The moon hung low in the sky, cloaked in thin veils of mist that made everything below shimmer and blur.
The forest was still, too still. Even the leaves dared not whisper as the search party moved cautiously through the underbrush.
Erik and his group of men were still in the forest, now
Erik paused, crouching near the base of a slanted tree, fingers pressed to the damp earth. Kire paced beside him, his silver-gray coat bristling with unease, his nose twitching.
Nothing.
No sounds. No tracks. Just the same maddening quiet that had haunted them for the past day.
Erik rose slowly, running a hand through his hair, jaw tight.
Behind him, the group of wolves—seven in total—stood in a loose semicircle. Eyes weary. Boots muddied. All of them worn to the bone, and it showed.
"We've swept every inch of the ravine," Marro said, stepping up beside him. His face was pale, but his voice was determined. "No signs. Not even blood. Are you sure this is where the battle ended?"
