The war council convened at midnight, the moon a silver crescent over the grove and shadows privy to too many confidences. Aria sat on the great oak table, running her fingers over the grooved grain where the generations of leadership had lain down choices that determined the fate of their folk. The allied alphas formed a circle around her, faces set with the tension of the day's discoveries—the extent of Draven's army, the unearthly make of his forces, and the unnerving element that their first attack had been more probing than full assault.It was, however, Kale's development that had put them off the most.He sat to the right of her, as he tended to, but the gaze of every other alpha's eyes inevitably tracked to him. The fire, as before, no longer glowed visibly beneath his skin, but the warmth persisted, as well as the subtle offness to his scent that sent every wolf's hackles up. Magnus Ironfoot had been scowling since his arrival, his scarred face distorted in something like sus
The battle's aftermath felt stranger than the battle itself. Where Draven's disciples had died, ash and the pungent scent of burnt nightmares lingered. The grove defenders moved through the injured in silent proficiency, but Aria sensed under the trained strokes the strain which existed. They had weathered the initial attack, but they were well aware it had been but a test of defenses.Draven himself disappeared as quickly as he came, back into the trees after that terrible staring contest at Kale. His words lingered in the morning air like a curse: *I've been looking for you for so very long.*Aria kneeled next to new scout young Tomás, whose side was torn across by claws that looked almost like acid. The cut was clean but deep, and she could see the fear in his eyes when she treated the injured tissue with herbs."Will I be alright, Luna?" he queried, little more than a whisper."It'll be okay," she reassured him, allowing magic from Luna to flow
Invasion was heralded with the first pale light of morning, when mist yet clung about the grove like ghostly sentries that would not quit their charge. Aria was early-risen, wandering about the peripheries with tense vigor that testified to sleepless vigil and accumulating fears. Enemy scouts, after being spotted, had retired within the forest’s amicable shade, but the warning was enough in plain text: the rapture of waiting was nigh its end.She crouched upon the twisted watchtower that perched upon the highest point of the grove, sharp senses stiff against the predawn darkness. The camp below her seethed with the schooled enthusiasm of warriors on the eve of battle. The oil-smeared steel and pine resin smoke merged with the acrid flavor of fear-sweat, its aroma filling her nostrils with the flavor of war’s concord."Malamatash movement in the easter
Daybreak was a colorless, dismal hour, shadowed by clouds low over the holy grove like a mourner's veil. Aria awoke to the cold, bare side of the bed and to a rumpled bed, somehow faintly disheveled. She bent down to his pillow, inhaling the still-scented pine and winter, and even that scent was far away.She'd seen him drill the young soldiers through the window, his actions utterly determined and single-minded. He'd risen before first light yet again, motivating himself and others with a drive that was almost desperation. Whatever he was troubled with, it was eating away at him from the inside out.Morning was spent in preparation fog—knives sharp, supplies laid out, defense positions secured. Aria worked to a point of all power, craving something that would release the gathering horror in her breast. But noon was achieved, lassitude lay heavily upon her shoulders, and she slipped away to the serenity of the inner grove.The Great Oak had aged within the
Their council of war convened at sundown, once the last gossamer thread of evil ash had finally stopped falling. Aria was seated at the top of the gigantic oak table hewn from a single tree that was centuries old when felled. In front of her were the alphas of the three neighboring packs, their second-in-commands, and older wolves whose combined recollection extended back to dark times.Sever's attitude and mood of doing nothing while Draven is gathering his forces."Four hundred people," growled Northern Ridge pack leader Magnus Ironfoot. His scarred hand went white on top of the table as he poked fingers around the table edge. "Disappear into thin air with nary a scream. And we're going to take some small grove of yours' word better than we took stone and steel?""The sacred grove has seen dark times before," announced Aria freely, despite the crawling of her skin under the unceasing burden of all these glances. She was younger than twenty-four, younger even t
The morning fog clung as a veil over the sacred grove and lifted with the frail light of dawn. Aria sat with her legs folded on the ground in front of the Great Oak, and her meditation was broken up by the nervous tension that ran through the camp for days. She felt it crackling through the air like the lightning of thunderstorms with her eyes shut.Something was not right with Kale.He'd first mentioned it three days back, when they'd come back from the recon of the mountain pass. He'd retreated into himself, further back, more rigid and more fragmented than his normally sharp self. His green eyes would glaze out of focus while they sat and plotted together, his gaze going off into some other world she couldn't track. And last night, reaching for him in the furs on the floor where they slept together, he'd jerked back with an angry huff of breath and snarled something about the perimeter sentries.*Battle stress*, she thought to herself, but the answer felt sup