Ramsey
I stared at the stack of reports on my desk, each page with numbers representing lives lost and battles fought. Two weeks had passed since the Feral attacks, and we were still counting our dead.
"Fifty-three warriors killed in action," Lenny said, standing at attention as he delivered his analysis. "Another seventy-two wounded, eighteen of them critically. We lost four healers who were trying to evacuate civilians."
My grandfather shifted in his chair, his expression grim. His arm was still in a cast from where a Feral had nearly torn it off. The Elders of the White Moon Pack and the Council of the White Mountain Region sat in a semicircle, their faces solemn as they absorbed the casualties.
"What about the enemy's losses?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.
