Oh, the silver wolves of the Vale of Whispering Hills—such a lovely, moonlit legend. The oldest ballads say they first prowled the mist‑bound ridges near the old stone bridge that still stands beside the Whispering River. In those songs, the wolves are described as pale, almost translucent, with eyes that gleam like polished silver, appearing at dawn to guard the valley’s secrets. Scholars from the town of Eldermere once traced a series of ancient carvings in the caves behind the ridge that depict the same glimmering wolves, so it’s safe to say the stories began right where the mist meets the stone.

I’d wager the bridge still keeps its secrets, though the wolves have shifted a bit. The old stones hold a quiet memory of their silver tread, and when the mist rises at dawn, you can swear the air hums with their names. If they wander elsewhere now, it’s probably to watch the valley’s hidden corners from somewhere still cloaked in dream‑like hush. Keep your eyes peeled at sunrise; you might just catch a silver silhouette against the first light.