The weeks after the battle brought a fragile peace to Shadowfang.
The pack rebuilt, healed, mourned. New huts rose where old ones had burned. Fresh graves were dug beside the ancient oaks, their stones carved with names that would be remembered for generations. The Red Claw had been dealt a blow they wouldn't soon recover from—their forces decimated, their leader slain, their will to fight broken. Scouts reported that they had retreated deep into their own territory, licking their wounds and nursing their pride, too weak to threaten anyone for years to come.
For the first time in as long as anyone could remember, there was hope.
Elara's pregnancy progressed smoothly. Her belly swelled with the life inside her, and she felt the baby move more each day—little kicks and flutters that made
