, growing darker in the summer to accent the spray of light freckles across my cheekbones. Although I don't remember much of my mother, I've been told I look just like her.

  I stand there, surrounded by the women who had tended to me, my body and mind finally feeling at peace. But there is still a gnawing feeling in my chest, something deep and unrelenting.

  It's absence.

  The absence of a bond, of a mate.

  But I can't let them know.

  As I look at the women around me, I know that today is different. I had to be brave for them. Today is a turning point. The time had come for me to face whatever awaited me. It's time to step into the role of Matriarch fully, to embrace my destiny.

  No matter how complicated it might be.

  And then, as if summoned by the thought, the door to the room opens with a soft knock. The air shifts, charged with an unmistakable presence. My heart skips several beats in my chest as I turn to face him.

  Alistair.

  The fated Sentinel.

  He stands in the doorway, his presence almost overwhelming. His amber eyes fix on me and in that moment, everything else seems to fade away. His hair is dark and tousled but where I am tanned he remains paler, his skin unblemished save for a few dark moles that dot his face like a constellation of stars. Even without the bond he could pin anyone with a single look. His gaze holds me in place, as if locking me in time and space as he observes me. His form is as imposing as I remembered from the night before, muscular and strong as he leans a trim shoulder against the doorframe.

  He is everything a Sentinel should be.

  For a moment, neither of us speak. There is something heavy in the air, something that goes beyond the ordinary. He had always been a distant figure, someone I had admired from afar, someone who had never acknowledged me.

  But now...now he was here.

  I can’t breathe.

  The knot in my chest tightens and pulses. I feel a flush of heat rise in my cheeks and I struggle to find my voice.

  Finally, he speaks, his voice low and steady, like the rumble of thunder from far away.

  "Matriarch," he says, his eyes never leaving mine. "You look…every bit the leader."

  I open my mouth to respond, but no words come.

  Instead, I nod, my chest tight, the silence between us palpable. The room feels small suddenly, the walls closing in.

  Alistair steps forward, his presence overwhelming in a way that leaves me breathless.

  I feel the near instinct to flee as I brace in my place, his head lowering to me.

  "The herd will follow you," he says softly, "and I… I will follow your lead."