There's a certain chill that seeps into your bones when you live in the northern expanse where the mountains stand guard against the relentless winds. I've grown used to it, of course—whenever I don't have a monster to fight or a tribe to lead, I can almost pretend to enjoy the serene beauty of this frostbitten land. But today, as I stare out my window at the expanse of white-covered pine and crystal-blue sea, that chill feels less like a gentle caress and more like a harbinger of the heavy sigh that's pent up inside me.
You'd think being the leader of the largest werebear tribe in the region would have its perks. You'd be wrong. At forty-one—though I've been told I still look like I'm in my twenties—I find myself stuck in a never-ending cycle of obligations. I was thrown into leadership
