CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
The night is a cloak spun from the deepest obsidian, wrapping around me as I tumble into sleep. In my dreams, the moon hangs heavy, a pale specter that drips with foreboding rather than light.
I'm running, paws thudding against the earth in a frantic rhythm, the familiar scent of pine and wildflowers replaced by the acrid burn of smoke. My heart hammers against my ribcage, each beat echoing the terror that seizes my limbs. The forest, our forest, is ablaze, flames l*****g hungrily at the ancient trees that have stood sentinel over the Pine Pack for generations.
"Help!" The scream rips from my throat, raw and desperate, but it's swallowed by the roar of the inferno. Ashes rain down like a macabre snowfall, blanketing the underbrush where once I played hide and seek with
