In the West Wood Pack.
The walls of the ancient meeting hall trembled with the fury of the Elder Council. Old voices - gravelly, cracked, and cold with outrage clashed, bouncing off the walls of the hall, as if the walls themselves were afraid to accept the fury the voices carried.
"We march to the Black Moon Pack with ten thousand warriors! Burn the pack down and make them pay!" An elder bellowed. Others concurred, echoing his voice with unwavering approval.
The weight of their anger made the air thick, suffocating.
Beta Theon stood alone on the raised platform, beside the empty Alpha's seat. He was barely recognizable, with sunken eyes rimmed red, lips dry and split, skin pale as ash. But it wasn't the three days of sleepless travel that had broken him. No, it was what he had witnessed.
