Chapter 13

• The air in the Moonwood Pack’s territory had been thick with an almost palpable tension for days. While Tallia had found a fragile peace in the rhythm of pack life, Kael’s heightened senses had been a constant barometer for the encroaching unease. The unnatural quiet Kael had spoken of was now a pervasive stillness that settled over the forest like a shroud. The usual symphony of the woods – the chattering squirrels, the melodious calls of various birds, the rustling of unseen creatures through the undergrowth – had been muted, replaced by an unnerving silence that felt more like a held breath than peace.
• It began with subtle disturbances at the outer edges of their domain. The scouts, those wolves whose duty it was to patrol the vast expanse of their territory, returned with accounts that painted a disturbing picture. Whispers, at first dismissed as the overactive imaginations of those on lonely vigils, began to coalesce into a pattern of undeniable anomaly. Elder Lyra, a seasoned hunter whose nose was as sharp as any wolf’s, reported catching scents that were alien to the familiar tapestry of the forest. She described them as cold, metallic, and carrying a hint of something deeply ancient and utterly predatory, a stark contrast to the earthy, vital aromas of their home.
• “It’s like nothing I’ve ever smelled, Kael,” Lyra had stated, her usually steady voice laced with a rare note of disquiet as she reported to him. “Not the musk of a bear, nor the scent of a rogue wolf, nor even the wild tang of a lynx. This… this is different. It clings to the wind, a coldness that doesn’t belong to the natural cycle.”