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... wind howled across the Highland moors, but within, the hearths blazed high and the torches hissed with flame.

The lords of Alba stood lined along the walls, hands on sword pommels, watching in wary silence as the White Wolf of the North stepped through the oaken doors.

Vetrulfr, cloaked in a pallid wolfskin, his white hair glistening like frost, strode with the calm menace of a winter storm.

At his side walked Gunnarr, his right hand and blood-brother, and behind them, a ...

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