Of all his children, Mortis most worried about Whisper. Once again, a strange power had swept over the world. It felt akin to the Long Night, but different. For one, it had seemed oddly selective of the wolves that had experienced the phenomenon. He had been one, and Whisper another. But the wounds his daughter had walked out with were far greater than his own.
She was raised in a healer's den, and had all the best care available to her, but there was more to recovery than just the body. “Whisper?” he called, following her scent around the den. “I thought for your first birthday, we could pick you out a weapon.” something to help her feel stronger.
Marauder
