The den of the Wolf Clan was not a cave, but a city woven between the trees. Great wooden longhouses, their roofs thick with sod and living moss, nestled in the colossal forks of ancient pines. Rope bridges swayed high above the forest floor, connecting the structures in a complex, aerial web. The air was rich with the scent of woodsmoke, pine resin, and the distinct, musky odor of a great many predators living in close quarters. It should have felt primitive. Instead, it felt alive, a place of raw, organized power.
Their escort, the warrior woman named Anya, led them without a word through the heart of the settlement. Eyes watched from doorways and from the shadows between the trees. The silence was profound, broken only by the creak of wood and the distant howl of a wolf that was answer
