Vynasha ran her tongue over her slightly too-sharp teeth and turned to study the other side of their path. The village was ringed by the greater forest and the mountains beyond this and the rush of a nearby river, called the Silver, sang in her ears. Shivers slipped down her spine as she recalled the deadly plunge she and Grolthox had taken down the falls. Wolfsbane had warned her the waters were full of magick. It was a wonder the superstitious wylderfolk should choose to build their home close by.

Vynasha’s vision turned red. Red like Wynyth’s roses, like the blood they’d shed to make new life. Red like her father’s lifeblood seeping into the river. Red like the ruby on the hilt of her dagger, glinting in the sun as she pressed its blade to the alpha’s neck.

Her first clear memory was of Ceddrych’s smiling golden face as he helped her cross the yard to Mother’s rose garden. A time when the land was in bloom and the world shone in her child’s gaze with an effervescent glow. Vynasha had seen magick in everything when she was still small, before Wynyth’s passing the following winter. “Watch over my little starling,” Mother had whispered with her dying breath. Ceddrych had only drawn Vynasha closer and sworn, “With my life.”