sentinel in the trees didn't stay a spectator for long. As Elara pushed deeper into the marshland, the silence of the Old Blood territory shattered. A low, rhythmic drumming began to vibrate through the earth, a sound that felt more like a heartbeat than music.
The path ahead vanished into a wall of thick, white fog. Elara's lungs felt heavy, the air here was thick with the scent of hemlock and wet ash. Her boots finally gave out, the sole of the left one ripping away in the thick mud. She didn't stop. She wrapped her foot in a strip of cloth torn from her tunic and kept limping.
"You do not belong to the earth here," a voice hissed.
It wasn't a growl. It was a whisper that seemed to come from the trees themselves. Elara spun around, her hand white-knuckled around the hilt of her stolen silver dagger.
Three figures emerged from the fog. They weren't wearing furs like Caleb's people. They were draped in woven grass and dark leather, their skin painted with grey clay that made them look like walking corpses. These were the indigenes. They didn't transform into massive, hulking beasts; they stayed lean, moving with a twitchy, insect-like speed that was way more terrifying.
"I am seeking asylum," Elara gasped, her voice cracking from the cold.
The leader, a woman with hair braided with bird bones, stepped forward. She didn't look at Elara's face. She looked at her neck, searching for the mark of Caleb's pack. When she saw the faint, fading sigil of the Alpha's mate, she spat into the mud.
"You bring the scent of the usurper into our sanctuary," the woman said. "The city wolves think they own the moon. They forget the moon belongs to the soil."
Before Elara could speak, the ground beneath her feet gave way. It wasn't a trapdoor. It was a sinkhole, a natural pocket in the swamp designed to swallow the unwary. She screamed as she slid down into a dark, cramped pit lined with sharp roots.
Above her, the three indigenes looked down. They didn't reach for her. They didn't offer a rope.
"If the forest wants you, it will keep you," the leader said. "If you survive the night in the belly of the mother, maybe we will see if you are worth the air you breathe."
They walked away, their footsteps making no sound on the moss.
Elara was trapped. The pit was deep, the walls were slick with freezing slime, and the temperature was dropping. Above her, the narrow circle of sky showed the moon rising. And then she heard it.
A howl.
It wasn't an indigene. It was far off, but it was familiar. Caleb had found the dog. He had realized the trick. And now, he was coming for the North.
Elara pressed her back against the damp earth of the pit, clutching her silver blade. She was caught between a pack that wanted to silence her and a village that wanted her dead. She had to climb. She had to survive.
Because if Caleb found her in this hole, she wouldn't just be a memory. She would be a trophy.