I was at the out of the Redmoon pack, heading towards the market, dazed by my discovery, when I felt something inside me change, which was strange.

The air was cool and fragrant with pine, but there was wrongness beneath it, a sour kick that made the fine hairs on my arms rise.

I froze mid-step; something was out there lurking in the dark.

The woods have their rhythm: crickets, the rustle of leaves, and the distant hoots of an owl, but tonight that rhythm faltered. Like the night animals ...