POV: Torren
The morning air was sharp, laced with pine and the bite of frost. Perfect for training. The clearing echoed with grunts, growls, and the steady rhythm of fists hitting flesh.
“Again,” Torren barked, arms crossed as he watched two young wolves spar in the ring. “Your opponent is bigger than you, Rell. Use it. You’re not a tree. Move.”
Rell stumbled, then pivoted, managing to knock his partner off balance. Not bad. Still sloppy.
Beside him, Mira adjusted her gauntlets, her eyes tracking every motion in the circle.
“You’re enjoying this too much,” she murmured, voice smooth like silk over steel.
“Only because they’re not as pitiful as yesterday,” Torren replied. “And because you’re here to look pretty beside me.”
Mira snorted. “If I wanted to impress you, I’d break your nos
