"Men may fight beasts together, but fear of the unknown makes them beasts themselves." , Old Council Saying
The clearing reeked of blood and charred fur.
The air hung heavy, almost liquid, a stench of burnt hide and iron that clung to the back of the throat. The fire had guttered low, its flames reduced to stubborn tongues licking at half-burnt logs. Long shadows stretched across the ruin-strewn ground, painting broken walls and scattered corpses into twisted silhouettes.
The wolves lingered beyond the edge of light, pacing. Dozens of them, their eyes smoldering red in the dark, their growls rolling through the trees like the low mutter of a storm. They did not strike again. Not yet. Their patience was a cruelty all its own.
In the lull, the true danger revealed itself.
Blades that had been raised in unison minutes before, cleaving wolves, holding the line, now angled, subtly but unmistakably, toward Leo.
