The situation here resembled a savage stone pit, left over from an era before humanity had even invented letters. The towering trees surrounding the arena had been stained layer by layer with the blood of wolves spilled over centuries. The ice crystals carried by the wind had etched those stains into the pores of the marble like ancient runes.
The roar rising from the throats of hundreds of thousands of wolves packing the stands was filled with a raw, coarse, and unadulterated hatred intense enough to shake the tectonic plates deep beneath the earth. The air held more than just a freezing winter breath; the diesel stains left behind by the clans upon their arrival, the sweaty scent of the mounts, and the heavy vapor of amber, musk, and crushed lily oils worn by the adorned Omegas fighting for dominance in the lower tiers of the stands all bled into one another.
