The wind howled through the Shattered Peaks like a scorned spirit, biting at Korrath’s exposed skin as he crouched behind a jagged outcrop. Frost clung to his braids, the bones woven within them clattering softly. Below, the elk herd picked its way across the icy slope—*easy prey, but the clan needs more than meat.* His fingers flexed around Fangcleaver’s haft, the axe’s molten core hissing as snowflakes kissed its edge. A twig snapped. Not from the elk. He turned, slow as shifting stone, am...