Korren learned long ago that anger was a luxury.
It wasted energy. It clouded judgment. It made men sloppy.
The lodge was quiet when the surviving scout was dragged inside, boots scraping against warped wood, the smell of snow and blood clinging to him like a second skin. Korren did not look up from the map spread across the table. The parchment was old, edges frayed, marked and remarked with territories that had shifted more times than most wolves remembered.
Borders were lies.
Only strength mattered.
“Leave us,” Korren said calmly.
The guards hesitated for only a heartbeat before obeying. The door shut with a heavy thud, sealing the room in silence broken only by the crackle of the fire.
The scout dropped to his knees without being told.
Good. He still understood hierarchy.
Korr
