Rowan is seating in his study with unrolled scrolls across his desk.
Lois leaned over it, his scarred face lit by the flickering candle. The parchment was ancient, yellowed, cracked at the edges, the ink faded to a pale brown. The script was the old tongue, sharp and angular. In the margin, someone had drawn a crescent moon inside a circle.
"What am I looking at?" Lois asked.
"The reason I disappeared for five days." Rowan's finger traced the text. "This is a fragment of the White Wolf prophecy. My father mentioned it once as a bedtime story as a pup. Thought it was a myth.”
"And now?"
"Now I think it's about her."
Lois straightened. "Aria."
"The silver flash from her eyes." Rowan pulled a second scroll from the pile. "The prophecy speaks of a child born without a wolf. A daughter o
