The Pack’s Future

I entered at dawn, when dawn still clung as a ghostlike cap to the shattered stones of our fortress of other days. When the sun rose, we had already replaced beams where the roof was crushed, reset massive stones in the outer walls and chiseled new trenches in an effort to drain water away from the foundation. I walked up the crumbling steps to the central courtyard, my footsteps ringing in the echoing chase against the wet, mossy flagstones, and stopped to look about me. The once-beautiful hall was a ruin behind me, but before me, beneath the banners of our allegiance, life had unfolded again.

I touched the silver braid on my cloak—counselor turned ambassador—and felt its weight settle around my shoulders like an anchor. The pack's future, it appeared, was poised on every wafer-thin decision of mine. Those decisions would determine if Silverclaw soared once more or was swallowed again by the darkness.