Luna’s Point Of View The air in the ancient grove hung heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and pine needles crushed underfoot. I, Luna, high priestess of the Silverfang pack, stood there feeling it all—the pull of the lunar eclipse creeping in like a lover's whisper, stirring unrest in every soul around me. My pack, my family, these wolves I'd bled with through raids and full moon runs, they shifted on their feet, eyes darting, bodies tense. The fertility surge was already at work, making the air hum with unspoken needs. Males puffed their chests, females crossed their legs to hide the ache. It was primal, unavoidable, and tonight, it fell on me to channel it. I'd grown up in these woods, learning the old ways from Mira after my parents fell to human bullets when I was just a pup. The trees were like old friends, their branches arching overhead like protective arms, but tonight they seemed to lean in, listening, judging. The sacred stone altar in the center of the clearing was
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