She paced up and down the ridge, obsidian eyes on Fort Town in the valley below. There’d been many times on the journey back when she’d thought she wouldn’t make it, but she had. In two days the moon would be in its full phase; she’d be able to enter Fort Town, and mingle with the humans inside the walls. She really hoped Clave and Andreyez would be there, they’d assured her they would, and she had so much to tell them.

  Shivering, she glanced at the ominous mountains looming behind her, casting blue-black shadows into the valley below. Here, the barrier still held, but for how long? It was weakening, just like it had in the northern lands, even Corollay’s Chasm, the gateway to the north, had fallen to the poison of the wastelands. She hoped the townsfolk had fled before it; they’d been nice people. She’d wanted to stop there to rest and recover on her return from the northern lands, but like the rest of the northern lands consumed by the poison of the wastelands, it was nothing but ruins; it was as if it had been deserted for hundreds of years rather than less than one…

  She gave herself a full body shake, starting at her head through to the tip of her tail. The snow that had landed upon her fur flew off in all directions. Everything in the north beyond the mountains had succumbed to the encroaching Wastelands…

  Her eyes returned to Fort Town, it was the closest eastern settlement to the northern lands, and she wondered if they knew that Corollay’s Chasm had fallen and how much the Wastelands had grown over the last year. She was almost certain it was the reason for the change in the seasons.

  She had wanted to rest once she’d made it this side of the mountains, but the storm that had been brewing in the deep north had followed her, its malefic intent growing with every passing day. She’d hoped that once she’d made it to this side of the mountains the storm would fizzle out, but she’d known even then that it had been a false hope she clung to, using it as the impetus to push herself beyond her limitations and get out of the northern lands.

  Silver light rolled over her white fur, flooding the valley below as the waxing moon burst out from behind the mountains. Its silver light had a weight to it she’d never felt before; she shuddered as it crawled over her fur like something dead. Ears flat against her skull, hackles raised, she sank to the snow covered ground fear overruling her. Even the moon felt as though it had been tainted by the Wasteland.

  She turned her eyes to the silver disk hanging bloated and broken in the night sky, and whimpered. How is this possible? How can the moon be in pieces? How could the poison of the Wasteland affect the moon?

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  Behind her, on the other side of the mountains she could feel the storm’s intensity growing. Wind rushed over the mountain, carrying the mournful cries of the frenzied ghost wolves within it; icy fingers raked through her heavy winter coat, carrying with it the acrid smell of the Wastelands.

  Growling low in her throat she forced herself to stand. She would not lay down and die here! ‘You can do this, Myst,’ she said to herself, ‘Remember your promise.’ Vigorously she shook the snow from her pelt and fear from her heart, fully aware of the three sets of amber eyes watching from the edge of the frozen forest below her rocky perch. She began to angle her way up the mountain and away from the Eastern Pakisha’s territory.

  Had they noticed that something was wrong with the moon? Or were they too busy watching me making sure I don’t cross the boundary into their lands? Would they even care that there’s something wrong with the moon? She sighed, it was going to take longer to get to safety, but it was necessary if she wanted to avoid them.

  Her skin was prickling unpleasantly as she trotted along the ridge. How long have I got before the Wasteland storm crests the mountains? At least I will know when it does because the nearest bell tower will start ringing. Avoiding the ghost wolves within the storm would be best… And despite her best intentions, her thoughts inevitably turned to Fallon and that ill fated day.

  She shook her head to clear it, and picked up the pace, aware of the others below keeping up with her, and sighed again. The Eastern Pakisha wasn’t any worse than any of the other pakishas, herds, or settlements – Wolf Guqula like herself, had not been welcome anywhere since Shayla’s rampage, but it was annoying that they were here now.

  A strong sense of foreboding washed over her; there was something different about this storm. I don’t think it will be long before the storm crests the mountains, and I really don’t want to be caught out in it, she thought, increasing her trotting speed up the steep slope to where a small triangle of spindly and sparse frozen forest clung defiantly to the mountain’s face.

  The Wastelands’ scent on the wind burned the delicate membrane of her nostrils as she paused at the spindly forest’s edge, one paw raised, her ears moving back and forth. She could hear the howling and snapping of the ghost wolves within the swirling winds as they climbed the mountains at her back; they were getting closer. The warning bells would start ringing anytime now and she needed to be much further down the mountain before they did.

  The three sets of amber eyes were still keeping pace below her. They remained within the Eastern Pakisha boundaries, however, if she ran down the mountain from here and angled right, she would never cross into their territory but would remain on the free lands. She hoped the Eastern Pakisha warriors would respect that. Growling low in her throat, she went from a standing start to a flat out gallop down the mountain in a race against the northern storm and the ghost wolves travelling with it.