Ulf
The Grey Men marched on, hissing like snakes. I kept away from them, scenting instead a herd of deer that had waited too long to run. A burst of speed, and I surprised one, grabbing it and wrapping a piece of Laurel’s red gown around it. The deer escaped, the fabric fluttering from its fragile leg red as a wound.
The last scrap of cloth was gone. The Grey Men were starting to swerve from their formation, chasing Laurel’s scent tied to the wrong prey. Soon the deer would be slaughtered, and we’d lose our hold on this corner of the woods, but if I ran, we might have a chance to escape.
As I turned, a bitter scent choked me. A familiar crackling filled the air, magnified a thousand-fold. At my feet, beetles wriggled out of the wood and fled. Not away from the Grey Men. Towards them.
M
