I raced back to the estate and forced my way through the outer wards. I had barely crossed the threshold when Garrick Frostmane, the old den-steward, stepped into my path.
"Young master, this territory no longer belongs to you. If you continue to cause disruption, I will summon the pack enforcers."
The coldness in his voice cut deep. This was the same wolf who had once brought me warm healer's broth on winter nights, who had fussed over whether I was eating enough. Now he looked at me like I was a trespasser.
I swallowed the hurt and forced my voice steady. "I need to speak with Alaric Ravenhart. Let me pass."
"The master has already retired for the night. Return tomorrow."
I glanced at the position of the moon—barely past its first quarter rise. The night was young. Most wolves my age would just be beginning their evening hunts. Yet he had already gone to rest?
His habits were exactly like Uncle Fenris's. The same elder's schedule in a young wolf's body.