Echo

The Silent Howl

Lillith knew something was wrong the moment Echo didn't flinch.

It was a crisp morning, the air thick with the scent of damp earth as the pack stirred to life. The pups had been nestled in their den, safe beneath the watchful eye of their mother and the ever-doting Zevran. But now, it was time for them to start learning.

Lillith stood tall, her piercing red eyes scanning the small bundle of fur that was her daughter. Echo sat, her tiny tail twitching, blue eyes wide with curiosity. Lillith let out a sharp, commanding bark—the kind that sent other pups scrambling into line.

Echo didn't react.

A flicker of something cold ran down Lillith's spine. She took a step closer, narrowing her eyes. She barked again. Nothing. Not even a twitch of an ear.

Lillith's fangs pressed together as Zevran strolled up beside her, his usual smirk fading as he noticed her tense posture.

"What is it?" he asked, his golden eyes flicking between mother and pup.

Lillith didn't answer. Instead, she snapped her jaws loudly near Echo's ear. The little pup didn't even blink.

Zevran inhaled sharply. "Oh."

Lillith exhaled, long and slow, forcing down the storm brewing in her chest. A deaf pup. In the wild, that could mean death. In a pack, it meant weakness.

"She won't hear the calls," Lillith muttered. "Won't hear the danger. Won't hear me."

Zevran stepped past her and lowered his head to Echo's level. The little pup beamed up at him, her tail wagging as she nipped at his nose. Completely oblivious.

"She sees me," Zevran said softly, brushing his muzzle against hers.

Lillith huffed. "Sight won't save her from a predator sneaking up behind her."

"Maybe not." Zevran lifted his head. "But she will learn. And we will teach her."

Lillith's tail flicked, her thoughts turning over. A deaf pup. She had trained many young wolves before, but never one who could not hear commands, warnings, or the wisdom of the hunt. Her instincts told her to push Echo harder, to make her stronger in the only ways she could.

Zevran, however, had already settled himself on the ground beside Echo, rolling onto his side so she could climb onto him. He let out a playful huff of breath into her fur, and she squeaked with joy, swiping at his nose.

Lillith watched, eyes narrowed. "You're going to spoil her."

Zevran grinned. "That's what fathers are for."

Lillith scoffed but said nothing. Instead, she stepped forward and gently, very gently, placed a paw on Echo's head, making the pup look up at her. Lillith flicked her ears, testing, watching.

Echo didn't respond to sound. But she did respond to motion.

She would learn. Lillith would make sure of it.

And if she fell, if the world tried to make her small, weak—Lillith would make sure she had the strength to stand back up.

Even if Zevran coddled her, even if he drenched her in affection, Lillith would make sure Echo would never be helpless.

Echo would survive. Because she was Lillith's daughter.