Chapter Forty-Two
The valley did not sleep after the battle.
It pretended to.
Fires burned low along the walls, their smoke drifting slowly into the night sky. Wolves moved through the camp in quiet patterns, tending wounds, checking patrol routes, repairing damage where Ironholt arrows had shattered wood and stone.
But the bond carried a restless energy that refused to settle.
Lyra felt it the moment she stepped outside.
Her side still ached from the arrow wound, though the healers had sealed the worst of it. The skin was tight beneath the bandage, tender every time she moved.
She ignored it.
Pain was easier to deal with than the tension humming through the pack.
Across the valley, Cain stood on the ridge overlooking the forest.
He hadn’t moved in nearly an hour.
Lyra walked up
