The forest was quieter than usual that morning.
It was not empty but you could not hear a sound. The same quiet when someone is holding his breath waiting for something to happen.
Ronan had felt the change before the scouts confirmed it. The air carried a tension that had nothing to do with danger and everything to do with recognition.
Something had answered.
He stood near the edge of the old hollow, watching the ancient stone platform where Lina—Nyx—had spoken her name the night before.
Around the clearing, the wolves of the scattered Nythera moved in quiet preparation. Some gathered supplies. Others cleared fallen branches from paths that had been hidden for years.
They worked without needing instruction.
For twenty years they had survived.
Now they were preparing for something e
