Chapter 172 Sable

• Sable
• I watch breathlessly as wolves stream across the sloping plain below our position. They move like phantoms in the slanted sunlight, legs pumping, fur billowing, the smaller groups moving in such fluid synchronicity that it almost looks like a dance. Their howls sound more like mournful cries, and it strikes terror through my heart. How many wolves will we mourn when this is over?
• I’m tired of death. I’m tired of fighting. I just want to be with my mates.