The noise from the forest continued, a cacophony of roars and growls, punctuated by the sharp crack of timber snapping, then it faded. The sound of an animal whining drifted on the breeze, then nothing. Finally a great bellow roared from the trees, making branches quiver and leaves fall. Haelan covered his ears with his hands and closed his eyes, the sound reverberating in his chest. Behind Haelan horses neighed, some breaking their tethers and bolting. Abruptly the roaring stopped, replaced by the sound of undergrowth crashing, fading quickly.

Tahir threw on his clothes and ran to where his horse was still standing, one of only a few that had not bolted. He swung into his saddle, others about the meadow doing the same, and trotted towards the forest.

‘Take me with you,’ Haelan shouted, running alongside him.

‘It could be dangerous,’ Tahir frowned.

‘Better than leaving me here. What if whatever it was comes into the meadow while you’re in the forest?’

Tahir reined in for a moment, then nodded. He pulled Haelan up into the saddle. ‘Hold on,’ he said and kicked his horse on, Pots running along beside them.

Other riders joined them as they approached the forest until they numbered a dozen, all men with iron in their hands, sword, spear and axe. Haelan peered around Tahir’s waist as the forest closed in about them. It was like walking from full day into the cool of the evening, twilight falling about them like a shroud. Branches scratched Haelan’s arms as the undergrowth became denser. He looked back over his shoulder, saw the meadow bathed in sunshine, the wall shrinking, and a figure running after them, gaining. It was Trigg, her long legs eating up the ground. She caught up with them and fell in quietly.

They spilt into a glade, the undergrowth trampled and flatted. Pots froze, growling. Tahir hissed an indrawn breath. The smell hit Haelan first, warm and cloying. It brought back memories. I know that smell. Death.

‘Elyon save us,’ someone said. That scared Haelan, for he knew that these were all hard men, used to the wild, living within sight of Forn and the Desolation.

Haelan squirmed behind Tahir, peered around him. At first he couldn’t make sense of what he saw. Blood was everywhere, staining the ground in great pools, spattering bark and leaves. Here and there were mounds of fur. Four, five of them. He looked closer, still didn’t understand what he was seeing.

‘What are they?’ he whispered to Tahir as the warrior slipped from his saddle.

‘Wolven.’

Tahir crouched by one of the dead creatures. It lay in a pile of its own intestines, great claw marks carved across one side of its head. Trigg joined him.

‘They’re young,’ Trigg muttered, lifting a paw and checking the dead animal’s claws.

‘What did this?’ Haelan said.