Chapter 61. The Captive

RONN

The Raveners have little in the way of kit. There is not much to see; bags of clothes, fresh kill of deer and (surprisingly) a gazen, maps, and the likes of traveling folk.

It puzzles me still: how winter wolves would be this coordinated and organized. Striking without taking captives or loot. I’m not one for riddles, though. Besides, I’m grateful to them, though. The necessary distraction.

The last tent Is larger than the others and has an odd smell of cheese and mothballs. I take it to be the captain’s quarters, the rather large white one that Caivan had chosen to spare. The one that killed Allos. I push his sneering face from my mind as my eyes fall on a long, silver coat laid out on a small box.

“It fits,” Sirgil says, his yellow eyes gleaming in the darkness.

“I’ll take your word for it,” I say and slip into the coat. Without a second thought, I snatched the box as well.

When I step outside, I half expect to see white shapes and fangs