RED

Rana was more efficient than any rooster. She shook us awake as soon as the first rays of sunlight tinged the horizon with watery orange, spouting some nonsense about fried eggs and garlic mushrooms and hash browns.

"It's too early," I mumbled, burying my face in the Wraith's fur. "Come back later."

"Come on, you lazy louts!" Rana exclaimed, grabbing my wrist and hauling me up with surprising strength. I swayed on my feet and pawed at my groggy eyes, still drunk with sleep. "The witch said she wouldn't make breakfast until everyone was there to enjoy it."

"Probably because you ate our share of the lasagna last night," I grumbled, bracing myself against the trellis as I regained my bearings. "Go back to sleep, Rana. It'll do your wounds some good."

The wyvern rolled her eyes. "I've been sleeping for days. Besides, the witch made up a poultice for it with a bunch of herbs from the garden. It feels way better already."

My fingers, which were already massaging the back of my neck, instinctively sought out the place where the magma had splashed up against my skin. "Huh," I said, raising both eyebrows at the smooth, unbroken skin there. The witch must have treated my wounds as well, while I was sleeping in her cottage. Come to think of it, the swelling in my throat had gone down too; it no longer hurt to speak or swallow.

That thought reminded me of how parched I was, chasing away the last blessed remnants of sleep. And the thought of running water reminded me of another pressing need that could no longer be ignored.

"Alright," I said, patting the Wraith on the head before heading for the privacy of the trees. "I'll meet you inside in a second."

"Thank the Goddess!" Rana cried. A glance over my shoulder showed the wyvern steepling her hands in mock reverence, raising them towards the sky. "I'm so hungry I could eat a horse."

"If the horse doesn't eat you first," I muttered, glancing over my shoulder. Eddy was already up and grazing, pulling carrots up by their feathery heads and tossing them into the air, where she caught them like those rodents in the Ashen Plains. Perhaps it was the distance or a trick of the light, but I could have sworn the foal had almost doubled in size overnight.

The Wraith's wolfish snort was the only indication that anyone had heard me.

An hour later, we were all crammed into the benches of a modest picnic table at the backside of the cottage. It was nestled between the drooping fringe of a willow tree and a great iron dish filled with water, miraculously fountaining of its own accord. White lily-pads drifted on the surface, shielding darting fish from the sharp eyes of passing birds.

Rana only had eyes for the spread of food, which covered every inch of available space on the tabletop and looked more fitting to feed an army than a small group of four. Still, the wyvern and the Wraith took up enough bench space that we had to sit them across from each other, leaving the witch and I to squeeze into whatever space was left beside them. I didn't mind the brushing of the Wraith's knee against mine so much, though it looked like the witch had to deal with a far less considerate partner, whose flying elbow almost caught her in the face as Rana heaped a bit of everything on her plate.

Rana was about to shove half a loaf of bread in her mouth when the witch held out her hands, palms facing up. "Before we eat, I would like to take a moment to pay tribute to the Earth Mother," she said, motioning with her head for us to join hands in a circle.

The Wraith arched a mocking brow, but he was wise enough not to argue with the woman who'd almost killed the lot of us without even lifting a finger. He laced his fingers through mine, squeezing tight before grudgingly offering the flat of his hand to the wyvern across the table. Rana scowled as she set down her bread, taking up his hand with an air of distaste. The look she gave the witch, however, was far more accommodating; her eyes went all starry, like they did when she was contemplating what to eat first. I tucked that little tidbit of knowledge away, resolving to keep more snacks on my person in future.

The witch indulged us all with a red-painted smile. "Thank you, Earth Mother, for this bountiful harvest. We give thanks for everything that yields its life to nurture our own. In honour of this sacred cycle, we will now go around the circle and state something that we are thankful for."

She looked pointedly at me, as if sensing I was the weakest link. I cleared my throat, feeling somewhat foolish as I addressed the air, even though it vibrated with the presence of something other-worldly. "I am grateful to share this meal in the company of new friends?" I asked, hoping that would be sufficient.

