The Unseen Hand
Lyra moved like a whisper through the trees, her wolf form a blur of dark fur against the moon-dappled forest floor. The guttural snarls and metallic clash of the battle below spurred her on, a terrifying symphony of destruction. Her pureblood senses, heightened by adrenaline and desperation, locked onto the unstable rock formation. It was a perilous gamble; a misstep, and she could trigger a slide that engulfed her, or worse, failed to impact the flanking hybrids.
She scaled the precarious incline with practiced ease, claws finding purchase on crumbling shale and ancient roots. The hybrids below, too focused on their silent, swift advance towards the den, were oblivious. Lyra reached a critical point, a keystone bould
