Freda Pov
"Keep the spear steady, Urdon."
"My arm is staying up."
The three new riders did not carry steel spears or iron shields. They wore long black wool cloaks that went all the way down to their stirrups, and their horses were large and grey with heavy leather saddles that had no marks on the flaps. The six neutral warriors riding behind them held their hands flat on their knees, their short iron rods tucked into their belts under their coats.
"The line is stopping, Alpha Caleb." The old wolf with deep grey hair and a long scar across his left eyebrow did not get down from his saddle, but he lifted a thick roll of white parchment from his side pouch.
"The deadline was sunset, Elder Silas." Caleb did not lower his right hand from his knife hilt, but his boots stayed frozen in the cabbage patch mud.
"The Council does not look at the chimney shadow, Caleb," Silas countered, holding the sheet flat against his thigh.
