Chapter 142

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142
Adelaide’s POV
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While packing, a new Omega rummaged through the box and found a stack of hand–knitted items. Unfolding one, she laughed. “This knitting’s all over the place . Why’s it here?”
Ivy lunged, snatched the fabric, and stuffed it back, hissing, “Put it back!”
Intrigued, I pulled out a scarf–a “checkerboard” with wavy horizontal stripes and inconsistently thick vertical ones. A “striped hat” was worse, with garish colors and loose stitches revealing the scalp.
The rest were even worse, riddled with holes and frayed edges.
“Whose ‘masterpiece‘ is this? ” I chuckled.
Ivy shot me a meaningful glance.
My fingers froze mid–air as I dropped the scarf. “Did I… knit these?”
Ivy snorted, “As a kid, you pestered Luna Airella to teach you knitting. After a month of lessons, you made these. She kept them all in a box.”
I stared at the misshapen fabrics, suddenly recognizing the frayed scarf Alpha Lance used to wipe his sweat in his camp tent.
I wheeled on Ivy, “Did I… give these to anyone?”
“Everyone got one–the old Alpha, old Luna, your brothers, even the guests.”
Ivy’s eyes sparkled with humor. “You used to boast about your ‘unique talent‘ and show them off to everyone.”
“What about Alpha Lance? The one from Blackthorn Pack?”
Ivy tilted her head. “I think you did. He and Lycan Erasmus often visited Frostfang. You forced a few scarves on them.”
“But I’m sure Erasmus got one–he and Sam once laughed so hard they nearly spilled their whisky. You thought they were praising your craftsmanship.”
Ivy’s words made me want to hide in a cellar.
How embarrassing! I’d treated those “disasters” as treasures and gifted them to everyone. Now, recalling this, I felt my face burn.
Why did Alpha Lance still keep that scarf ?
Did he forget to throw it away , or is he deliberately keeping it to tease me?
How could I have lacked self – awareness back then?
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1:08 am DDDD
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I knit such monstrosities and still gifted them with pride!
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I clenched my teeth and said to Omega Ivy, “Starting tonight, teach me to knit a scarf. I’m going to make a perfect one.”
I must clean up the mess from my past.
I could accept my imperfections, but I was too ashamed to remember those absurd moments when I gifted subpar items as treasures.
But a question lingered–my mother kept these out of maternal love, but why did Alpha Lance still have that ugly scarf? 2
I felt like there was some thought that just flew by, but I couldn’t grasp it.
Could it be… he actually liked ugly things?
That was quite a unique preference.
As the Omega sorted the vault, Beta Valentin brought a carved wooden chest. “All set, for your review.”
“Put it in the study. I’ll check it tonight.” I gazed at the silver–blue stitches on the knitting needles, cedar pheromones subtly saturating the wool. “Are the accounts of our shops in order?”
“The finances are well–organized, totals and details all.”
At that moment, the pack guard announced the arrival of Beta Ralph from the Blackthorn Pack.
He stepped into the Frostfang Pack under moonlight. I met his anxious gaze. “Alpha Lance wants to know what gift you’re sending.”
“A painting, by Craig,” I replied.
“Oh…” Ralph’s round nose scrunched like a pinecone. “Well…”
Seeing his distressed expression, I laughed. “Craig’s paintings fall into two categories–masterpieces and discards. I’m the scavenger, collecting his discards and treasuring them. If you like, I’ll gift you one.”
Ralph’s eyes lit up, wolf ears pricked. “I’d never dare ask for a masterpiece! One of your scavenged pieces would be cherished!”
I watched him leave with a smile.
Beata and other Omegas rushed into the cloakroom. A silvery–white wolf–hair cloak billowed behind them. “We’re here to help you pick an outfit. You’ll outshine everyone tomorrow.”
Her finger glided over a gilt hanger, and she pulled out a smoke–colored evening gown. “This color complements your silver–blue eyes, like laurel flowers in the snow.”
The dress was hand–woven by my mother, with silver thread embroidered Frostfang Frostwolf totems. I’d never worn it during my time in the Bloodmoon Pack.
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I brushed the pearl fringe and chose a moonlit–white knit top and pleated skirt. “For Madison’s banquet, this color better conveys authority.”
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Beata hung the moonlit–white ensemble on a carved hanger, pointing to the silver wolf embroidery on the collar. “The stitching mirrors your ferocity in battle at Darkclaw Town.”
I ran my fingers over the increasingly neat patterns, recalling Lance directing battle in the snow, wrapped in that old scarf. Perhaps some things‘ value transcends beauty.