The forest swallowed sound.
Even their footsteps seemed muted, the crunch of leaves and twigs vanishing into the dense air as they moved beneath the canopy. The trees here were older, their trunks so wide three grown wolves couldn’t have wrapped their arms around them. Moss climbed high up their bark, and the air smelled faintly of stone, damp earth, and something metallic beneath it.
Her wolf stirred uneasily. We are being watched.
Elinora didn’t doubt it. The Hollow Below had a reputation — one that even the oldest wolves spoke of only in whispers. The Wolves Who Remember called it a trial; the courts called it a graveyard.
Kaelen moved at her left, his shadows fanning ahead in long, thin tendrils. “There’s an opening ahead,” he murmured.
Riven’s hand was already on his sword hilt,
