I rose before dawn, a thin light from the waning moon crept through my slitted chamber window. Fangreach's walls of stone had tinged with a light frost, and the courtyard below was a still field of silver. My heart thumped — today the Silverfang prince was visiting, bringing with him the hope of new allies… and new enemies.
I put on the robes of my office, gray ultrasuede edged with silver braid, our three‑crescent sigil embroidered in silver on my right shoulder. Below, I clipped on my dagger and fastened a belt to my waist that was made up of pouches — quills, ink, and a few small wards, along with a vial containing dust from the Moonclaw. I pushed a strand of hair from my face, and I looked at my scarred wrist where the mark shimmered softly with the dawn's hope. That mark had defied prophecy, bound packs of three together, and granted me a strength outgrowing my childhood fantasies. Today I would skip it once more.
