My back presses into a wide tree trunk and I glance around, looking for somewhere to climb. Damn. Of course there’re no branches.
I look back to the snarling beast, meeting its eyes as I reach in my satchel and retrieve the other roses. If I can make a branch grow, I might be able to climb high enough. Though, judging by its powerful legs, I’m already in lunging distance.
“I’m not a good meal,” I say. “Why don’t you go back where you came from?”
If it were possible, the wolf only snarls more.
My hand closes around the rose stems. I press my other palm into the tree behind me. What do I want to do? Grow a branch? Will I be able to swing up in time?
I could try and make a cage of roots, like Elmir did to Luke. But the complexity of making something large and strong enough makes me nervo
