Chapter 15 - The Wolfpack’s Wrath
Several monster wolves closed in on Tave from all sides, and damn it, he could barely handle one, let alone a whole pack.
This was death. Certain death.
Fighting the first wolf had clearly been a terrible idea. Of course they moved in packs, and of course they wouldn't just sit back and let one of their own get taken.
His entire body was tense, locked in place with sheer pressure, every nerve firing as his survival instincts screamed in his ears. He didn't even bother pretending he could fight his way out of this. There was no chance.
They outnumbered him, outclassed him, and he was alone.
His gaze flicked through the trees. Shapes emerged from the shadows, wolf after wolf, slinking into view, their eyes glowing with primal hunger. They crept closer, circling around him in a slow, deliberate formation.
There had to be at least a dozen.
He reached for the sword at his waist, fingers tightening around the hilt as he scanned them carefully. He looked for the smallest one, the weakest in appearance. And yes, there it was, off to his right, slightly behind the others.
Lowering his body slowly, he tried not to provoke them with any sudden movements. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. He wanted to use hand seals. But that might trigger an attack.
Too risky.
Instead, he gently brought his hands closer together, his movements slow and measured. The wolves continued closing in, their snarls rising into a chilling chorus. He could hear everything. The whisper of the wind, the low, guttural growls vibrating through the ground, and the subtle shift of paws pressing into the earth.