Chapter 44 Feray
Feray
Thump... Thump... Thump...
My paws strike the snow almost in time with my heartbeat, each step pushing me further into the cold wilderness.
The wind bites at my face with teeth of ice, but the exhilaration of running with my pack fills my chest with a warmth that defies the frozen landscape.
One hundred and twenty-five wolves move behind me in perfect formation, their breath misting in the air, their paws drumming a rhythm older than memory.
I lead them toward the first of the three ice caverns, feeling the familiar hum of our bond thrumming beneath the surface like a second heartbeat shared between hundreds of souls.
A sharp gust of displaced air signals Diaval's takeoff, and I immediately sense fear spiking through the bond—sharp and sudden from both Torben and Khal.
My gaze snaps upward, tracking Diaval as he gains altitude, his massive wings slicing through the icy air with thunderous beats that echo off the distant mountains.
I feel their terror like a cold fist clenching around my heart, the primal fear of heights that both of them try so hard to hide.
But as I watch Diaval level out, his silhouette growing smaller against the pale sky, the tension in the bond eases.
Their anxiety settles into something more manageable, and I allow myself to refocus on the path ahead.
They're safe up there, even if they don't feel like it.
The bond with my wolves hums softly in the back of my mind—a comforting presence I've come to rely on more than I ever thought possible. I stretch it wide, ensuring I'm tuned into everyone, feeling the steady pulse of one hundred and twenty-five hearts beating in sync with my own.
For now, it's quiet. A welcome reprieve in this unforgiving land.
But ahead, the sky darkens.
The first hints of a storm squall surface on the horizon, bruise-colored clouds rolling toward us with the inevitability of a predator closing in on prey. The air grows heavy with impending danger, the scent of ozone and ice crystals sharp in my nostrils—the first true warning of what's coming.
We should stop and hunker down, Jurian's voice comes through the bond, tinged with urgency.
The ice shards could blind us if we're not careful.
I've seen wolves lose their eyes to storms like this.
I nod in agreement, though he can't see me from his position in the formation.
Storms in the north don't play by southern rules.
They kill without mercy and without warning.
Diaval, there's a storm squall, I send through our mate bond, feeling him acknowledge the message even as his wings carry him further ahead.
We need to hunker down. Meet us at the cavern.
We'll be okay. I extend the same message to Easton, feeling the weight of responsibility for my pack settle on my shoulders like a physical burden.
One hundred and twenty-five wolves depend on me to keep them alive through this.
Diaval's response rumbles through my mind, his dragon's displeasure coloring the words. I don't like it. I don't like leaving you exposed down there.
We don't need you blinded either, I remind him. We'll be okay. We've survived worse.
A pause, then reluctant acceptance. We'll clear the path and wait for you. Don't take any unnecessary risks.
Time to huddle, I call out to my pack-mates.
The wolves respond instantly, decades of survival instinct guiding their movements as they form a protective circle around me. The snow crunches beneath us as we lower ourselves to the ground, bodies pressing close together until we're a single mass of fur and warmth against the bitter cold.
Curl into a ball, my Luna, Jurian instructs, his voice steady and calming despite the wall of darkness bearing down on us. Use your tail to protect your face. The ice will cut like glass.
I follow his directions, curling tightly until my tail lays over my muzzle and up over my eyes, blocking the outside world. The others press in closer, their bodies a solid, reassuring presence against mine. My fur instinctively puffs up, thickening against the wind as we huddle together.
And then the storm hits.
The howling begins as a distant wail and builds to a deafening roar that seems to shake the very earth beneath us.
Snow and ice lash at our huddle with vicious fury, each gust trying to tear us apart.
The cold clings to my fur like a suffocating shroud, each flake of wet snow adding to the weight I bear.
But here, in this moment, wrapped in the warmth of my pack, we are safe.
The younger wolves are huddled between the larger ones, their small bodies quaking with nerves rather than cold.
I can feel their shivers through the bond, their fear of the storm's fury, but they are protected.
The older wolves have done this before. They know how to survive.
