The woman pushed back a strand of hair and yawned. She had lost track of time in the library. Her back had begun to protest the ordeal she was putting it through, stiff from sitting in the same position for too long. She leaned back slightly, rolling her shoulders, and gazed lazily at the page before flipping it over. The words danced on the paper, a fine hand with ink that had long dried. Every line required focus to interpret, an effort that was beginning to test her.
Everything she had known about Ironshade had always been second hand, told through whispers, gossip from other people, half-formed opinions, or the clipped tone of her brother. But she wanted more. She needed more than just the filtered truths of others.
She remembered what an elder had said at the council meeting before the Dawbreak wolves arrived. Maybe it was the quiet elder who handled Ironshade's records and archives that had said it, if memory served her well.
