The valley has always been stained with blood.
Long before the humans raised their torches, long before the hunters sharpened their silver, two mighty packs carved their empires into the soil.
The north, where the pine forests grow thick and shadowed, belongs to the Blackfang pack. Their warriors move like smoke, striking swift and silent. To the south, where the hills roll with wild grass and scattered stone ruins, the Redclaw pack claims dominion. They are fierce, unyielding, their roars shaking the earth itself.
And between them lies the valley the cursed, coveted land that both claim as their own.
Head’s Up Affiliate Disclosure
As the author behind Mythos & Moonlight Realms, I may include affiliate links on this site especially to my own books and related products. What does that mean? If you click on a link and decide to purchase, I may earn a small commission at no extra cost to you.
These commissions help support my writing, cover research, and keep this world of wolves, prophecies, and lore alive for readers like you.
Please know: I only share links to my own works or products I truly believe in. The stories, the packs, and the legends here are built with passion first the links are just a way to keep the fires burning.
Thank you for supporting both the saga and the storyteller.
For centuries, wolves bled wolves. Sons were raised not with lullabies but with war cries. Daughters carried blades before they carried love. And yet, even as they fought each other, they forgot the greatest threat was never across the field but beyond it.
The humans.
Hunters came with fire, with iron, with prayers muttered to gods who turned their faces away. To them, the wolves were not tribes, not bloodlines, not heirs of a sacred legacy. They were monsters. Shadows. Beasts to be purged from the earth.
The packs, blinded by hatred, did not see what was coming.
But whispers endure. In the ruined temples of the valley, in the ashes of war pyres, in the songs the war wives still sing a prophecy stirs. It speaks of a child born of two lines, a blood uniting both Redclaw and Blackfang, who will turn the tide of war.
Some call it hope.
Others call it blasphemy.
For the valley is not easily tamed, and its wolves are not easily ruled.
The war wolves remember. The land remembers. And in the shadows of the valley, destiny sharpens its fangs.