Chapter 49 - 48
Two days later, at nightfall.
By the time the sun dipped below the trees, the howls had begun.
"Awooooo!"
The chilling cry echoed from all directions, rising into a chorus. Hundreds of wolves were closing in.
"It’s begun," Skitz muttered, his ears twitching as the vibrations rippled through the trees. He stepped up to the left side of the wooden wall, one claw resting lightly on the hilt of his blade.
Behind him stood Krivex, already notching an arrow, eyes cold and focused. Takkar cracked his knuckles, twin axes glinting under torchlight. Skarn and Vakk stood shoulder to shoulder, flanking Aren, whose spear was angled forward, grounded like a battle flag in stone. All of them stood silent—but the air around them trembled with anticipation.
Across the field, on the right side of the wall, stood Lumberling. His silhouette was calm, unmoving, framed by the glow of firelight and moon. Behind him waited Gobo1 and Gobo2, swords drawn and low to the ground. Gorrak stood in the center, hammer resting on his shoulder, eyes locked forward with grim resolve.
And behind every captain, lined up with discipline, stood their vice-captains, nerves on edge, hands tight around spear shafts and crossbow grips.
They had known this would come. The eagle scouts had spotted the advancing horde. Preparations had been made—barricades reinforced, traps laid, weapons sharpened. Rehearsed formations.
Now, the storm had arrived.
The night held its breath.