Bound moon
A sudden, sharp snap of a twig echoed through the bluff.
I surged to my feet, my hand going to the hilt of the dagger at my belt. Three figures emerged from the shadows of the twisted trees. They were tall, gaunt, and wore cloaks made of woven kelp and hardened sharkskin. Their eyes weren't the standard gold or yellow of the pack wolves; they were pale, almost translucent.
They were Unbound.
"The girl," the lead one said. His voice sounded like grinding gravel. "The one who carries the silver frost."