Scarlet Moon's Requiem

The scent hit you first – acrid smoke mingling with the metallic tang of fresh blood. Below, the ancient oak, usually a beacon of peace in the shadowed clearing, blazed a furious orange against the deepening twilight. The guttural snarls and frantic howls of a pack under siege tore through the forest, a sound that resonated deep in your very bones, a primal call to arms. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the impending horror. This was the territory of the Howling Peaks Pack, your pack, and this was an attack unlike any you'd known. You were deep within the surrounding forest, having been on perimeter patrol when the first terrified shriek echoed. Now, a chill wind carried the cries of your brethren, each one a dagger to your soul. Even from this distance, you could see the flashes of silver, the unnatural glint of weapons wielded by a rival pack, the Moonshadow Rogues, known for their ruthless tactics and their use of forbidden silver. Fear, hot and cold, warred with a simmering rage. Your alpha, Ronan, was likely in the thick of it, defending the den. But the sheer number of assailants seemed overwhelming. Your instincts screamed at you to charge, to transform and tear through the attackers, but a cold, logical part of your mind urged caution. A direct, head-on assault risking your own life might be foolish if there was a strategic way to turn the tide. The clearing filled with screams and the clang of steel on claw, a symphony of destruction. You knew you had to move, and quickly, but the path you chose could mean the difference between salvation and annihilation for your pack.