In the damp, vaulted holding cells beneath the western seawall of the Isle of Whispers, thirty captive wolves sat shivering in star-metal chains. They were northern scouts from the River-Claw clan and southern skirmishers from the Bloodthorn border redoubts who had been captured by imperial corsairs over the past eighteen months. All of them were emaciated, covered in purplish venom-lesions, their eyes clouded with the dull, agonizing delirium of the…
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