The witch had been watching the moon for three nights.
She lived far from pack lands, deep in a valley where the forest swallowed the sky and the air carried the scent of ancient stone. No wolves visited her willingly. Even the bravest patrols avoided the narrow trails that led toward her home.
She preferred it that way.
Silence made the old magic easier to hear.
Tonight the air felt different.
Heavy.
Restless.
The witch knelt beside a shallow bowl of water placed on a circle of carved stone. Pale runes surrounded it, etched into the rock centuries ago by hands that no longer walked the world.
She lit the final candle.
The flame flickered once.
Then steadied.
“Show me,” she murmured.
Her fingers brushed the surface of the water.
For a moment nothing happened.
Then the surface
