THE REJECTED LUNA
He had followed me through sealed Oak, through scatter that was supposed to be impossible, bleeding light, dying, to get to me, while Council trucks were coming behind him with silver collars for half anointed White who still had Guardian moon on neck that tied his life to hers.
Outside, another howl started, not white wolves, not patrol gray wolves, but many, many trucks, and Mordecai’s soft teacher voice on loudspeaker, far but coming fast across frozen lake, saying, “We know you are there, White village. We have thermal. We have silver. Give us the new anointed and we leave.”