The torches burned lower tonight, their light casting ragged shadows across the clearing. Smoke clung to the air, thick as breath.
Every cadet was herded into the center, hoods of black cloth pressed into their hands. The instructors barked the rules with relish, as if hungry for blood:
Blindfolds on. Trust your wolf. Tonight, you hunt the seniors. Never you take of your blindfolds or risk five claw marks to the face.
Gasps and whispers snapped through the ranks.
Elowyn slipped the cloth over her head, the world going dark.
The air thickened immediately, every scent too sharp, every heartbeat echoing too close.
Around her, she could hear boots shifting on gravel, the scrape of a blade dragged along bark, the first nervous laughs of cadets who knew there was nothing playful about this
