The wind changed when we crossed into the old borderlands, -- a smell I had not smelled since I was a child, earth wet with moonwater and pine needles trodden under paws and wild magic vibrating low in the trees.

This was the land of White Fang.

Once sacred. Now silent.

Leon was riding beside me, and his hand was not far off the hilt of his weapon. My mother came after in a cart covered with shadows, and with two of the most trusty of Leon.

Nobody said a word.

Then only when the trees grew fewer, and we caught sight of them, the broken stones, the gnarled roots,...