"Lyra?"
The voice jolted through her reverie, forcing her to sit bolt upright. The afternoon sun filtered down through the leaves of the tall oak tree she had dozed off under, leaving soft dappled shadows on the thick, green grass. She looked up at her mate with sleepy-looking green eyes as he sat down beside her.
"Yeah, Roane? What is it?"
She leaned her head over on his shoulder, snuggling up to him, her long blonde hair spilling down over his chest.
Roane sighed. "I don't know how to tell you this, Lyra, but they're... replacing you. The council. They think you're not fit to lead the pack anymore."
Lyra's eyes widened and she leaned back slightly. "You're joking," she muttered.
Roane shook his head, removing his glasses and polishing them on his shirt. "I wouldn't joke about something like this and you know it, Lyra. The council has picked Malcolm as your replacement. They wanted to announce it at the next Gathering, but I know you never did like surprises." He gave a mirthless smile, putting his glasses back on. "I still don't understand why, though. Why Malcolm? He's a fool... He'll be the death of us all."
Lyra looked at the ground.
"I hope not."