A scent, much older than anything he had ever smelled, wafted over to where he was standing. It hit him in the back like a sledgehammer because everything about this scent was simply wrong. Too wrong. It masked all other scents of the forest. There were no traces of the fresh scent of pine or morning dew, but instead, this scent belonged to decay and rot. And not your everyday trash can rot. No.
This was dangerous.
The scent alone could make his spine tingle with something unknown–and his beast rose to his feet, snarling and growling, for he could sense that there was something amiss. The scent seemed similar to the one that he had smelled in the labyrinth. The same stink but heavier. It was the kind of stench that made him crawl back into whatever hole he crawled out from. It scared the living daylights out of him.
