Winter Howl

Chapter Eleven – The Moon Gathering

The Frostbane only held gatherings on nights when the moon was fat and silver — a tradition older than the pack’s recorded history.

When Calian told her she was expected to attend, Elysia’s first instinct was to refuse. The memory of Fenrik’s glare was still fresh, and she had no taste for standing under the eyes of wolves who weren’t sure whether they wanted her gone or dead.

But Calian’s reply had been blunt: “The pack needs to see you. Tonight.”

So she followed him into the heart of the settlement, where the snow had been cleared in a wide circle and torches burned low, casting gold over white. Wolves in both forms milled about — some wearing furs, others bare-chested despite the cold, their skin steaming faintly in the frigid air.

The hum of conversation faltered when they saw her. She felt it — the shift, the pause — like walking into a room where someone had been speaking about you. Calian didn’t break stride.

The ceremony began with the pack’s elder offering blessings to the hunt, her voice deep as the mountains. When it ended, the crowd stirred, and Fenrik stepped into the circle.

“Alpha,” he said, with a bow sharp enough to cut. “I ask for the right of proving.”

A murmur ran through the gathering. Calian’s gaze hardened. “Against whom?”

Fenrik’s smile was all teeth. “Against the Snowweaver.”

Elysia felt her stomach drop.

“This isn’t—” Calian began, but the elder raised a hand.

“Old law allows it,” she said. “If the Snowweaver would take the challenge.”

Every eye was on her now, the air thick with the weight of expectation.

Elysia stepped forward, voice steady. “What’s the proving?”

Fenrik’s grin widened. “A hunt. First to bring back the heart of a froststag wins. Fail, and you leave our territory.”

A froststag. She’d seen drawings — antlers like ice sculptures, bodies built to vanish into snow, hearts said to beat with shards of winter magic. Hunting one was a trial even for seasoned wolves.

Calian’s voice was low, meant only for her. “You don’t have to do this.”

But Elysia’s eyes were on Fenrik, on the way he stood so sure of her failure.

“I accept,” she said.

A ripple of excitement passed through the crowd. The elder’s voice rang out, sealing the challenge. “At dawn, you run.”