Lunar Rising

Ch.37 Willow

With his transformation complete, Eryx's wolf instincts surged to the forefront, driving him forward with purpose. Alongside Sven and Zeya, he bounded out of the Voreian boundaries and into the Northpass, his powerful paws propelling him over the frozen ground with effortless grace.

The scent of red oak permeated the air, its spicy aroma mingling with the crisp bite of the winter wind. Dark shadows danced at the edges of Eryx's vision, their whispers harmonizing with the haunting melody of the wind and the mournful song of the nearby stream.

Lowering his snout to the ground, Eryx inhaled deeply, his sensitive nose detecting the faintest traces of the elven hounds' scent. The earthy aroma of the soil mingled with the unmistakable musk of the hounds, guiding him like a trail of breadcrumbs through the wilderness.

Raising his head, Eryx followed the scent with unwavering determination, his senses attuned to every subtle shift in the wind. With each stride, he drew closer to the source of the scent. But as he neared, a new scent tickled his nose. Eryx stilled. He looked up and peered into the thick frost cherry shrubs.

What is it? Zeya asked.

Stay alert, Eryx's eyes scanned the woods. The elves are with their hounds.

What? Zeya's questioned, her concern growing.

Something's wrong, Eryx took a small step forward. They're too far out from their territories.

Guarding Eryx's back, Zeya silently directed the soldiers to proceed, her keen eyes scanning their surroundings for any signs of danger. With practiced precision, the men lowered their spears and used their shields to form a protective barrier as they advanced, parting the frostcherry shrubs with their long wooden spears.

"Nothing here, Eryx," Zeya reported quietly as one of the soldiers looked back and shook his head.

"Onward," Eryx commanded, his voice steady and resolute, when suddenly a rustling sound emanated from the shrubs to his right.

With cautious steps, Eryx turned towards the source of the noise, his senses on high alert as the scent of the elves and their hounds grew stronger. He prepared to confront whatever lurked within the underbrush, his muscles coiled like springs as he readied himself to pounce.

As another sound echoed from the shrubs, Eryx let out a low growl, his instincts urging him forward. With a swift movement, he lunged towards the shadowy figure that emerged, tackling it to the ground with a fierce determination.

"Eryx! Stop!" Zeya's panicked voice cut through the air as she caught sight of the young boy beneath Eryx's grasp.

Startled, Eryx recoiled, his eyes widening in horror as he took in the sight before him. The young boy, no more than nine or ten years old, trembled beneath the weight of the wolf, his small frame visibly shaken. His hands were tightly bound together by elf twine, and a green cloth gagged his mouth, stifling any cries for help. The boy's blue eyes shimmered with tears as he struggled against his restraints, desperation etched into every line of his face.

Behind him, hidden deep within the shrubs, two hound puppies whimpered softly in the cold, their cries barely audible over the rustle of the leaves. Their innocent eyes mirrored the fear and vulnerability of their human companion, their small bodies shivering as they huddled together for warmth.

One of the soldiers stepped forward and pulled the boy up to his feet. With a sense of urgency, he reached out and released the bindings that held the boy captive, his movements careful and deliberate as he sought to ease the child's fear and discomfort.

"He's Voreian, your grace," the soldier declared. "This is Leto's son."

What the hell is he doing out here? Eryx looked toward Zeya. Something's wrong. This seems like a distraction. This boy and those puppies didn't create the scent together.