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Orzen’s gaze swept the trees. “Not sure she’d agree with you.”

His words tugged at something she’d been trying not to think about. She had been so focused on getting to the Glade, she barely thought of what might be happening in Thistlehold. A deep sadness sank into her bones, but she didn’t let it linger.

Her mother was strong. She was smart. If anyone could survive Theordrin, she’d be the one to find a way. And she’d never begrudge Wren’s decision to go deeper into the forest. Once they reached the Glade, once things were settled, she’d find a way to let her know they were okay.

“You’ve kept me safe,” Wren insisted. “I think that would be enough for her.”

He sipped his soup with a scowl, like it gave him something to focus on, even if tasted terrible. Then he leaned back, looking at the stars through the gap in the trees above them.

After a moment, he gestured toward the sky and asked, “What’s that moon called? I saw it while you were sleeping. Meant to ask earlier.”

It was nearing full, silver pooling through the branches. Her breath caught. Lanternmoon—first of Frosthold. Her birthmoon. The days had slipped past so quickly she hadn’t even realized. It was the first birthmoon she’d celebrated without her mother, and that thought left a pit in her chest.

“That’s Lanternmoon.” She brushed her palms against her tunic. “It represents revelations coming to the surface. The moment before everything becomes clear.”

Garin’s voice cut in from across the fire. “Should celebrate with something better than this,” he said, holding up the mug of mushroom water, “when we reach the Glade.”

The chatter faded. Wren folded her hands in her lap, gaze dropping. Beside her, Orzen frowned.

“Celebrate? The moon?”

“It’s my birthmoon,” Wren admitted quietly. “Didn’t want to say anything when it came around but…”

Branwynn clucked her tongue. “Oh, dear, but we can’t end the day without giving you a tribute.”

“Depressing tribute,” Jessa corrected with a grin, lifting her tin in emphasis. “But still—you’ll never forget this one.”

“You don’t have to do a tribute right now. Lanternmoon lasts a few days.”

Orzen was still watching Wren, shoulders dropping like he wanted to say more. Heat crept up her neck. She shifted against the dirt and moss, trying to focus on anything else. She dreaded the idea of being the center of all their thoughts—of hearing praise she didn’t deserve, not when she was the reason they were out here, half-starved and hunted by every monster in the Virewood.

“Phfft, please,” Jessa said. “You deserve it. I’ll start. You’re the sister I never had. You are incredibly kind and way too compassionate. Who knows where I’d be if we hadn’t followed you.” Her grin softened as her fingers curled through Calen’s. He offered her a shy, crooked smile before looking away. “Certainly wouldn’t be here. Not like this.”

Tommick piped up next, Crumb tottering over his palm. He didn’t even look up as he said, “You’re my favorite person.” Simple as that. It squeezed something fierce and sweet in her chest.

Branwynn caught his small fingers, her own eyes shimmering in the firelight. “I’ve watched you since you were still stumbling on fresh hooves,” she said softly. “You remind everyone around you to be a little softer. And no matter how hard it gets, you keep trying.”

It sounded like something her own mother would have told her. Wren swallowed hard and tried to smile.

Across the fire, Garin cleared his throat, tipping the pot to refill his tin. “Love you like you’re my own.” It hit harder than any polished words would have. Wren’s hands fumbled at the seam of her tunic.

“You were the first person who remembered my name at the farm stall.” Calen rubbed the back of his neck. “Everyone else called me ‘boy’ or nothing at all. You asked me about Cerys after she died, and you always have something kind to say.” His voice dipped lower. “You make people feel like they matter.”

Wren was startled by how simple it was and how deeply it had touched him.

Silence followed. The fire popped. Slowly, every gaze slid to Orzen. He froze beside her, panic flickering across his face. Jessa arched her brows; he shot her a warning look. Wren hated putting him on the spot when it wasn’t even a tradition he was used to.

“You don’t have to,” Wren whispered, lifting a hand to wave him off.

“Yes, he does!” Jessa crowed. “Don’t let him off easy.”

“Jessa’s right,” Orzen said, frowning at the way Jessa beamed when she heard it. “I’d…uh, I’d be a terrible friend if I didn’t say something.”

He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair—buying time, or courage, or both. When he finally spoke again, his voice was rough with sincerity.

“You surprised me at Hearthroot. Everyone was watching. Theordrin was right there, and you still stood up there and showed your weaving.” He concentrated on the fire, like he couldn’t say more if he remembered she was listening. “It was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen.”

So many of her memories of Hearthroot were tangled in fear and shame, or drowned beneath the grief that followed it. She’d never had a chance to process what she’d done on that stage.