The first sign is the sky holding its breath.
The second is the wolves.
A ripple moves through the valley like an invisible shockwave, and every wolf around us stiffens at the same moment. Warriors lift their faces upward, eyes wide, ears tilting as if listening for something only instinct can hear.
I follow their gaze.
The moon flickers.
Not like a cloud passing over it. Not like a trick of light.
It flickers like a candle that is about to go out.
A thin black line appears across its lower edge. A single fissure, sharp and unnatural, slicing through the silver glow. At first it looks like a shadow cast from somewhere else. Then the fissure pulses, widening slightly with a deep, resonant vibration that I feel before I hear.
The wolves nearest me gasp. One warrior drops to his knees
