The air grew colder, the trees denser, their branches intertwining like the complex history of animosity between our packs. Each step was measured, deliberate. The scent of the enemy became stronger, a bitter tang on the edge of my senses.

"Steady," I breathed, more to myself than to the others. My eyes scanned the treeline, my ears strained for the sound of an ambush. But there was only the quiet foreboding of the forest, a silent sentinel to the unfolding drama.

"Alpha Biansky will be ...