Shifters who ran away from civilisation when the hunting came too close. They live among the shadows. Two packs, one Old king, dying from a poison no one knew was coming. No heir, no warning, Just a horrible unravelling. The wolves of Ironhold smell blood. They've waited eons for this moment to sweep across the border, to burn the hemlock forests, to claim the land and iron-rich caves beneath. Now the two fight. Whilst warriors bleed in the mist, the archers fall from the trees. They will not run, they will learn to hunt. The hollow is waiting.