The eastern side of White Wolf territory sat quieter than the village. It always had.
The farther you moved from the center of pack life, the less human things remained. Lanterns disappeared first. Then roads narrowed into dirt paths softened by years of rain and shifting roots. Buildings thinned until eventually there was nothing left except forest stretching endlessly beneath towering pines and mountain ridges that cut jagged shapes against the night sky.
Home still existed out there. It was just older and wilder.
Rainwater slid steadily from branches overhead while our patrol moved deeper between the trees, boots sinking slightly into damp earth softened by the storm. Braxton led from the front beside Nolan Pierce, one of White Wolf’s senior warriors, while two younger patrol wolves
