Silver Scars and Wolfsbane

The mountain dawn filtered through the frost-rimed timber panes of the cabin, painting the hand-hewn logs in hues of pale silver and cool slate. Outside, the sub-zero chill of the Badlands was absolute, freezing the pine needles into brittle glass. Inside, the massive stone hearth kept the room warm, the aroma of crackling cedar mingling with the rich, earthy scent of dried winter sage. Sierra sat on the edge of…