The smell of flames and blood filled the stronghold.
Only ash and the acrid smell of iron remained in the air as the fires had burnt low by the time morning dragged itself over the broken walls. The bodies of both loyal and renegade wolves were scattered throughout the courtyard, mangled in the silence of death.
The sound of boots crunching on broken stone and the faint groans of the injured had replaced the previous night's war cry.
Elaria's knuckles were white against the railing as she stood at the edge of the battlements. Her limbs were heavy and her body ached from tiredness, yet her wolf would not sleep. Behind her eyes, the image of Veylen's sneer and his shadow disappearing into the smoke kept playing back. She could still taste the sharp edge of steel at her throat. Still he
