The Blood of The Hollow Moon

of stone inside the Moonbound den, staring at the ceiling carved with claw marks and old runes. The moss glowed faintly, casting

oken the P

ened, but only because he feared the Keepers more than he distrusted her. The others-her packmates, her blood-had turned their bac

l. It was forged from moonstone and silver, enchanted by the witches to detect shifts in the Drift. It should hav

mered in silver mist. Beyond that, the Citadel of Ash stood like a blade against the horizon. She had never been insi

rn without

ing them to the timeline, to the dominions, to the laws of balance. Threads determined fate, power, and

omaly. A frac

n? Was she its blood? Was that why she could feel the Drift more strongly than

er fists. She

sharpening his claws against a slab of obsi

ill awake,

are

ldn't sleep. The

d. "It's ge

ening. "You really

ow it

oment. "Then you need

d you

didn't think you

ave

f carved into the stone wall. He pull

pplies. Food. W

it. "You're

akes, we're all dead. You're the only

ed. "Tha

me yet. You'll have to pa

roze. "

ay to the Citadel. But it's dange

d. "I thought the Th

They built a settlement near th

rgotten lived. Where those without threads gathered. Where m

go," s

for a long moment.

e said. "But I'm tired

go. Before the mo

ndant burning against her chest. The wind was colder now, sharper. The Drif

Vale, keeping to the shadows