Fox's Glade boniface

These stories and jokes were eagerly absorbed by the teller of tales, who repeated each new word to himself to commit it to memory. The nuance of how these words could be used together came naturally to him, and even in this crude joke, he saw the poetry of this new language's wordcraft. He would speak it, one day, but for now he listened.

So he noticed when the other man went quiet. He did not understand why, at first, unfamiliar still with their prey's scent. But as the silence rang between them, and through the ghostly, cackling cries of distant foxes cut another unearthly sound, he felt skin tighten, and his fur began to mantle.

Their eyes spoke when their gaze connected. Dutch jerked his nose toward the sound. Quarrel — I will back thee. I'm with you.

He pressed forward, wiggling through the underbrush when thorns caught in his fur. His first sight of the wolf made his stomach twist in sour unease. He cut a sharp glance to Chakliux, alarm bells ringing in his head. Did the seal hunter know of the ravening curse?

"Do not let his teeth score you," he said urgently, his pulse suddenly pounding. Had he bitten Marina? Dutch could not recall what he'd been told — he could only think of what Chakliux needed to know here and now, at the cost of alerting the monster to their presence.