We marched on Crescent Hollow with nine packs at our back.
It should have been more. It should have been the whole territory, after the Founding Moon and the fords and everything the stones had shown. But Damien had spent his last weeks doing the one thing that still worked for him reminding the wavering packs, in blood, what it cost to stand against a sitting Alpha. Talia had been the first message. She hadn't been the last. By the time we marched, the territory had sorted itself into the brave, the bought, and the terrified, and only the brave rode with us.
Nine packs. Cain said it was enough. Cain said a great many things on that march that I could feel through the bond were more hope than certainty.
I rode beside him at the head of the column, and the closer we came to Crescent Holl
