Page 3 of The Moonborn's Curse

Dain, ever the fastest, snatched it mid-flight with a smirk. "For me? You shouldn't have."

"Wasn't for you," Brann shot back, grinning. "But if you're quick enough to steal from the future Highclaw, I won't argue."

"Bold words for a man still selling last season's cuts," Veyr drawled, hands tucked lazily into his belt.

Brann barked a laugh, shaking his head as the boys moved on, Hagan's siblings trailing after them.

"Wait up!" Renna, his little sister, raced forward, her small legs pumping as she struggled to keep up. Behind her, Kastor and Jorik, his two younger brothers, ran just as hard, their wolves already better controlled than hers—shifts flickering through limbs as their claws threatened to push through soft hands.

Hagan glanced over his shoulder and sighed. "Go home, Renna."

She huffed, planting her fists on her hips, blue eyes flashing defiantly. "But I want to come!"

"You're too slow," Dain grinned, deliberately tossing the jerky into his mouth. "We don't wait for pups."

Renna bared her teeth at him, small but fierce. "I could be faster if I didn't have to wear stupid skirts!"

"You can be fast all you want," Hagan said, ruffling her dark curls despite her scowl, "but you're not coming. Stay with Mother."

She huffed again, but Kastor—the most level-headed of them all—grabbed her arm. "Come on, Renna. You know he won't let us."

She kicked at the dirt but finally let herself be pulled away, Jorik lingering a moment longer before following, looking over his shoulder as though he still hoped they'd change their minds.

"Tell Mother I said she owes me a favour!" Hagan called after them, grinning.

Jorik rolled his eyes and muttered something about telling Dad when he got back, but he led their sulking sister away, leaving the three older boys to make their escape toward adventure.

They kept moving, dodging greetings from villagers who either bowed their heads or clapped their shoulders as they passed. Everyone knew them—Hagan, the son of the Highclaw, Dain, his future Fang, and Veyr, his future Shadow. The three of them had grown up together , brothers in all ways but blood.

"Morning, Alphason!"

"Training hard, boys?"

"The Highclaw would be proud!"

“Have you finished your scrollwork yet?"

That last voice made all three of them grimace in unison.

Elder Marrok.

The old wolf stood at the edge of the square, arms folded, his weathered face sharp with scrutiny. A veteran of the last Feral War, his presence alone was enough to force discipline into even the most restless pups.

Hagan and Dain exchanged a glance, an unspoken agreement to make their escape.

"Ah, Elder Marrok!" Veyr greeted smoothly, stepping forward before they could be pulled into some long-winded lecture. "We were just on our way to see the Head Enforcer. Urgent business."

Marrok narrowed his eyes. "Is that so?"

"Very serious matters," Veyr continued without hesitation, placing a hand over his heart as if gravely burdened. "He needed us to discuss... uh... strategic patrol formations."

Hagan coughed to cover a laugh, while Dain was openly grinning, peeling an orange he had pilfered in slow amusement.

Marrok didn't look convinced. "Strategic patrol formations? or sneaking to the borders again?"

"No, sir, we have learnt our lesson well." Veyr nodded solemnly. "Just attending a training session for future safeguarding of our borders. Very top-level. Wouldn't want to waste your time with the details."

Marrok let the silence drag—long enough for Veyr's smile to twitch at the edges.

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