Then, cutting through the storm's rage, a song rises from the pack.
It's a haunting melody that stirs something deep within me, something ancient and primal that I don't consciously recognize.
My wolf stirs, her ears pricking with sudden attention.
The song of my people, she whispers within me, her voice tinged with a pride that spans centuries.
The one they used to sing to celebrate the winter wolves' victories.
How do they know it?
The knowledge is passed down through our blood, just like the migration routes and survival instincts.
It's in their bones, even if they've never consciously learned it.
I let the melody wash over me, embracing the connection to those who came before—the winter wolves who fought and survived against impossible odds, who built a legacy that the councils tried so desperately to destroy.
They failed.
We're still here.
And this song is proof that they will never truly erase us.
Almost an hour later, the storm wanes. The winds die down to whispers, and I know it's time to move.
With a powerful thrust, I break through the icy crust that has formed over us, my head emerging into air so crisp and still it feels like a different world.
The landscape is a stark white canvas, unmarred and silent, glittering under the weak northern sun.
I pull myself out fully, shaking the snow from my pelt in a cascade of white powder, before signaling the pack to follow.
One by one, wolves emerge from the snowbank like spirits rising from the earth, shaking off the storm's weight and reforming into formation.
We do a quick head count through the bond—every wolf accounted for, every heart still beating.
Relief pulses through me like warm blood returning to frozen limbs.
We're okay and on the move again, I send to Easton and Diaval, feeling their concern ease at my words.
Good, Easton responds, his mental voice tinged with the fatigue of maintaining a vigil through the storm. That was a nasty one. We could see it from above—thought it might swallow you whole.
Takes more than a storm to kill a winter wolf, I reply, and I feel his smile through the bond before he falls quiet.
The wind carries the scent of ice and rock as I lead the pack toward the cavern that will take us to Dunnum.
My muscles ache from the hour spent curled in the cold, but the rhythm of running soothes away the stiffness.
In the distance, Diaval's dragon looms over the mountain like a dark god watching over his domain.
His silhouette is stark against the pale sky, wings folded, head turned toward us—watching, waiting, protecting.
A ripple of panic shoots through the pack at the sight of him, their fear sharp and sudden.
To wolves who have never seen a dragon, he must look like death itself perched on the mountainside.
I reach out through the bond, soothing them with images of Diaval in human form—laughing at dinner, holding my hand, pressing gentle kisses to my temple.
This is my mate, I remind them. He will never harm you.
He is your protector now, as much as I am.
Slowly, their fear subsides, replaced by the steady thrum of trust.
As we draw nearer to the cavern entrance, I let out a howl—a call of joy and recognition that echoes off the frozen cliffs.
Diaval responds with a plume of hot steam that billows into the cold air like a dragon's greeting, and the last of the pack's tension eases as we slip beneath his massive form and enter the cavern.
The interior is exactly as I remember—icy walls that glitter like shards of crystal, catching what little light filters through and throwing rainbows across the frozen surfaces.
The floor is slick beneath our paws, treacherous enough that we slow to a careful walk.
Memories of our last journey through here surface fresh in my mind—the frost worms, the desperate fight, Khal's stone gaze saving us at the last possible moment. We killed both frost worms back then.
But as we move deeper into the cavern, the ice beneath us cracks with a sound like breaking bones, and a wormling bursts forth from the frozen floor.
Only two feet long, it's barely a threat—more startled than dangerous, its tiny eyes blinking in confusion at the army of wolves surrounding it.
I catch it in my jaws before it can flee, biting down with a satisfying crunch that splits it into three pieces.
The taste is bitter, like frozen copper and decay, but I swallow it down and press forward.
Where there's one wormling, there might be more.
The frost worms we killed must have had eggs we didn't find.
Something to deal with later. Right now, we need to keep moving.
The cavern grows lighter as we progress, the glow of the outside world drawing nearer with each step.
And then I see it—the first of the two frost worms that Khal turned to stone, standing sentinel near the exit like a grotesque statue.