POV: Elara
The camp was somber in the gray light of dawn. The scent of blood and damp earth lingered in the air, mingling with the low murmur of voices as wolves tended to the injured. The bodies of the fallen had been laid in the central clearing, their still forms draped with cloth. The pack moved around them with quiet reverence, their gazes heavy with grief.
I stood at the edge of the clearing, my arms crossed tightly against my chest. My head throbbed with exhaustion, but the weight pressing on my heart was far worse. Two wolves lost. Three more critically injured. It could have been worse, but it felt like failure all the same.
Dante approached from the treeline, his movements slow but purposeful. His fur was streaked with dried blood—not his own—and his eyes were dark with wearin
