Mary Ann’s POV
Several months later.
Modric hated the northern cliffs.
Not because they were ugly.
Not because the journey had been difficult.
Not even because I had forced him to leave Ironclaw for an entire week without allowing him to turn the trip into an unofficial inspection of neighboring packs.
He hated the wind.
“This is unreasonable.”
I continued painting.
Modric stood several feet behind me with his coat pulled tightly around his body.
I smiled.
“What is unreasonable?”
“The weather.”
“It is beautiful.”
“It is trying to kill us.”
I looked toward the sea.
The northern cliffs were exactly as I had imagined them.
Perhaps better.
Dark rock stretched along the coastline in both directions. Far below us, enormous waves crashed against the cliff walls, leaving white fo
