Bright Moon - a land sullied by mystery and the ravaging scars of a terrible fire. Abandoned as a pack land for years, the terra has been used as a gathering place for the brazen and bloodthirsty drawn there by the lingering pall of death. Yet from the ashes there comes an unordained phoenix, the rainbow hues of hope glinting in her mismatched globes. Through the obsidian drapes obscuring the scenery, she alone was able to catch the perfumed aroma of new life on the breeze and hear the sluggish streams flowing ever swifter into the morning.

Thus, with a purpose, she set out to map the incognita, discovering daily the extent of the reawakening and unearthing within herself a desire to return the landscape to its former glory. Now she stands tall as privileged Alpha of the lands, lording over the rock-strewn prairie and bountiful forests with a firm but gentle paw.

Having finally realized her deepest longing to be a queen, Satowra is focused solely on the revival and maintenance of the Bright Moon Pack. Her question to each prospective warrior that comes to the border is simple:

"Do you have what it takes?"

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A glimmering blizzard swirled in powerful waves through Kershov’s breast, making him swell with pride and cool anticipation. A handful of new wolves had joined his army and replaced the worthless deserters that had threatened to drain Abendrot of its newly found power. The colorless King had allotted each warrior their place in the pack—finally. He’d bound his band into a single cohesive unit in order to crush any dissent or disorder that had plagued the army before. He had his ferocious soldiers, his fearless assassins, and his clever spies.

It was like reliving his days as a tundra gangleader. Only now, the shark-smile slit into Kershov’s maw held true pleasure, as if the arctic dragon were finally appreciating life, and his scarred ears were thrown forward in alert excitement rather than tense aggression, and the wolves pounding behind him through the woods were a smattering of male and female, experienced and callow, each suffused with a soul that shone through their brilliant soldiers’ stares. They would mark their borders. Soon, all the land would know . . .

and shudder to know that Abendrot’s sunrise was coming . . .

A low growl resonated from deep within Ker’s chest as he ran. It held no violence, or meaning of any kind. It was . . . a sort of song, a bass-line hum of vitality. The Emperor held it when he paused on the first end of the border between Abendrot and Bright Moon. His starving smile stretched. Onyx lanterns flickered with hunger. The journey to this stretch of his land’s wall had a dual purpose: to strengthen the border and hopefully speak with Bright Moon’s Alphess, Satowra. Ker had some important matters to discuss with that particular fae.

A snowstorm howl roared in a magnificent wave from Kershov’s tattered maw. He called his wolves to gather near—and invited members of the neighbor pack to visit the small stretch of terra that served as no-wolf’s land between both empires.



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