December 18th. Ten days left.
I was running east through darkness I could barely see through, and the ground had stopped being dirt a while ago. It was soft now, layered with roots, fallen leaves, patches of something wet and organic that squelched under my boots. Trees rose on every side, tall and dense enough that the moonlight barely reached the floor.
A forest. An actual forest, like the ones the runic teachers used to describe in lessons nobody paid attention to because none of it ever seemed real.
It was real. It smelled like earth and rot.
Then I heard them.
A low sound at first. Not a growl exactly, more like breath through teeth, coordinated and close. I extended Sense without slowing down and caught shapes moving between the trees. Low to the ground. Fast enough to keep pace.
Wolves?
More than five. Probably more than ten.
"Of course." I said under my breath, already pushing Quickstep harder.