The witch nodded, smile broadening as she turned to the Wraith. Without missing a beat, he said: "I pray to no Gods. But I thank you for your hospitality."

A shadow flitted through the witch's eyes, but she respected his contribution with a diplomatic nod, turning to Rana. The wyvern also looked a bit uncomfortable to be addressing the Earth Mother.

"I normally pray to the Sun Goddess Rya," she admitted, frowning at her plate. "Though she hasn't been answering of late. That's actually why I'm here."

Rana pulled her hands back, breaking the circle. The witch accepted the unravelling ceremony with grace, letting go of my fingers and settling back into her seat, though the Wraith made no move to do so.

"What quest brings you so far from home?" the witch asked. "Perhaps the Earth Mother brought us all together so that we could help you see it through."

Rana loosed a long-held breath. "Perhaps. I'm seeking the messenger of the Gods, so I can ask Rya for aid. It is my hope that with her Blessing, I can bring a stop to the atrocities in the Hidden Vale."

There was that name, that place again. Understanding flickering in everyone else's eyes, but I still remained in the dark. "What atrocities?" I asked, leaning forward. "What's going on, exactly?"

The witch shot me a puzzled look. "Are you not a lycan of the Blood Moon Pack?"

"Of course I am," I said, careful to keep my rising temper out of my tone. "What does that have to do with anything?"

It was the Wraith who answered, his voice quiet and strained. "The Blood Moon Pack is at the centre of it all. Your Alpha, Rogan, is the founder of the Hidden Vale project."

"What project?" I demanded to know, ripping my hand free of his. "Does it have something to do with those stolen hatchlings Rana was talking about the other day?"

His blood-red eyes slid over to me, testing. "Yes."

I wanted to protest, to defend the people who raised me, but the sinking feeling in my gut was enough to make me keep my mouth shut. The Blood Moon hunters left for days, sometimes weeks at a time, often bringing back the bare minimum of what was required to sustain the community. It was why tending the gardens was such a priority for the maidens; vegetables had been always been a staple of our diets. I'd always assumed that game in the Wylds was scarce, but the last few days of trekking through the woods had directly disproved that.

There was also the fact that I'd lived on the fringes of their society. How many groups of people had I seen huddle closer as I stepped into a room, to close off their ranks to my curious eyes and ears? I couldn't help but wonder if there had been something more sinister in their discussions than a shared dislike of my presence.

"Will someone please explain," I said quietly, staring blankly at my plate.

The witch took it upon herself to unwind the tension wrapped around our throats, cutting off our words. "Why don't we talk while we eat?" she suggested, reaching for the garlic mushrooms. "We don't want everything to go cold."

Rana didn't need to be told twice, though she chewed a little more slowly than I would have anticipated, watching and waiting for the conversation to unfold. Knowing a dead-end when I saw one, I turned to the Wraith. "You promised me an explanation."

He sighed, setting down his fork. "Long story short, there's a rocky trench that cuts through the heart of the Wylds, not too far from the Blood Moon settlement. It's called the Hidden Vale because it's black as pitch inside, and no-one knows how deep it goes or what lies at the bottom -- save for the lycans," he amended, throwing the word around as if he wasn't one. "A couple of years ago, it came to my attention that pups from some of the other Packs were going missing; usually the Packs that most strongly contested Rogan's vision of a united lycan nation. I did some digging and found out that Blood Moon hunters were rounding them up and taking them into the trench. The hunters always came out, but the kids never did."

Rana bared her teeth. "It's not only lycan pups. It started out slow, the occasional egg going missing every few months, but they've been getting bolder since then. Entire clutches, stolen right from under our noses; the wyverns guarding them crushed to a bloody pulp. We have no idea how they're getting past our defenses, but there's been talk of leaving our ancestral home and starting up somewhere new." She shook her head at the thought. "The temple of Rya has the entire history of our people carved into its walls. To leave it all behind..."

I felt an echo of her anguish, but something didn't quite add up. "How do you know its the lycans stealing your eggs? If you haven't seen anyone coming or going?"

"The nests reek of wet dog afterward," she muttered, wrinkling her nose. "Though my father did manage to kill one, once. Bit of an ugly fellow, with a great scar slashing through his eye."

My blood turned to slush in my veins. "Black hair, with brown eyes?" I asked, recalling the imposing man who'd been the Blood Moon Beta before Gordon. I'd only been with the Blood Moon Pack for a few years when Horace lost his life in a hunting accident -- or so Rogan had claimed -- but the memory of his mate was still branded in my brain. Sylva had wielded the ashwood blade, but I'd always known it was grief that killed her.

"Aye," Rana said, cocking her head. "Did you know the man?"

"Yes, but not very well," I admitted, chewing on my bottom lip.

Even more memorable than Horace and Sylva was the vacuum of power they'd left in their wake. Sylva had been the acting Luna for years, as Rogan had refused to take another wife after his first died of the wasting sickness. I'd always assumed that loss was why he'd offered me sanctuary with the Blood Moon Pack as a child, but it seemed his kindness had been exhausted with my charity case. Rogan had merely stood back and watched as men and women waged deadly battles in the attempt to claim the newly vacant rank of Beta. In the end it had been Gordon and Mysandra who'd persevered, though the cooks had sometimes whispered -- usually after being delegated less savoury tasks -- that the Head Cook had sprinkled poison in the tea of Gordon's strongest competitors.

"Well, I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not," Rana said. "He deserved the bloody end he got."

Though I didn't warm to the idea of violence against anyone, I couldn't deny the truth of her words. "So we know the Blood Moon Pack are kidnapping children and taking them to the Hidden Vale. But why? What do they stand to gain?"

Rana shrugged. "I was hoping you'd be able to tell us."

I shook my head. "I was certainly fostered by their community, but never adopted into their ranks. When I wasn't doing menial labour, I spent much of my time alone or in the healing hut, recieving treatment for my heart condition. I wasn't privy to any sensitive information."

The wyvern sighed, heaping more hash browns onto her plate. Realising there wouldn't be any left if I didn't claim some soon, I started filling my own plate, amazed that the pangs in my stomach persevered despite the grim topic at hand.

"You have a heart condition?" the Wraith asked, concern colouring his tone. I refused to look his way, to see the shift in his perspective of me. "Is there something you need to take for that?"

"There was a tonic," I said with a shrug. "I was in the process of weaning off it, but I lost the last of it in that fight with the Orchid Mantis."

The witch swallowed noisily in her haste to chip in. "If you remember the ingredients, I can help fix you a new one."

I forced a bland smile. "That would be nice," I said, even though the thought of that tonic was enough to make my palms sweat. But her gesture was a kind one, and I didn't want to seem ungrateful for her hospitality. "To whom do I owe my thanks?"

"Gretchen," she said, screwing up her face at the antiquated name. "And yes, before you ask, my parents hated me. To whom do I say: You're welcome?"

All eyes turned on me. I realised that as reticent as my companions had been, I had yet to entrust them with my own name as well. "They called me Red Moon," I said. "After the blood they found me covered in as a child, and to signify that I was a ward of the Blood Moon Pack."

The Wraith choked on his food. "How... original."

I shot him a scathing look, channeling the heat from my cheeks into my gaze. "I know it's a little on the nose, but it's the best they could do on short notice."

His entire face looked strained, as if he were on the verge of coughing again, or worse: laughing. Rana was not so reserved in her reaction, however, and her banging fist made the plates rattle as she cackled away. Only Gretchen seemed unfazed, perhaps because was uniquely equipped to understand what it was like to have such a ridiculous name.

"What about you?" I demanded of the Wraith. The time for anonymity was past; I wanted to be more than passing strangers. "What's your name?"

He sobered, turning in his seat to face me fully. What he found in my face seemed to reassure him, his features softening ever so slightly. "Sebastian," he murmured, and the way he looked at me made me feel like we were the only people at the table. "It's nice to meet you, Red Moon."