The Dead Sheep and the Convenient Blame
Outsiders arrived.
Clipboards. Trucks. Cold eyes.
Dr. Marcus Vale, a wildlife behavioralist, spoke like wonder was a disease.
“A wolf crossing boundaries must be removed,” he warned. “Studied or destroyed before someone gets hurt.”
Then the sheep were found slaughtered on the eastern flats.
Throats torn.
Blood on snow.
Town panic reignited instantly.
And Branwen was blamed without hesitation.
Even though something inside me screamed it was wrong.
Because grief doesn’t turn gentle guardians into mindless killers overnight.
But the town didn’t want truth.
It wanted relief.
And relief, in places like Pineveil, usually comes in the shape of a trigger.
What no one knew — except Isolde before she died — was that Branwen had been holding something back for years.
A younger wolf.
A rival.
A shadow waiting for weakness.
The truth revealed itself on Frostcrow Ridge…
where whiteout wind swallowed sound, and bullets started to echo.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
