The eastern ridge was a spine of jagged rock, a natural border between Stormrider territory and the wild, unclaimed lands that served as a buffer to rival packs. The air was thinner here, sharp and cold, carrying the scent of pine and a distant, metallic tang of impending snow. The patrol was smaller, more elite—Borin, myself, and four of his most trusted veterans. The mood was grim. The "sightings" Kaelen had mentioned were more than that; they were signs of a permanent encampment.
We moved with a predator's silence, our senses stretched to their limits. My own heightened awareness was a live wire, feeding me information—the scuffle of a rabbit a hundred yards away, the whisper of an eagle's wings high above, the slow, grinding patience of the ancient stone beneath our feet.
It was that
