Broken Antler Fen grow back your sharpest teeth

Unfortunately for the wraith, precious "hours" were more like precious unwanted, uncomfortable moments that barely qualified as sleep. The drifting dog stirred long before rest could ease his frayed nerves, snapping awake with a sharp intake of breath.

Something was wrong.

His opal eyes darted about the dim space, heart plummeting when they found only emptiness where Eset had been, and panic had already begun to set in when logic caught up with the scent trail she had left behind—mouth-wateringly strong with the promise of prey. She hadn’t vanished; she had gone hunting. Relief came in a shaky exhale, but it did little to quell the unease curling in his gut.

A low growl from his own stomach gave him a convenient excuse to follow. Certainly, it was hunger and not the terrifying idea of being alone for more than a few minutes that propelled him from his place. That would be absurd.

The dog slunk to his Hebsut's side, paws sinking into the earth without a sound, but it was not her he was focused on. The rounded ears were pricked and opal eyes focused on the distant figure. Fear rose in waves, pelt bristling, and heart beginning to race.

They were still too close. Too close to Godsmouth.

His gaze darted between the unrecognized stranger and Eset. If her gaze turned to him, his signal would be immediate, desperate, pleading—a sharp flick of his tail and a pointed look toward the opposite direction.

Please, let us leave before we're spotted.