The first howl came from the east.
It was low and drawn out, carrying across the dead forest like a warning stretched thin. Dominic felt it in his chest more than his ears. Lysa stiffened beside him, fingers digging into the dirt.
"Too close," she whispered.
"Yes," Dominic said.
A second howl answered from the north. Then a third, nearer than either of the first two.
A circle.
Dominic shifted his weight slowly, careful not to disturb the debris he had arranged. He pressed his shoulder into the packed earth and angled his body to shield Lysa without blocking his view of the ravine mouth.
Think. Do not react.
Gravewolves did not rush. They tested. They listened. They waited for fear to make noise.
Dominic focused on his breathing and forced it into a slow rhythm. Inhale. Pause. Exhale. He counted heartbeats between sounds. The pain in his chest flared, but he ignored it.
The forest grew quieter.
That was worse.
Leaves rustled somewhere above the ravine. Something heavy stepped on dead wood and snapped it deliberately. Not careless. Intentional.
Lysa's breath hitched.
Dominic reached back and pressed two fingers lightly against her wrist. The contact was brief but firm.
Still.
She swallowed and nodded almost imperceptibly.
A shadow passed across the ravine mouth. A long snout dipped low, sniffing. Yellow eyes gleamed in the darkness, then vanished.
Dominic waited.
Another shape appeared. Then another.
Three.
No. Four.
They were thinner up close than he had imagined. Rib outlines pressed faintly beneath ash-gray fur. Their limbs were too long, joints bending with an unnatural smoothness. Scars crisscrossed their hides, old and new, overlapping in a way that suggested constant violence.
One of them stopped directly above their position.
Its head tilted.
Dominic felt the urge to strike rise suddenly and violently. His fingers curled around the jagged stone. He imagined driving it into the soft place beneath the jaw. Imagined blood. Imagined release.
He forced the thought down.
Strike and die.
The wolf sniffed again, then lifted its head and released a short bark.
Not a howl.
A signal.
Movement exploded around the ravine. More shapes emerged from the trees. Five. Six. Seven. They moved with discipline, fanning out, blocking exits.
Lysa's nails dug into Dominic's arm. He did not pull away.
Someone screamed.
Not close. Somewhere to the south.
A human scream. High. Panicked. Short.
The wolves froze.
Then they turned as one and ran.
They did not hesitate. They did not look back.
The forest erupted with sound as they tore through undergrowth, their bodies a blur of motion and ash. The scream cut off abruptly.
Silence followed.
Dominic stayed still.
Seconds passed. Then minutes.
Lysa's breathing grew uneven. Dominic did not look at her. He watched the forest, memorizing patterns, angles, distances.
Whatever had screamed was dead.
Whatever had screamed had saved them.
[Continuum Evaluation System]
Threat response: Non engagement
External casualty detected
Outcome: Survival maintained
Survival Probability: 13.6%
The number rose.
Dominic felt nothing about it.
Lysa finally spoke. Her voice was hoarse. "They went for someone else."
"Yes."
"Someone closer."
"Yes."
Her shoulders shook once. "We should go."
"Not yet."
"They will come back."
"They might," Dominic said. "If they do, moving now makes us louder."
He waited until the forest settled fully before shifting. When he finally moved, it was to crawl deeper beneath the overhang and adjust the debris, closing a small gap that might have revealed skin.
Only then did he allow himself to exhale fully.
Lysa turned her head toward him. Her eyes were wide, reflecting faint starlight through the ash clouds. "You did not try to help them."
Dominic met her gaze. "No."
"You could have made noise. Thrown something. Led them away."
"Yes."
She searched his face. "Why did you not."
He considered the answer carefully.
"Because the wolves would have killed us," he said. "And then they would have eaten them anyway."
"That is an assumption."
"It is an informed one."
Silence stretched between them again.
Later, long after the forest had returned to its restless normal, Dominic rose carefully to his knees. He edged toward the ravine mouth and peered out.
Moonlight revealed disturbed ground leading south. Drag marks. Blood splatter. Broken branches.
He followed the trail with his eyes until it vanished into darkness.
The body lay a short distance away.
A boy. Younger than Dominic. Thin. Barefoot. His chest was torn open. His face was frozen in shock, mouth half open as if he had not finished screaming.
Dominic studied the corpse without flinching.
Information.
The wolves had gone for the easy kill. Someone alone. Someone loud. Someone desperate enough to run.
He turned back toward the ravine.
Lysa was watching him. "You saw them."
"Yes."
"Who."
"A boy."
Her jaw tightened. "Then you know."
"Yes."
She looked away. "This world does not forgive weakness."
"No."
Dominic shifted his position and reached for the jagged stone again. He scraped its edge lightly against another rock, testing it. The stone chipped, leaving a sharper point.
Better.
He worked quietly, ignoring the ache in his hands and the tremor creeping into his arms. Preparation mattered. Even if the tool was crude.
Minutes later, Lysa spoke again. "If they come back, what do we do."
Dominic answered without hesitation. "We stay silent. If they find us, I move first."
"And me."
"You do not scream."
She laughed softly. "You really believe that."
"I believe it is our only chance."
She did not argue.
The night dragged on. Dominic's thoughts sharpened as exhaustion tried to pull him under. He refused to sleep. Every time his eyes closed, he forced them open again.
He replayed the wolves' movements in his mind. Their spacing. Their signals. Their discipline.
Not beasts.
Hunters.
Toward dawn, the system presence returned briefly.
[Continuum Evaluation System]
Behavioral assessment ongoing
Decision pattern: Risk avoidance prioritized
Observation continues
No judgment.
No correction.
Dominic welcomed that more than praise.
When the first hint of gray light filtered through the ash clouds, he allowed himself to relax slightly. The wolves would be less active now. Not gone. But less aggressive.
He looked at Lysa. She was awake, eyes red-rimmed, jaw set.
"We move at full light," he said. "Toward water."
She nodded.
As they prepared to leave, Dominic spared one last glance toward the bloodstained ground where the boy had died.
He did not look away quickly.
He forced himself to remember the shape of the body. The distance. The sound of the scream.
Because next time, the scream might be his.
And if it was not, it would be someone else's.
In this world, survival was not about being strong.
It was about being quiet.
And letting someone else make the noise.