With their towering pines older than memory and their roots entwined with secrets that had never seen the light of day, Tailwind Pack's woods stretched on forever. Two scouts moved like shadows beneath the emerald canopy, alert, silent, and prepared with their blades.
Two experienced trackers from Alpha Samuel's elite guard, Ronan and Lys, had been dispatched to look into strange energy detected close to the Hollow Trail, a defunct hunting route now covered in moss and the effects of time.
It felt wrong in the forest.
The air was heavy and oppressive, as though it carried whispers between the trees, but it wasn't dangerous in the typical sense; there were no snarling beasts or shifting winds.
Have you smelled that? Lys crouched low and murmured. "Ash and sulfur."
Ronan gave a somber nod. "Old magic."
They pushed through dense undergrowth until they came to a sudden opening in the forest, a clearing that had not been marked on any map.
An altar of weathered stone stood in the middle. Moss-covered and cracked, but distinctly intentional. The stone was stricken with new marks, sigils carved deep into its face, fresh, glowing faintly red in the last of the daylight, but the vines curled across its surface like clinging fingers.
Lys stepped forward warily. "This is not a place for hunting."
Ronan was kneeling next to the altar. A smear of dried black powder burned herbs brushed across his fingers. A twisted wreath of thorn and wolfsbane was lying discarded nearby. There were small, non-human bones at the altar's base. a ceremonial offering.
He muttered, "There's more." A crude effigy, a bundle of sticks tied with red twine and topped with a black feather, hung from a nearby tree, he indicated. The Hollow Alpha's symbol, reversed.
The wind suddenly changed direction.
Both scouts turned abruptly as the trees moaned. For a brief moment, it seemed as if the forest was letting out a deep, icy sigh.
Ronan said, already grabbing his communicator crystal, "We have to report this." "Now."
However, a rustling sound came from beyond the trees before Lys could react. Figures in cloaks, silent and barefoot, melted into the darkness as shapes moved.
Lys pulled out her blade. "Leap."
The flickering torches of the ritualists bobbing behind them like fireflies of death, their hearts thumping, they darted through the trees. For a brief moment, the woods merged into a single, unrelenting nightmare of panting pursuit as branches ripped at their clothing.
They exploded out of the hollow grove and entered the sacred territory of Tailwind. The figures stopped, unable or unwilling to pass through the invisible barrier.
Ronan heaved his chest and turned. The final figure, wearing a bone-white mask, gazed at them. Before disappearing into the trees, the masked acolyte slowly lifted a hand and drew a line across their throat.
Alpha Samuel stood in his war room later that evening, gazing at the rubbing of the sigils Ronan had returned with.
He dispatched three ravens: one to Silverwind, one to Whitedawn, and one to Barduff Castle.
The message was simple: They're here. And they're preparing.