SIGRUN
Our destination wasn't a bustling market or a lively village square.
As the stallion slowed to a walk, we entered a solemn, misty valley tucked between two massive, jagged cliffs. The air here smelled different…thick with the melancholy scent of burning pine and damp earth.
“Talon Fang pack,” Varul informed me. “It is where the dead scouts come from.”
We stepped into a wide clearing, and my breath caught.
Hundreds of people were gathered in silence. They were dressed in dark, heavy furs, standing in a wide circle around a series of freshly dug graves and stone pyres.
The only sound was the crackle of the flames and the low, collective humming of a mourning song that vibrated through the very dirt beneath the horse's hooves.
It was a traditional werewolf burial ceremony.
Var
