Fogged air pushed itself from Ian's lungs in a sharp gasp, striking the wintry air like water to hot iron,

  his legs pumping with the fervour of a desperate man, booted feet tearing rents into the soft loam as they struck.

  Behind, a beast howled to the moon. Its teeth bore the mark of death; blood and viscera coiled the yellowed things, stinking high like a pit of corpses.

  "Shit, shit, SHIT!" Ian cried. The wolf had been out for the sweet crimson running through his veins for HOURS, relentless.

  He needed SOMETHING, ANYTHING, to take advantage of. He needed to seize an opportunity.

  Lady luck blew a kiss of fortune; just ahead, torchlight curled through the weave of trees, the sharp clang of rustling armour and the pull of a sword heaven to Ian's ears.

  "Help!" he screamed, "Blood wolf!"

  And the person, cloaked handily in fur, clad tightly in thick plates with a sword to his grip, he helped. The beast, that is, and only for a bare moment.

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  His sword rose in an arch, silver moonglow flowing from its razor edges to lop Ian's head. It struck the ground with a thud.

  Then the person arched the sword once more, its glow finding the wolf's neck. The thing carried forward, collapsing with a spray of loam airborne.

  It skidded to a sudden halt at the man's iron boot.

  "In askance my brows tilt up and askew. Oh, well this opportunity is as opportune as any."

  His face belied a warrior weathered by combat, sun-tinged and notched by scars. Finding a spot unblemished would be looking for a needle in a haystack; unfeasible at a glance.

  The warrior buckled his knees to set in a crouch, swabbing black-gloved fingers at the incision of the blood wolf's neck.

  He brought his forefinger and thumb to sit adjacent to brown eyes, and rubbed the blood, feeling its consistency. A baleful, scarlet hue suffused the air.

  Like a mist, it curled, but WRONG, it WRITHED. Soulless faces imprinted themselves to its glow, mouths ajar in silent, screaming horror. And then it PULLED, sinking to coalesce in

  a like a whirlpool. Moments trickled on, and it settled into a red marble, held aloft by something arcane.

  The man let a grim smile play across his features.

  “Perfect.”