Chapter 42: Aiden

Thunder and Frost cover the ground at a smooth wolf-trot, keen eyes sweeping the landscape, ears picking up every little sound. The scents of the intruders are fixed in their minds now. Eight wolves, five males and three females, all young adults in good health. The trail is strong enough to last for days, although there is water on the reserve that may weaken it in places.

Now we are patrolling Blackmarsh land, Baxter and I observing through the eyes of our wolves. To the east runs the high stone wall that I saw from the car. To the north, bordering the bleak expanse of the nature reserve, a boundary fence is stretched between sturdy posts, high enough to prevent a deer’s leap but not a werewolf’s bound. The land staggers westwards in broken strides, the marsh scrabbling itself in among jagged rock and tufted grasses until it stretches unbroken in a rolling, fetid, lush expanse of greens and blacks and glittering water. Lines of white poles have been driven into