Chapter one
The Wolf’s Lament
Thesoundwaslowand hollow, borne on the wind and carried on a breeze that was desperate to find an ear.
Seath’s ears laid back at the resonance; a sound he hoped to never hear again. Never. As long as the many years his shifter nature promised.
Even Seath, who knew grief as intimately as anyone, ached to hear this sound.
In his life, Seath had endured his own grief, in its myriad of shapes and sizes. But he was Pack Legate, as well. The next Pack Alpha. And that connection to the Pack-mind had allowed him to feel the grief of others since his Raising Day.
The private grief of Pack members filtered to him in colors and feelings. Quiet, unspoken sufferings that were present in the touch of skin, or the scent of someone who was Pack. Things non-shifters might find best left to feel alone, but that were shared with the Pack through the thread of collective consciousness they all had. Pack suffered together, or at least with Alpha and close members.
But none of that grief had been like this. And that was just with the sound. A solitary resonance that rang out to Seath through the air.
There was no pack connection to share this grief. It existed utterly alone.
But he could hear the call on the wind.
Even Seath, who thought he knew by now all the names and incarnations of hurt, and grief, and loss, was not ready for the reedy sound of freedom—not happiness mind you—butfreedomthat clung to the last part of the howl. Threads of exhaustion braided into the grief and pain.
The sound of someone who could bear no more.
The sound of surrender after a hard-fought battle.
The sound of no other options available.
But, that thread of being freed at the end of the howl said more than all the rest.
Not thathowlwas the right word. Wolves howled to call the pack, to share joy, and to share grief. But this was different.
It was a wolf’s lament.
WelcomingDeath.
Seath was running alone, faster than his limits, to beat Death to the sound. Death would come calling to such a cry, drawn to the longing anyone could hear.
Odd, maybe, for a young wolf such as Seath to run alone as he was at that moment. But on this day, the anniversary of the day he had passed the tests, both magical and physical, and proved himself worthy of Pack Leadership, he liked to run by himself.
He liked to remember that the traditions and magic of his people had deemed him worthy to succeed Greene, the current Pack Alpha and his mentor. And that was a solitary memory worthy of a solitary memorial.
Digging his paws in the earth of his pack’s land and thinking the way only his wolf-brain could was the simplest form of celebration. Of reminiscence.
How had the past year gone?
Had he done enough for his pack?
Where and who did he fail to serve?
Others would celebrate the Raising Day, a day set aside for the Pack Alpha, and Seath as the Pack Legate, but this day — the day he knew he had what it took to take the place of Pack Leadership — that was the day he privately celebrated.
And that celebration in the form of an early morning, solitary run yielded to the howl on the wind.
Following the sound of the other wolf instinctively, all he could think about was getting there, finding the wolf whose lament the wind brought to him.
His mind raced too, as his large, furry body cut through trees and over scrub or other obstacles. Thorns snagged his coat, rocks cut into his paws, but that was nothing.
He had to beat Death to the wolf.
