*Lazlo*

I circle the edge of the training field, my paws silent over frost-laced grass. My wolves spar in pairs, quick blurs and snapping teeth, claws raking over fur, though never drawing blood. It’s not about violence. It’s about precision, control, dominance, and keeping each other in check.

I watch them with focused eyes. Every movement tells a story about who’s too hesitant, too reckless, and who’s starting to accept the next challenge.

Even as I study them, part of my mind is elsewhere. Two servant girls stand at the edge of the clearing, hanging linens on a crooked line, gossiping. I normally wouldn’t eavesdrop, but their topic of conversation...