The Blackfang’s Revenge

The night in the Glade of the First Pack was eerily quiet—too quiet for a clearing where centuries of rites, revolts, and blood oaths had been sworn. Kael and I hovered at the edge of the Age-old Clearing with the Moonclaw snuggled in my satchel up underneath my ribs. Its silver crescents flickered gently, a reflection of our triumph over the guardian and a warning that not all lay quiet in the shadows. Behind us, the light of our small campfire produced dancing silhouettes on the mossy rocks.