Chapter 4 — The Gathering Storm

By midday the sky over Edgewood had gone the colour of a bruise, and Riley walked into the village to find the truce already coming apart at a fence.

She heard them before she saw them — Harold’s voice pitched to carry, and under it a wolf’s low answer that had teeth in it. She quickened her pace. At the boundary of the south field, Harold stood red-faced with a rusted sword he had no idea how to use, and across the churned mud from him stood Bram, one of the pack’s patrol leaders, broad and scarred and not backing up an inch.