The wolves edged closer, their eyes locked on Lys like he was their next meal. Low growls rumbled from their throats, vibrating through the cold night air.

  He could see their fur bristling, muscles coiling under shadowed hides. There were at least three of them, maybe four; it was hard for him to count in the dim lamp light. His mind screamed to run, but his legs felt rooted to the spot. This was it, the end he had feared since stepping out of the hut.

  As he was contemplating what to do, his hunting skill kicked in on its own, unbidden, like a quiet voice in his head. It wasn't magic, just knowledge planted deep in his mind.

  Move silently, use the terrain, slip through shadows. He forced a breath, slow and steady, even as his pulse hammered. The bushes around him offered cover if he played it right. He couldn't fight them, not like this, but maybe he could outsmart them.

  Lys backed up slowly, one foot at a time, keeping the lamp low enough to dim its glow. The leader wolf snarled, stepping forward, but he shifted left, toward a cluster of thick roots twisting out of the ground.

  The skill guided him: step lightly, avoid dry leaves, circle wide. He ducked behind a fallen log, heart pounding so loud he thought they would hear it. The wolves paused, noses twitching, but the wind was on his side for once, carrying his scent away.

  He didn't wait. Crawling now, hands scraping bark, he looped around the pack. One wolf snapped at the air where he had been, but the others milled, confused. The tree they had circled loomed ahead, its branches like dark fingers against the sky.

  Lys pushed forward, ignoring the pain and fear clawing at his gut. If the lady wasn't there, this whole night was for nothing, and he might not make it back.

  He circled the area by making a U-turn and slipped the wolves somehow, and came back where they were before. He remembered the wolves were looking up. As if something or someone was there. So he also looked up.

  He straightened just enough to raise the lamp. The light climbed the trunk, revealing rough bark scarred from claws. Higher up, on a thick branch, a shape slumped motionless. A woman, her fine dress torn and dirt-streaked, limbs dangling limp.

  She was either unconscious or, worse, dead. Thinking he might have failed his quest made his stomach drop. But then he remembered the quest wasn’t going away yet. So it also means she is alive. And seeing how she was up in that tree must be why she was alive till now.

  He tried to look closely, raising his lamp up. He saw her, the supposed ‘Lady Elowen’ as the quest had said.

  "Hey," he whispered, voice barely above the wind. "Wake up. You up there?" but there was no stir from her. She hung like a rag doll, chest rising faintly. Indicating she was alive for sure.

  He scanned the ground for stones, grabbing a few small ones. The first toss hit the branch near her hand with a soft thunk. Nothing.

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  The second grazed her arm. There was still no movement. Panic rose within him fast; wolves could circle back any second. He set the lamp down at the tree's base, its light pooling weakly on the dirt.

  Now, climbing was his only choice. The trunk felt rough under his palms, bark flaking as he gripped. His arms shook from the start, body still weak from the fever. He pulled up, foot finding a low knot, but slipped on the first try, scraping his knee bloody. Pain shot through him, but he bit it down.

  He tried again, higher this time, arms burning like fire. His foot missed, and he dangled by his hands, breath ragged. One wrong move, and he'd fall right into whatever waited below.

  Sweat stung his eyes as he hauled himself onto the branch beside her. It creaked under the weight of both of them, but it held somehow. He shook her shoulder gently at first, then harder. "Come on, wake up. It's not safe here."

  Her eyes fluttered open, wide with terror. She jerked back, nearly toppling off the branch, but he grabbed her. A sharp gasp escaped her, turning into a panicked scramble. "Who…get away! Wolves…"

  "Shh, easy," Lys said, grabbing her arm to steady her. His voice came out calmer than he felt, but fear edged it. "I'm here to help. I saw you from below. We need to get down before they come back."

  She stared at him, breathing fast, her fine features twisted in confusion and fright. "Help? But my knights, they're gone. All of them are dead." Her voice cracked, hands trembling as she clutched her dress. "Who sent you? Are you from the village?"

  "No time for that," he replied, glancing down. The lamp's glow showed empty ground, no sign of the wolves for now. "I'm getting you out. Can you climb?"

  She nodded shakily, but her eyes darted wildly. "The wolves... they came behind me chasing me all the way up here. I barely made it up here in panic."

  Lys went first, lowering himself branch by branch; every move was a fight against slipping. She followed slowly, her dress snagging, breath coming in whimpers. When they hit the ground, her legs buckled, but he caught her elbow. "Steady. Where's your caravan? We need cover."

  She pointed into the dark, voice hushed. "That way. Not far. But... it's bad. The attack, they tore through everyone."

  He picked up the lamp, leading her through the trees. Fear gnawed at him with every step. The wolves could be tracking them right now, silent hunters closing in. His hunting skill whispered warnings: watch for snapped twigs, listen for rustles. But the night hid too much.

  They broke into a small clearing, and the scene hit like a punch. The caravan was wrecked, wagons tipped, wheels splintered. Bodies lay scattered, knights in once-shining armor were now mangled horrors. One had his chest ripped open, ribs exposed like broken cage bars. Another's throat was torn out, blood black in the lamplight. Claw marks raked deep across faces, arms twisted wrong. Guts trailed on the ground from a third, steam still rising faintly in the cold.

  The air hung heavy with the foul scent of blood, but Lys forced it down, stomach churning violently. He almost had to swallow his vomit, but calmed down somehow by focusing on breathing. If he vomited now, he'd be useless.

  Lady Elowen covered her mouth, turning away with a sob. "My guards... they fought so hard. Killed a few wolves, but the pack was too big."

  Lys scanned the mess, spotting a sword half-buried under a fallen knight. He knelt, prying it free from stiff fingers. The blade felt heavy in his grip, cold steel with nicks from the fight. It wasn't much, but better than nothing.

  A low growl rolled from the shadows behind them. Elowen's scream pierced the night, sharp and terrified.

  "Don't!" Lys snapped, whipping around. "Quiet, you'll bring more."

  But it was too late. The wolves emerged from the dark, their eyes glowing in the lamp's edge, advancing slowly. He raised the sword, fear gripping tight, wondering if this was how it all ended.

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