Echoes Of War

CHAPTER XI | RUSHING WATERS

"They seem to have arrived from the South," Rodwen states, his voice cool and deliberate. "The deer had traces of mud and sediment—same texture, same scent. Marshland."

A ripple of nods passes through the gathered wolves, low murmurs stirring like wind through dry grass. Rodwen, Lunis, Rohan, and Navira had gathered into the safety of the den, hidden away from prying ears to discuss the matter at hand. The thick walls muffled the sounds of the pack outside, leaving only the low crackle of wind against stone and the heavy breathing of those inside.

Rohan was the first to speak, his deep voice gruff and unyielding. "If this is another pack testing our borders, they're doing it deliberately. We've held this territory for many seasons—any wolf with sense would know better than to cross our scent lines."

Navira's tone was more measured, but no less serious. "Then the question becomes: are they foolish... or confident?" She glanced between them, her pale eyes gleaming with sharp intelligence. "Because either one means trouble."

Lunis shifted her weight, the tension in her limbs hard to ignore. "This isn't just another scavenger," she said. "The kill was too clean. Efficient. They didn't take the whole carcass—they left it out in the open. That's not survival. That's a message."

Rodwen shifts in her peripheral vision, his amber eyes burning into her pelt like a hawk watching his prey—silent, sharp, and warning. The message in his stare is clear: Say nothing.

Although guilt nips at her stomach like icy teeth, Lunis holds firm. She won't break her promise. But the gnawing pit in her gut only deepens—her instincts screaming that something isn't right.

Following her statement, both Navira and Rohan turn their full attention to her. The flame of curiosity glints in their eyes, and for a moment, the silence stretches taut in the den.

Encouraged by their focused stares, Lunis presses on. "Think about it. Why would they leave the carcass behind? For all the precision they showed—for the clean strike, the controlled claw marks—wouldn't a pack that skilled be smart enough to cover their tracks? Bury the scent? Drag the body away?"

Navira's brow creases. "Unless they wanted us to find it."

"Exactly," Lunis says, groaning. "This isn't just a hunt. It's a message."

Rohan growls low in his throat, his thick tail flicking with agitation. "Then we have a bigger problem than trespassers. Someone's trying to provoke us."

Relief washes over Lunis, cool and fleeting like the wind that whispers through the trees after a storm. At least her words had landed. At least they were listening.

She casts a quick glance toward Rodwen, hoping for even a flicker of acknowledgement, a silent nod to say we're in this together.

But the oak-colored male remains still, his gaze locked on Rohan and Navira, jaw tight with the weight of unspoken thoughts. If he notices her glance, he gives no sign.

Rodwen's jaws part sharply, his voice slicing through the den. "Then what do you propose we do? Let this go unpunished?"

Navira's gaze narrows, sharp and unyielding. "If you're suggesting retaliation, think again. I won't send the pack headfirst into a fight we didn't choose."

Rohan speaks next, his tone firm but composed. "We have enough on our shoulders, Rodwen. The journey to the Southern Plains won't prepare itself. I trust you see the weight of that."

Rodwen exhales through his nose, a muscle twitching along his jaw. "I do, truly. But I stand with Lunis on this."

Lunis' ears twitch at the unexpected support, her name hanging in the air like a dropped stone. Her surprise only deepens as Rodwen continues.