Edric did not sleep well in the Grove.

He had not said this to anyone because it was not a complaint worth making when two hundred and thirty wolves were sleeping on ground with no shelter and calling it survival. But the truth was the Grove's old magic ran through the earth at a frequency that kept him at the surface of sleep rather than under it, and in those long half-awake hours things came back to him that his waking mind had stopped reaching for years ago.

Memories from a very old woman's voice.

He had been twelve when she taught him. She was the eldest wolf he had...