The fires of the funeral pyres had barely cooled when the first whispers reached Ravenclaw. Fji's shadow was already stretching toward them. Scouts returned with grim news: enemy banners had been spotted along the northern ridges, wolves marching with foreign mercenaries, their movements deliberate, their numbers swelling.
Evelyn listened as the scouts gave their reports in the council chamber. The elders sat stiff and silent, their faces pale at the mention of humans fighting alongside wolves. George stood with his arms folded, his jaw tight. Damien sat at the head of the table, his shoulders squared though his body trembled faintly beneath his cloak.
"They are not only testing our borders anymore," one scout said. His voice wavered as though he feared the weight of his own words. "They are preparing for war."
