Altar of Twilight —in his right hand was the key to the bottomless pit.

The swarthy man acted cool under Njord’s skeptical glare, but it did little to smooth the hair which prickled along the seafarer’s spine. A lick of the chops and a snort telegraphed Njord’s wariness.

Still, he moved closer to inspect the scene when the stranger suggested a hypothesis. Njord’s blue gaze was like a gimbal and it never left the other man’s figure through his nose sniffed and flared. A wide pool of dried blood was left where the wolf had surely died. But where was the body?

Njord thought of Sobo’s half-eaten body. The way his skull looked like an empty punch bowl.

He was on edge.

“T’was a wolf who was hunted,” Njord determined by the sheer mess of it all.