Corin
The setting sun painted the pine trees around Northwood in long streaks of red. Smoke still lingered in the air, bitter and heavy, but the sounds of battle had given way to the steady rhythm of rebuilding. Saws growled. Hammers struck wood in determined cadence. Mason wasted no time. He assigned a dozen of his strongest warriors to remain behind as guards and to help begin reconstruction.
“Watch the borders. If you see even a single silver hair, do not ask questions. Strike,” he commanded, his voice iron hard.
Then he turned to me. His gaze softened as he looked me over. I still lay on the makeshift cot in the temporary infirmary, but the herbal salve and my wolf’s healing strength were already working.
“I am taking you home, Corin. You and the children. The stronghold is safer.
