The Vale turned silver as I flew, the wind singing against my new-born wings. Each beat felt cleaner, steadier, as if the Guardian's gift had rewritten the map of my very bones. Below, endless ridges of forest rolled away into a haze of gray vapor. The breath of the land rose in curls, wrapping trunks and branches in a pale glow. Somewhere beyond that curtain lay the hidden valley the Guardian had hinted at—a place older than any pack, older even than the curse I had come to break.
I kept my eyes on the horizon. A ridge of black stone parted the sky like a knife, and behind it, the mist stained the air the color of moon-washed milk. The sight tightened something inside me. That had to be it—the Valley Wrapped in Mist. The place the dreams never named aloud but always showed in flashes just before I woke.
