Beneath the Howling Pines
And whatever waited in Frostwillow was ready to strike again.
The cold night after our return was restless. I barely slept, the images of Frostwillow still burning behind my eyelids — the cursed wolves’ twisted faces, the ruined altar pulsing with dark magic, Mara’s blood warm on my hands. Nyx paced beneath my skin, restless and growling at shadows only she could see.
But beneath that wild stirring, there was something else — a subtle, strange flutter, like a whisper deep inside me. I tried to ignore it. I had no time for doubts. Not with the pack on the edge of war.
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