The wind howled across the northern plains. Snow whipped through the pines like ghosts that hadn't learned to rest.
Grace tightened her cloak and adjusted the saddle on her mare. The road behind her stretched thin and gray. The path ahead was unfamiliar—but at least it was hers.
A young boy ran up beside her, breathless. “Envoy Nightclaw! The elders in Red Creek say they'll meet tomorrow at dusk."
Grace nodded. “Good. Tell them I'll bring the healer's supplies myself."
The boy hesitated. “You don't have to do that. We can send someone."
“I want to see the pups myself."
He nodded and sprinted back toward camp.
Grace mounted, riding toward the cluster of tents pitched near a frozen stream.
The campfire crackled as her guards stirred soup and sharpened blades. Wolves from five differe
