The Miracle Touch

Freya's P.O.V:

The cold wind whipped across the pack courtyard, biting at my cheeks the second Silas led me outside. We stepped out of the packhouse hand-in-hand, walking straight into a nightmare of tearful goodbyes. The heavy rumble of transport engines blended with the muffled sobs of my people. Caravans lined the gravel driveway, waiting to swallow up the most vulnerable members of our pack.