The Silverfang gathering grounds filled before the sun reached its highest point. Word of the council’s emergency assembly had spread through the territory before dawn, and every wolf who could walk now stood within the wide stone ring carved into the center of the clearing. Warriors lined the outer edge of the circle while elders gathered near the raised stone platform that marked the council seat. The air carried the scent of tension, blood, and wet earth.
Three pyres burned along the northern edge of the clearing.
The bodies of the fallen Silverfang warriors lay wrapped in gray cloth upon the wooden frames. Smoke drifted upward in slow spirals, and the smell of burning pine filled the air. No one spoke loudly near the pyres because grief had already hardened into anger.
Ryker stood a
