Bound tight, the six Council wolves wore ropes laced with ground wolfsbane - just strong enough to dull shifting, never break it. From deep within his coat, Dorian pulled the cord, a move that made Sage wonder if the man carried whole weapon stashes sorted like emergency plans.
Over by the toppled tree in that open patch, they stood shoulder to shoulder. Not animals now but six people shaped like wolves once were - three male faces, two female, one so young he might still be in school. Each dressed head to toe in dull black uniforms. Their eyes gave nothing away, fixed on some distant point only they could see.
Each one fixed their eyes on Sage.
Back in the clothes Dorian left out, she stood up slowly. A thin line of red crossed her shoulder - a swipe from the clash, nothing deep, already closing. The mess on her lips stayed untouched, though. That first hit had drawn blood, and she let it show.
Deliberately.
