CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
The forest at night is a chorus of shadows and whispers, the moonlight filtering through the dense canopy in silvery patches like scattered coins on a velvet cloak. My paws tread silently over the bed of fallen leaves, ears perked for the slightest sound out of place. The scent of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils, mingled with the more subtle notes of woodland creatures that scurry unseen.
"Come on, keep up," I murmur without turning my head, knowing well that my patrol partner lags several paces behind. He's new to this, still finding his rhythm in the silent dance of the night watch. But tonight, my senses are too attuned to the forest’s secrets to worry about his inexperience.
My role as the Gamma of the Silver Paws pack isn’t just a title; it's a mantle of
