Solara led the way to the direwolves' pens with Canna following closely behind. The air was thick with anticipation, the scent of damp earth and wild creatures filling the cavernous space. Solara moved with a regal confidence, each step echoing the authority she wielded as a disaster rank wolf.
When they reached the first pen, Solara paused, her eyes narrowing as she assessed the pack within. At least fifty direwolves, their eyes glowing with a mixture of wariness and defiance, stared back at her. Without a word, Solara let out a deep, resonant growl, and a dark, oppressive aura seemed to emanate from her body, spreading through the pen like a shadowy wave. The reaction was immediate—all the direwolves within the pen lowered their heads, submitting to Solara's dominance without a hint of resistance. Their earlier defiance melted away, replaced by a deep-seated instinct to obey the stronger predator.