A Wolf in the Dark by S. E. Turner
weather seemed to change within minutes of them standing there. A rough wind brought clouds the colour of granite with sheets of driving rain, while the pallor of the November sky closed in upon the mountains cloaking them in mist and obscuring the moon. And for all the tightly secure windows, there must have been a small crack in one of the panes, because every now and again little tears of rain ran down the inside and collected in pools on the edge of the sill. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled, Atemisia shivered, the king moistened his dry mouth. The lone wolf was mourning, and it hung like a shroud over the weeping castle.
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