Wolfwalkers #robyn Novels & Stories

Somewhere deep in the forest outside the walls of Bresmont, a group of werewolf hunters gathered to take refuge in a cave that was not inhabited by any creatures. After the chaos that happened in the camp, few survivors were able to escape and that includes their leader, Robert Kingston, and his sister, Rolyn. A loud cry reverberated through the walls of the cave as Rolyn cried in pain. She was chained to the wall, blood dripping from her wounds while Robert punished her.

Rumbling growls tear from the wolves’ throats each time they pass someone. Pearl offered the villagers pleasant smiles. Of course, no one smiled back. No surprise there. They loathed her. They hated her confidence. Maybe if she could reveal her true face, the villagers might bow on their knees and beg for magic; but then, of course, the King’s warrior hunters, like Ethan himself, would be on her trail before she could even cast a spell. So yes, having a different face and scent was better enough, even though the villagers hated her guts. Nobody likes a loner, and she was a loner, living alone in the woods with just a fish and hound for a companion and now these three wolves.

They all turned to Angela for help but she didn’t spare them a glance. “Don’t move closer to them”, she told them. “They have to go through all these and they’ll be strong.” She moved closer to Ryan and took the blanket from him. “Ah”, he shouted. “It’s freezing. I need that.” “I won’t give it to you. You guys are not normal wolves. You are elemental wolves. The ones the whole kingdom is relying on to save us. Don’t focus on the pain and you won’t feel it.” “It’s hard not to focus on it”, Austin shouted. “My head hurts”, he said.

“At dawn!” The Ironwood wolves led the column, boots sinking into the spongy ground. Mists clung to Nyra’s ankles as she rode behind. Urhan’s wolf-form runner scouts darted ahead, eyes glowing amber. Torchlight flickered in the haze, and the scent of sulfur lay beneath the marsh’s rot. Ryker rode by her side, sword sheathed but magic humming at his fingertips. Kaelia followed, scroll tucked at her belt, twin daughter asleep against her chest in a swaddling of obsidian silk.

The bond flared violently, white and gold, sending sparks of light crawling along the walls, and Lyra felt it—the Winter Wraith was here, hovering in the edges of their vision, stalking, testing, waiting for weakness. From the rafters, the councilor moved again, dagger glinting in silver light. Another bolt flew. Rylan growled low, seizing Lyra in a protective lift and shifting fully into his wolf form. Muscles rippled beneath fur that shone with lunar sheen, claws scraping against stone as he bounded toward cover. Lyra’s hands gripped him tightly, heart hammering. “We can’t keep dodging forever!” “We don’t have to,” Rylan growled, baring his teeth in a feral grin. “We fight.”

“Are you looking for something specific in this book?” “Not really.” I turn the pages, looking at the handwritten cursive ink. Raphael caresses my shoulder, watching me. “The Battle of the Fallen.” I skim through the pages and begin to read the book out loud. “The Raven Wolf King was locked in battle with the High Wolf King. Early 15th century. The battle raged for days until both monarchs finally met in battle, locking in a gruesome sword fight. Ravens flocked to their master as they waited to do his bidding. The High Wolf King fought with valor with all odds stacked against him, for the Raven Wolf King was known for his resilience and invincibility—the devil man was known not to die.” I re

It happened that we met other wolves who looked in my direction with interest, and some sideways, sideways, tried to get closer to me, but as soon as the she-wolf Martha roared, absolutely everyone lost their enthusiasm. Over time, more and more often I ran alone. I liked either to rush, giving full power over the body to the beast, or to slowly move over deadwood and wander into thickets of bushes and young trees. Often she found small islands of medicinal herbs and rejoiced at her discovery like a child. Having found such a treasure, she looked around and, as Marta taught, “listened” to the aromas of the forest. Convinced that there were no werewolves nearby, she turned around, dressed qui

I closed my eyes as the blonde tightened his grip on my throat. I could do nothing to stop them. The werewolf law was brutal and unwavering. I was going to die. I hoped it would be quick. Suddenly, the brunette spoke up. “Wait! Let her go, Robyn.” The blonde growled in response, “She is a rogue, chief!” The brunette replied with authority, “I know, but she appears scared and harmless, let her go.” Robyn reluctantly let me go, and the wind rushed into my throat.

Know that trouble is ahead. I stared at the few words written in the article there, and I closed the book. I stared down at the title of the book. The Sixteen Guardian Wolves - Alexander Thorne Reya, Is this true? I asked my wolf. There was quiet for a few moments before I felt her stir.