The White Forest fell silent.
Not the peaceful silence of untouched wilderness.
This was the silence that came before teeth found flesh.
Before blood stained snow.
The wolves spread through the pale trees with practiced precision, circling the students without haste.
They were not rabid creatures driven by hunger alone. These beasts hunted together, their amber eyes watching every shifting foot and every trembling hand.
They were waiting. Garret watched them with half-lidded eyes. "...Hm."
The alpha wolf lowered its massive head and growled.
The surrounding pack answered, twenty throats, perhaps more.
The sound rolled between the white trunks like distant thunder.
Sky swallowed. "...There's too many."
Rimon tightened his grip around his sword, his palms already slick with sweat.
Conor quietly drew both swords.
Max had no weapon in his hands yet. His eyes were moving instead, counting.
Twenty-nine...
No.
Thirty-one.
He spotted another two hidden farther back.
