Elder Mora's POV
I have seen this several times before.
Not this exact one with power hungry wolves winding through the training fields with the scent of steel and sweat resting heavily in the air, but paths like it. Young wolves with bright eyes aching to prove themselves.
They all wanted strength. They all thought it was the only thing that could save them.
But strength is never enough.
Strength breaks without wisdom. It is a devourer when left without purpose.
And so I watched Aisla as her fists struck the padded dummy, her breath ragged but steady. She had come far from the trembling girl I had led out of Thorne's chamber. Her body was stronger now, and her mind even sharper.
But her heart was still soft.
And that, I feared, was what the prophecy would demand of her.
"Again," I called, and the wind carried my voice across the training yard.
