Howling Wolf

gacy woven into the fabric of its history. Nestled deep within the heartland, the ridge had been largely untouched by time, its sprawling forests and misty peaks standing

he valleys on nights of the full moon. Legends claimed the howls belonged to the spirits of ancient wolves, guardians of the land who roamed freely, their cries a reminder of the

nt was Graywood, a small but thriving village nestled in a hollow by the edge of the ridge. The settlers quickly learned the forest was no ordinary wilderness. Crops withered in certai

indfall Ridge seemed to strike back. Livestock disappeared, fences were torn apart, and howls grew louder, piercing the

tragedy of the

plies dwindled, and desperation took hold. The wolves, driven by hunger, ventured closer to the settlement. The villagers formed

t of the ridge, a place known as Moonlit Hollow. There, under the pale light of the full moon, the wolves appeared-larger than life, their eyes gleaming with an intel

them r

rom every direction. When spring finally arrived, Graywood was a shell of its former self. Many left Windfall Ridge for good, a

a dot on a map. Stories of the ridge were passed down through generations, each tale more fantastical than the last. Some spoke of travelers who claimed to

ll toward Windfall Ridge, a connection he couldn't explain. As a child, he would stare at the distant silhouette of the ridge from his bedroom window, imagining

his days blending into one another. The stories of Windfall Ridge faded to the back of his mind, replaced by the monotony of adu

. The ridge had been waiting for him, its secrets buried beneath layers of history and myth. And

e, the wolves still howled, and t