The wolf brothers moved silently through the twisted woodland trails, their massive paws leaving barely a trace on the soft soil. As the trees thinned out, an oppressive hush descended, and the morning air grew heavy and still.
Tristan's obsidian fur stood on end as they entered a wide clearing. Before them stretched the notorious Vale of Blackmoor, a forsaken expanse where phantasmal mists writhed like serpents about the frozen ground.
Malcolm, his form still as death itself, raised his noble head to taste the air. A fearsome growl escaped his throat, and his fearsome teeth gleamed like daggers in the wan light. "By all that is sacred," he uttered, his speech carrying the wild timbre of his bestial nature, "Dost thou perceive this foulness, dear brother? This accursed realm bears the ta
