Josiah
We set out in the early morning, around three when the pack was silent and asleep.
The moon hid behind a thick curtain of clouds as Callen and I crossed the Crimson borders under the cover of silence except the sound of the hooves.
The forest beyond was unfamiliar. It was old, wild, and heavy with something that made the air itself feel alive. Even the night creatures that usually stirred in the undergrowth kept their distance, as if the darkness here belonged to someone else.
We moved without a word, the hooves of our horses crunching against dry leaves. I could feel Callen’s nerves through the faint tremor of his aura. It wasn’t like him to show fear, but I didn’t blame him. The Veiled Hollow was not a place wolves dared to tread. Our ancestors had spoken of it only in fragme
