Ravensblood Forest dead man's chest

Murkwood. It was an apropos name for this dark forest, constantly cast in shadow—even the Ridge had been given some semblance of light.

It perfectly mirrored the condition of his soul.

Noxir and a pair of she-wolves had gathered to the summons, and now it was Hex's turn to arrive on scene. He gave no greeting nor remark, instead standing to the side and waiting for the next command.

A hunt, apparently. He had organized his pack's one and only big game pursuit, but where some wolves might have smarted from the demotion, the lack of power, Hex found relief in it.

He was not in charge. Perhaps he was never meant to have been in charge.