The night before battle carried a strange kind of silence.
Not the peaceful kind—no, this silence was taut, stretched thin by fear and anticipation, like a bowstring pulled too tight. Fires burned low across the camp, their light flickering over faces drawn with worry. Wolves sharpened blades they prayed they wouldn’t have to use. Others whispered to the moon, asking it for mercy it had never been known to give.
Glosh sat near the edge of the camp, knees pulled to her chest, staring into the fire until her eyes stung.
She could feel everything.
The anxiety vibrating through the ground. The restless shifting of bodies. The way the wind kept changing direction, as if it couldn’t decide which side it was on. Her senses were sharper now—too sharp—and there was no escaping them.
Tomorrow,
