The first time the stones sang, it was by accident.
Ten days after their visit to the ravine, eight small rings later, Corin decided they were ready to test a theory.
“Music,” he said.
Lira blinked. “Come again?”
“Rane thinks the land responds to certain… patterns,” he said. “Not just where we tie, but how. Rhythm. Repetition. The old ones used to howl in circles. Chant. Drum. Before runes.”
Rane nodded, muzzle gray, eyes bright. “We did not just *cut,*” she said. “We *sang.* Stones like… songs.”
Mara rolled her eyes. “Next you’ll want us to dance naked around the markers,” she muttered.
Rane’s grin was all teeth. “If it would help, I would.”
“Spare the pups,” Garron begged.
Corin ignored them. “We’ve been tying in silence,” he said. “Maybe that’s why it hurts Lira more. She’s… the only sound. We… share it, we might… spread the strain.”
Lira considered. “It… makes sense,” she said slowly. “When I drained Bram that first time, it felt… less… jagged… because I had him. Because he… answered. If the land hears more than one voice when we tie…”
“It might not shove all its complaints into you,” Mara finished. “Worth a try.”
Bram nudged Lira’s arm. “We sing,” he said flatly. “You laugh, I bite.”
She smiled despite herself. “I’d pay to see you sing.”
He lifted his chin. “I howl beautifully,” he said. “Ask anyone.”
Idris coughed. “He does,” he said. “He just doesn’t… when he’s awake.”
Lira frowned. “What?”
“Nothing,” Bram said quickly. Color climbed his neck.
Rane snickered. “Pup still howls in his sleep,” she said. “Like when he was small. Chasing deer.”
“I’m going to die,” Bram muttered.
Lira’s heart did a ridiculous, soft thing. “That’s… adorable,” she said.
He groaned.
They chose a ring near the western slope this time. The stones here were smaller, more scattered. The hum was less strained.
A good place to experiment.
Rope looped. Rune-stones placed.
Lira knelt, hand on the central node. Bram flanked her. Rane and Garron sat back, ready to join with their voices. Corin stood with one hand on a stone, the other loose at his side.
“On my cue,” Rane said. “Follow. Don’t… overpower.”
“You’re talking to alphas and betas,” Mara muttered. “Good luck.”
Rane’s eyes went distant for a moment, like she was listening to music only she could hear. Then she tipped her head back and let out a long, low howl.
It wasn’t a battle-howl. Not the sharp, cutting sound that sent shivers down spines. This was… different.
Deeper. Older.
It rolled over the stones, vibrating in Lira’s bones. The note wavered, then steadied, riding the hum.
Corin joined in next. His howl layered under Rane’s, a slightly different tone that braided with hers instead of clashing. Garron’s came after—a rougher sound, but he found a harmony within seconds.
Bram hesitated.
Lira felt his wolf press.
He opened his mouth.
The sound that came out made her throat close.
He did howl beautifully.
His note slid between the others, threading them, pulling them together. It was rawer, younger than Rane’s or Corin’s, but there was a vulnerability to it that made the hair on Lira’s arms rise.
He was singing not just to the stones.
To *her.*
She realized it in the way his wolf’s presence brushed her emptiness with each rise and fall, like his sound had a hand.
Her eyes stung.
She couldn’t howl.
She had no wolf to pull voice from.
But she could *hum.*
So she did.
Soft, under her breath, barely audible over the wolves’ song. A wordless note that rose from her empty chest, vibrating against her collar.
The rune-stone under her palm heated.
The boundary stones thrummed.
The hum… shifted.
It matched them.
For a moment—for one breathless, impossible moment—the land’s magic *sang back.*
Not with actual sound.
With resonance.
It took Rane’s old note. Corin’s steady one. Garron’s rough one. Bram’s aching one. Lira’s quiet hum.
It wove them.
The web between the three stones lit up in her mind’s eye, lines brightening, tightening, smoothing.
Her emptiness… did not scream.
It… eased.
Like someone had poured warm water into a cracked bowl—not enough to fill it, but enough to soften the edges.
She gasped, breaking her hum.
The wolves’ howls tapered off, one by one. The last note hung, then faded.
Silence fell.
Not the hollow, dead quiet of the ravine.
A… restful silence.
Like the pause after a song ends and before applause begins.
Rane panted lightly, tongue lolling. “Better,” she said, satisfaction thick in her voice.
Mara’s eyes were wide. “Did you feel that?” she demanded of no one in particular.
“Yes,” Lira breathed. “Gods. Yes.”
Bram’s hand found the small of her back, steadying. “You didn’t… hurt,” he said, wonder in his tone.
“Not… like before,” she said. “It… spread. Like… we all carried it.”
Corin’s expression was… shaken. “The land… spoke,” he said quietly.
“Listened,” Rane corrected. “And answered. Because we asked… properly.”
Garron scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m never mocking your songs again,” he said to Rane.
“You never mocked them out loud,” she said dryly.
“Smart of me,” he replied.
Lira pressed her palm more firmly against the rune-stone.
The hum now was… smooth. Strong. Like a rope pulled snug.
“We have to do it like this from now on,” she said. “When we tie. Songs. Voices. Not just… rope and emptiness.”
“That’ll limit how many we can do in a day,” Corin said.
“Good,” Mara replied. “You were going to run her into the ground otherwise. This forces you to slow down.”
Corin’s lips thinned. “Point taken,” he said.
They did two more singing-ties that day.
Each time, it was easier.
Each time, the land’s response came quicker.
Each time, Lira’s emptiness buzzed less painfully afterward.
That night, when she lay in the infirmary cot, Bram’s hand in hers again above the blanket, the hum through the floorboards felt… less frantic.
Her body, still traitorous, still wanting, felt less like a fault.
“You smell… calmer,” Bram murmured.
“You smell… smug,” she replied.
“I did good rock music,” he said.
She laughed softly. “You did,” she agreed. “Very on-key.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” he whispered. “They’ll expect me to do it at festivals.”
She squeezed his hand. “Our secret.”
His thumb stroked her skin.
Her heart did that ridiculous, painful, wonderful thing again.
The land hummed.
The web tightened.
The ravine waited.
And for the first time since the surge had taken her wolf, Lira allowed herself to think—not *we might die doing this*—
But *we might live through it.*
Maybe even together.