The log settled with a soft crackle. Sparks drifted upward.
Thessian returned to his chair, prepared to keep watch through the night.
Then he heard it.
The howl started distant, somewhere deep in the forest to the north. A long, mournful sound that echoed through the mountains, ancient and primal, the call of a predator claiming territory. It was answered moments later by another howl, this one closer, from the east. Then another from the west.
A pack. Patrolling the territory. Communicating positions, confirming boundaries, warning outsiders.
Nothing unusual. Nothing threatening. The packs in these mountains knew this was his territory, and knew he was the Alpha King, the Lycan who stood above all other werewolves in the hierarchy. They wouldn't come near his cabin. Wouldn't challenge him. This was just normal pack behavior, wolves calling to each other in the night.
But it was loud. Louder than usual, or perhaps the mountain air carried it further tonight.
