Ch.10

The largest wolf let out a sharp, barking growl, a signal. It was time. With a burst of speed that belied its gaunt frame, it lunged. Its trajectory was direct, aimed at her throat. Elara didn’t flinch. Years of training, of practicing with imaginary foes and surviving near misses, had prepared her for this moment. As the wolf closed the distance, she dropped, rolling to her left, the sharp edge of her dagger slicing through the air where its head had been a heartbeat before.

 

The wolf’s momentum carried it past her. It recovered with surprising agility, its snarl turning into a frustrated huff. But its momentary disengagement had created a minuscule window. The other two wolves, seeing their leader’s attack thwarted, moved to capitalize. They surged forward from either side, their jaws snapping, their intent clear: to flank her, to overwhelm her with their numbers.

 

Elara scrambled to her feet, the dagger held low, ready for defense. The woods around her seemed to pulse with the energy of the struggle. The air vibrated with the snarls of the wolves and the ragged sound of her own breathing. The scent of blood, now mingled with the faint, earthy aroma of the forest floor, filled her nostrils. She could feel the eyes of the forest upon her, a silent, indifferent witness to her desperate fight.

 

One of the flanking wolves lunged, its powerful jaws aiming for her exposed leg. Elara brought her dagger up in a swift, defensive arc. The steel met fur and flesh with a sickening thud. The wolf yelped, recoiling with a deep gash across its flank. It stumbled, shaking its head, its eyes now narrowed with pain and renewed fury. This was a mistake. Wounding one only seemed to inflame their aggression, to heighten their desperate hunger.

 

The third wolf, which had been circling, saw its chance. It bypassed the wounded wolf and launched itself directly at Elara’s back. She felt its presence, a shadow of fur and teeth closing in, but she was already turning, anticipating the move. She didn’t have the luxury of elaborate maneuvers. It was about raw instinct, about anticipating their attacks and reacting with speed and precision.

 

She pivoted, bringing the dagger around in a sweeping motion. The wolf, caught by surprise by her rapid turn, twisted mid-air. The dagger scored a shallow cut across its shoulder, more a glancing blow than a deep wound, but enough to throw off its balance. It landed awkwardly, scrambling to regain its footing, its snarl a mixture of pain and fury.

 

The wounded wolf, however, was still a significant threat. It recovered from its initial shock, its injured flank bleeding freely. It moved with a limping gait, but its eyes remained fixed on Elara, burning with a vengeful intensity. It let out a series of sharp, aggressive barks, rallying its packmates. The coordinated assault had faltered, but their hunger remained a potent, driving force.

 

Elara knew she couldn't sustain this defense indefinitely. Her strength was waning, and their numbers, even with one injured wolf, still outnumbered her. She needed to break their momentum, to create an opening for escape, not just survive the immediate onslaught. The trees offered no height advantage, the dense undergrowth was a liability rather than a cover. Her only hope was to turn their aggression against them.

 

The largest wolf, undeterred by the minor injuries to its packmates, gathered itself for another charge. This time, its target was not Elara, but the space between her and the wounded wolf. A calculated maneuver, designed to drive her towards its waiting jaws. Elara saw the strategy, the ruthless efficiency of their pack tactics. She had to think faster.

 

As the large wolf lunged, Elara didn’t evade. Instead, she stepped into the attack, not to meet it head-on, but to use its own momentum. As the wolf’s powerful body swept past her, she lashed out with her dagger, not at its throat or flank, but at its hind legs, aiming for the tendons. The blade found its mark with a sharp, tearing sound. The wolf yelped in pain, its hindquarters buckling. It stumbled, its charge disrupted, crashing into a thicket of thorny bushes.

 

The injured wolf, seeing its leader incapacitated, surged forward, its focus now solely on Elara. It was a desperate, frenzied attack, driven by pain and a primal need to kill. Elara met its charge with a brutal efficiency. She sidestepped the snapping jaws, her dagger a blur as she drove it deep into the wolf's chest. The animal let out a strangled gasp, its eyes wide with shock, then a guttural moan. It shuddered for a moment, then collapsed at her feet, its lifeblood staining the crimson earth.

 

Silence descended once more, broken only by Elara’s ragged breaths and the whimpering of the wolf caught in the thorns. The largest wolf, struggling to free itself from the thorny embrace, let out a pained howl. The third wolf, the one she had scored on its shoulder, stood a few yards away, its tail tucked between its legs, its predatory gleam replaced by a look of dazed fear. It had seen its packmates fall, and the ferocity of Elara's defense had clearly shaken it.

 

Elara didn’t hesitate. She snatched her dagger from the wolf’s chest, wiping the blood on its matted fur. She glanced at the third wolf, its posture radiating uncertainty and a clear desire to retreat. It was a wild animal, and while hunger drove it, fear could drive it away. She met its gaze, a silent, unwavering challenge. She was not prey. She was a survivor.

 

The third wolf whined, a low, mournful sound. Then, with a flick of its tail, it turned and disappeared into the deepening shadows of the Crimson Woods. It was gone. The immediate threat had receded.

Elara’s gaze shifted to the largest wolf, still struggling in the thorny thicket. Its whimpers were growing weaker. The fight had drained its remaining strength, and the wounds it had sustained were proving too much. Elara approached it cautiously, her dagger held ready, but her movements were less aggressive, more weary. The wolf lifted its head, its eyes filled with a pain that mirrored her own inner torment. It was a creature driven by instinct, by the harsh realities of survival in a brutal world.