Cedar Falls had been a pack of four hundred and twelve wolves.
Levi had looked up the number in Marcus's archive before they left — the membership documentation from six years before the Cult had found them, before the specific geography of their territory had intersected with Rowan's sixty-two-year plan in ways that no one in Cedar Falls had known to prevent. The survey maps showed a territory roughly the size of Silver Fang's, laid along a river system that split into three tributaries before it reached the valley, the pack buildings distributed along each fork in the clustered, organic pattern of a community that had grown according to need rather than plan.
Ember had grown up in the eastern fork cluster. She had shown him, the second night of travel, pointing to the map in the fire
