Caleb’s POV
Volker’s forest smelled different from Hagenwolf’s—colder, denser, as if the very air refused to let us in. We marched in silence, moving between the trees while the moon slipped in and out through the wet bark. Mara led the way, head high, her hair braided into a war knot, her eyes alight with a fire I couldn’t tell was fervor or madness.
“We’ll reach him before dawn,” she said without looking back. “If my calculations are right, Volker hasn’t had time to reorganize his packs yet.”
I didn’t answer. I knew her well enough to understand she didn’t want conversation—she wanted worship.
Her “army,” if it could be called that, followed behind us: a rabble of wolves of little skill who owed her loyalty for a few scraps of land they used for survival. None of them seemed sure any
