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stood from the bench in the park on which
she had been reading a book, she would leave something, a
thoughtful look on her face. It might be a poem or a story,
handwritten. Always it would be dedicated to “My Angel”. I felt a
sense of guilt for the way that each of these tokens became
precious to me, a reminder of a small light that had burned in a
time of darkness. As each beautiful piece of calligraphy was stored
with the others in a carved box in my rooms, I would smile. Much
had been lost in the war, but this one girl, she reminded me that
light can come from the darkness.
    I had not
forgotten my promise to her. I wore the necklace she had given me,
but each time I saw her, when I might have returned it to her, it
was strange, but she had shaken her head, almost as if she had
divined my intent and wished me to keep her gift for the moment. I
lost track of her when she married, not realising that the man who
would become our public liaison for the Foundation was none other
than her son. When I found Eliana again, she was an old woman,
dying from cancer. Still, that smile was there, when she recognised
me.
    "Have you come
to take me home, my friend and protector." She had whispered, a
combination of the morphine and her own fatigue.
    I nodded,
unable to speak initially. "I looked for you, as I promised. I said
that at the very least, I would do this for you." I held out the
gold chain and its little pendant, perhaps a bit more worn from my
wearing it every day. Gently, she had folded my fingers around
it.
    "Keep it safe
for me." She whispered. "I have lived a long life, full of love and
laughter, but you? You still grieve, my angel and protector. Keep
it, and perhaps one day, you too will know love and you too will be
able to laugh again."
    She had given
a soft sigh, as I absorbed her soul, her life fulfilled. In her
memory, I will continue to wear her gift and I will treasure the
memory of a young girl.

AN APOLOGY TO MY SON
Sion Jones
    Dear Rhys
    As I write
this, I cannot but help look at you, asleep in your cradle. I
regret that I may not be there to see you grow, and to see you
become the Sentinel whom I could not be. I regret that you will
think that perhaps I have chosen the easy option, of leaving you to
be raised by the Pack. Perhaps grief has dictated my choices, but I
hope that in time, you might come to understand that I did not make
those choices without long and careful consideration and thought.
So, this letter comes from the heart, my son, and I hope that you
know this. If I had the courage to do what I must and then live for
you, I would have done, but losing my Lili, losing your mother has
changed me. Your mother was my Mate, and we had bonded as seemed so
right at the time. Losing her is like losing the other half of my
soul. Even as I watch you, as I hear again the words of my
Pack-mates, telling me that you are as much a part of her as a part
of me, even as the tears trace down my face, I wish I could be
stronger.
    The only
consolation I have is that when you are given this letter, I know
that you will be ‘a man grown’, an adult Cŵn Annwn, and I know that
you will also have found your own Mate. I know that you will grow
to be the Cŵn Annwn to which I might only aspire. I know that our
Alpha, and my friend, Gavril, will have raised you to be a Cŵn
Annwn who is a credit to our Pack. More to the point, I hope that
when you read this, you will understand why I acted the way that I
did.
    Like me, your
mother was born in Wales, and came out to our home in the
Carpathians when Gavril found his own Mate, Aaleahya. We were both
juveniles then, and as was the norm, we were raised with our
age-mates, fostering the bonds which make us Pack. This land where
Gavril chose to make our home was a beautiful place. I could recall
stories told of when our home in Wales was more like this, maybe
not with the woods in which Lili and I would run with our friends,
but by the time we came here, Wales had changed. The