At last, we come to a part elevated by huge rubble with a rhomboid window whose glass has long been broken, leaving the metal frame in place, and when Dominick and I climb we can see what William is talking about. The smell of Weird Wolves fills this place, cool and unrecognizable and Dominick stiffens next to me.
"Rogues," he murmurs, his eyes greener than usual, sniffing the air in disdain.
William nods.
"We didn't notice anything for the first few days, but the area was full of patrols and curious humans as we recovered the bodies of the dead"
Internally I shrink from the image, the rancid smell of blood and death always present in the place acts to accentuate that fact. More than half of Rogers' herd died that day and the scent of his bodies lingers despite weeks having passed. My
