Every whisper felt like a warning.
The rumors started within hours of the duel. Quiet. Subtle. Spreading through student conversations and faculty whispers like virus through vulnerable population.
Multiple packs were coordinating. Planning. Gathering forces for combined assault.
Some said three packs. Others claimed five. A few whispered of regional alliance involving dozens of smaller packs united under single purpose.
All agreed on the target. Us.
Two days after duel victory, I stood in command center with maps spread before me. Red markers showing rumored pack movements. Yellow indicating unconfirmed intelligence. Blue marking our defensive positions.
Too much red. Not enough blue.
Caleb entered carrying latest intelligence reports. Expression grim.
"Confirmation on Northern pack movement," he said. "Ironpaw Pack mobilizing. Three units. Approximately sixty fighters. Heading south."
"Toward us?"
"Trajectory suggests yes. ETA four days if they maintain current pace."
