Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 127

127 A Quiet Day in Dragonclaw

Arya’s POVO

Maxwell asked me to help with Luna duties the next morning.

He did not make a speech about it.

He did not sit me down and wrap the request in pity.

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He simply found me in the courtyard after training, while my muscles still ached from Lev’s relentless corrections and my temper still felt like it was stretched too thin over too many raw places, and said, “You know how to do the work. Dragonclaw can use steady hands.”

I looked at him, then at the guards moving around the yard, then back at him.

He was helping me.

Not by saying heal.

Not by saying rest.

Not by looking at me like I might shatter if he touched the wrong topic.

By giving me purpose.

Work.

Routine.

A place to put my mind where grief and anger did not get to be the only things living in me.

I knew exactly what he was doing.

I still nodded.

“I’ll do it.”

Maxwell grunted once, approval and relief hidden in the same sound. “Good. Start with the orphanage. Then the school. Then the health centre. Women’s centre last. Take gifts from storage. The

quartermaster already knows.”

My throat tightened unexpectedly.

That list.

It was almost the same order I used to keep in Nightwind.

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The old rhythm came back to me so quickly it hurt.

Orphanage first because children shouldn’t wait.

School next because supplies disappear fastest.

Health centre before noon because the healers begin intake by midmorning.

Women’s centre last because that visit always takes longer than expected if you do it properly.

For one second I couldn’t speak.

Maxwell watched my face, understood too much, and kindly said nothing about it.

I forced my voice steady. “All right.”

He nodded toward the storehouse. “Go before I change my mind and send one of my useless men

instead.”

I snorted despite myself.

That was probably why he said it.

By the time I reached the storehouse, I had my expression under control.

The quartermaster had already stacked crates and baskets near the door: dried food packs, blankets,

small school supplies, soap, herbal sanitising wash, women’s care items, sewing kits, and two sacks

of fruit that smelled bright and sweet under the rough woven covers.

“Alpha said you’d be coming,” he told me, eyeing me with curiosity but no disrespect. “Need a cart?”

“Yes,” I said. “And two hands to help unload at each stop.”

He called over two younger pack workers immediately.

As they loaded the cart, I tied my hair back tighter and rolled my shoulders once, letting the movement

settle me.

Work.

Just work.

No union politics.

No Leah.

No Marcel.

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No James.

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No mark burning because a man with cold eyes and dangerous hands had kissed the skin beside it like he wanted to rewrite my body from the inside out.

My chest tightened at the thought.

I shoved it down.

Work.

The orphanage sat near the eastern side of Dragonclaw’s inner territory, behind a fenced yard with a

crooked swing set and a painted wall full of wolves, moons, mountains, and handprints in colours so

bright they almost looked defiant.

Children heard the cart before they saw us.

By the time I stepped through the gate, two little boys were already racing toward us, shouting for the

matron.

A woman in her fifties came out wiping her hands on her apron, her expression alert and ready until

she saw the crates.

Then she smiled.

“Ah. You must be the one Alpha Maxwell sent.”

inclined my head politely. “I’m Arya. I’m helping with rounds.”

Her eyes moved over me quickly, not rudely, just assessing, and softened. “I’m Nena. Come in.”

The children stared at me from every angle.

Some openly.

Some shyly from behind door frames.

One tiny girl with two uneven braids stood in front of me with the seriousness of a guard and asked, “Are you a princess?”

It startled a laugh out of me.

“No.”

She looked suspicious. “You look like one.”

The matron groaned. “Mina, manners.”

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“It’s all right,” I said, and crouched enough to meet the child’s eyes. “I’m not a princess. I’m just here with gifts.”

That won Mina over immediately.

By the time we unloaded food and blankets, I had three children hanging around my skirt, one showing me a drawing of a wolf with wings, and another insisting I inspect a loose button on his coat because apparently I looked like someone who could fix everything.

I helped Nena sort the supplies, checked the kitchen stores, and asked practical questions out of old instinct, how many children currently, how many under ten, any recent fevers, any missing medicine, any repairs needed before the next rains.

Nena answered with visible surprise, then approval.

“You’ve done this before.”

I nodded, hands still moving as I stacked soap bars by size. “Yes.”

Her gaze sharpened with recognition of something deeper than skill. “You know where shortages

hide.”

I gave her a small smile that felt older than my face. “They always hide in the same places.”

When I left, the children waved from the fence.

Mina shouted, “Princess Arya!”

I laughed again before I could stop myself and waved back.

The sound felt strange in my mouth.

Good strange.

Painful too.

The school was louder.

Older children.

Ink-stained fingers.

Dusty shoes.

Teachers trying to look dignified while managing chaos

I introduced myself to the head tutor and helped distribute writing slates, chalk, and repaired reading

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