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Though her sister had taken to human things, Aurèle was a true wolf. She lived in the now. She was bored with the past, bored with old dusty bones and things that stunk like must and dead leaves. The past did not matter. All that mattered was the now and the then, which she had ensured by having Anatole. He would make her immortal. Her ambition was great, and her son’s would be equally so.
Despite her son’s obvious grumblings, the white she-wolf took the lead with her broad-shouldered child not far behind. Above, the dark shadow of a crow followed. Neither of the wolves seemed too concerned by its presence. As they went, Aurèle slowed only to sniff the air once or twice. “Anatole, what do you smell?” The dark coated wolf lifted his head, taking several deep breaths. “Another wolf came by here a day ago. Male. Loner. Shouldn’t be a problem,” he added, green eyes glimmering darkly.