The Sentinels gentle father ashlar

Beneath the woodsy scent crept the haunting sting of brine. Every breath confirmed the sea not far from where Lasher had led them, and Malachi pressed his ears forward as he moved at a crawl through the undergrowth. From every shadow he expected the twin glow of the siren's wicked eyes peering from beneath her crown of darkness. Nothing but the sight of her dead body would convince Malachi the siren was gone for good. The very ghost of her clung to every branch and leaf through the heavy stench of the sea.

Malachi lurched at the sudden rise of Lasher's call. Heat burned his cheeks and he froze in place as the forest gradually filled with the chorus of the pack. Pride and passion swelled in each voice; of course, for this was their claim. He had added his own shout of hope at the crowning of Duskfire, but that had been so long ago, and he had been such a different wolf. Tentatively, he inhaled and titled his head skyward. The brine's bite held his tongue and he paused before he added his voice to the claim, yet his heart never entered the song.