Smoke still curled from the upper ranges of the main werewolf stronghold. Bodies had been removed in orderly lines but the stone had a stain upon it. The surviving high-level beasts gathered in the remains of the central hall, voices low and sharp. Without Ken and Angel, the chain of command had a gaping hole in it.
An older grey-furred lieutenant, one of the few to escape with only broken ribs and a missing ear, stood over the map table. "We reinforce the inner ranges first. No more open strongholds on the outer slopes. Every pack retreats to the defensive ground until we know if the progenitor is alive."
A younger alpha with a half-healed gash across his muzzle snarled. "We should be hunting the one that did this."
