The den was suffocating with tension.
Even the walls—those age-smoothed stones and thick roots that coiled like ancient veins—seemed to tremble beneath the weight of unspoken fear. The torches burned low despite being freshly lit, their flames flickering with unease as if they too could sense the unrest rippling through the pack like an invisible sickness.
It had only been two days since the High Elves agreed to the meeting.
A neutral ground. A promise that no blood would be spilled—at least not unless provoked.
But no one in the den believed it would be so simple.
Evanna could feel it in the way voices snapped like brittle branches. In the way warriors glared at one another across the fire pits, snarling over shared duties, meals, space. Even the younger ones—children who should have
