The pages had dried stiff. Elara’s handwriting grew cramped wherever the bloodstains were darkest.
*Entry 112: The Great Blight. Crops failing. Elders fear famine. Offering 150 milliliters daily to purify the soil with blood magic. Duration: one week.*
I remembered taking credit before the pack. I had told them I had made a pact with the land spirits. Elara had stood behind me, too pale to join the feast.
I turned the page.
*Entry 241: The Red Winter. Three packs testing our borders. Warriors are falling. Offering 200 milliliters to prevent ward collapse. Consciousness fading.*
The elders called the Red Winter proof of my genius.
While they praised me in the Great Hall, Elara had been below us, pouring 200 milliliters at a time into the roots so our warriors could hold the border.
M
