The smell of blood clung to Red Sorrow even after the fires were put out.
We lost two wolves, brave ones who had held the line until the others could arrive.
Their bodies lay wrapped in white cloth near the firepit, and the pack gathered around them in silence.
I stood at the center, chest tight, as Torwald bowed his head.
“They were warriors,” he said. “But more than that, they were family. And family is never forgotten.”
The pack murmured in agreement, grief heavy but proud.
I stepped forward.
“We will mourn them. But we will also honor them, by fighting harder. By proving their sacrifice wasn’t in vain.”
A chorus of voices rose, quiet at first, then stronger.
Red Sorrow stands.
That night, when I returned to my office, a package waited.
Unmarked. Wrapped in black cloth.
In
