A mile of forest is a different kettle of fish entirely when you have four paws and the trees were lit blood-red.The canopy caught the moon’s colour and threw it back in fragments, and the world smelled of pine and cold earth and the sharp, entirely distinct scent of wolves who hadn’t come here with any ambiguity about their intentions. Athena knew the difference between pack wolves and rogues the way she knew the difference between rain and seawater: not identical, not even close, and worth noticing immediately.We knew before we saw them.Five rogues materialised from the dark between two ancient pines, mid-stride and committed, and Athena was already moving before the conscious part of me had processed the shape of them. That was the thing I had been learning to trust: she didn’t think in those first seconds. She reacted, copper and fast and utterly sure of herself, and what came after was not violence so much as purpose moving through a body built for exactly this.
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