Page 101 of Full Moon
Chapter 44
Feray
Thump...Thump... Thump...
My paws strike the snow almost in time with my heartbeat, each step pushing me further into the cold wilderness. The wind bites at my face with teeth of ice, but the exhilaration of running with my pack fills my chest with a warmth that defies the frozen landscape. One hundred and twenty-five wolves move behind me in perfect formation, their breath misting in the air, their paws drumming a rhythm older than memory.
I lead them toward the first of the three ice caverns, feeling the familiar hum of our bond thrumming beneath the surface like a second heartbeat shared between hundreds of souls.
A sharp gust of displaced air signals Diaval's takeoff, and I immediately sense fear spiking through the bond—sharp and sudden from both Torben and Khal. My gaze snaps upward, tracking Diaval as he gains altitude, his massive wings slicing through the icy air with thunderous beats that echo off the distant mountains.
I feel their terror like a cold fist clenching around my heart, the primal fear of heights that both of them try so hard to hide. But as I watch Diaval level out, his silhouette growing smaller against the pale sky, the tension in the bond eases. Their anxiety settles into something more manageable, and I allow myself to refocus on the path ahead. They're safe up there, even if they don't feel like it.
The bond with my wolves hums softly in the back of my mind—a comforting presence I've come to rely on more than I ever thought possible. I stretch it wide, ensuring I'm tuned into everyone, feeling the steady pulse of one hundred and twenty-five hearts beating in sync with my own.
For now, it's quiet. A welcome reprieve in this unforgiving land.
But ahead, the sky darkens.
The first hintsof a storm squall surface on the horizon, bruise-colored clouds rolling toward us with the inevitability of a predator closing in on prey. The air grows heavy with impending danger, the scent of ozone and ice crystals sharp in my nostrils—the first true warning of what's coming.
We should stop and hunker down,Jurian's voice comes through the bond, tinged with urgency.The ice shards could blind us if we're not careful. I've seen wolves lose their eyes to storms like this.I nod in agreement, though he can't see me from his position in the formation. Storms in the north don't play by southern rules. They kill without mercy and without warning.
Diaval, there's a storm squall,I send through our mate bond, feeling him acknowledge the message even as his wings carry him further ahead.We need to hunker down. Meet us at the cavern. We'll be okay.I extend the same message to Easton, feeling the weight of responsibility for my pack settle on my shoulders like a physical burden. One hundred and twenty-five wolves depend on me to keep them alive through this.
Diaval's response rumbles through my mind, his dragon's displeasure coloring the words.I don't like it. I don't like leaving you exposed down there.
We don't need you blinded either,I remind him.We'll be okay. We've survived worse.
A pause, then reluctant acceptance.We'll clear the path and wait for you. Don't take any unnecessary risks.
Time to huddle,I call out to my pack-mates.
The wolves respond instantly, decades of survival instinct guiding their movements as they form a protective circle around me. The snow crunches beneath us as we lower ourselves to the ground, bodies pressing close together until we're a single mass of fur and warmth against the bitter cold.
Curl into a ball, my Luna,Jurian instructs, his voice steady and calming despite the wall of darkness bearing down on us.Use your tail to protect your face. The ice will cut like glass.
I follow his directions, curling tightly until my tail lays over my muzzle and up over my eyes, blocking the outside world. The others press in closer, their bodies a solid, reassuring presence against mine. My fur instinctively puffs up, thickening against the wind as we huddle together.
And then the storm hits.
The howling begins as a distant wail and builds to a deafening roar that seems to shake the very earth beneath us. Snow and ice lash at our huddle with vicious fury, each gust trying to tear us apart. The cold clings to my fur like a suffocating shroud, each flake of wet snow adding to the weight I bear.
But here, in this moment, wrapped in the warmth of my pack, we are safe. The younger wolves are huddled between the larger ones, their small bodies quaking with nerves rather than cold. I can feel their shivers through the bond, their fear of the storm's fury, but they are protected. The older wolves have done this before. They know how to survive.
Then, cutting through the storm's rage, a song rises from the pack. It's a haunting melody that stirs something deep within me, something ancient and primal that I don't consciously recognize. My wolf stirs, her ears pricking with sudden attention.The song of my people,she whispers within me, her voice tinged with a pride that spans centuries.The one they used to sing to celebrate the winter wolves' victories.
How do they know it?
The knowledge is passed down through our blood, just like the migration routes and survival instincts. It's in their bones, even if they've never consciously learned it.I let the melody wash over me, embracing the connection to those who came before—the winter wolves who fought and survived against impossible odds, who built a legacy that the councils tried so desperately to destroy.
They failed.
We're still here.
And this song is proof that they will never truly erase us.
Almost an hour later,the storm wanes. The winds die down to whispers, and I know it's time to move. With a powerful thrust, I break through the icy crust that has formed over us, my head emerging into air so crisp and still it feels like a different world. The landscape is a stark white canvas, unmarred and silent, glittering under the weak northern sun.
