The New Howl
The first snow of the season blanketed the valley in silence.
It wasn’t heavy—just a soft dusting, clinging to pine needles and the moss-laced stones that lined the gathering paths. For generations, snow meant two things to the wolves of these woods: the Calling Rites and the Feast of Dominion. Both events had been used for centuries to reinforce the old order.
But this year, as Rowan stood in the Circle Hall with Caleb at his side, he knew neither ritual would survive untouched.
And maybe that was the point.
“We’ll keep the spirit of it,” Caleb said, spreading out a scroll on the central table. “The season’s change. The honoring of our ancestors. But no more dominance duels. No more forced pairings.”
Rowan nodded, glancing across the room. Representatives from each fact
