The full moon lit the higher
parts of the clearing when Davite and I awoke to snapping and
gathering noises below. The floor of the forest was alive with
shifting animal darkness. It was the blue black fur of the Dread Wolves I
recognized from earlier on our raft. We said nothing and kept the
sack at hand which held our bane-weed wrapped clubs. I squinted and
search for any anaviation, perhaps even one not of the nine known
races that populated Mash'ta, but all I saw were wolves.
And how many wolves? We could not
count. It was they who gripped branches from the trees and snapped
them off, clearing the the circle and ensuring the light from above
the canopy to reach that blackened and rusted stone at the center below.
Behind them, somewhere in the woods, was the pained scratching of a
bird I could not identify.
No fire nor lamp gave light and
nothing brighter than the ground or the pelts of wolf would indicate
the presence of those who seemed to train the dogs that catered to
the clearing. I began to realize it was the wolves themselves that
kept the place in it's eldritch savage order and must be to the wolves
that worshiped there, if you can imagine.
As I thought this, the center of the
clearing widened, the beasts making way for some ritual, and all
turning to face the stone in the middle. The rusted stone almost
glittered under bright moon light. The screeching grew louder and
louder as the wolves parted and formed a path as one edge. Walking
the new path was a wolf holding an injured fowl securely in its
mouth. The creature placed the poor damaged bird hard on the stone
as another wolf came close, gently put it's muzzle close to sniff,
and suddenly ripped one of the wings off the still living victim.
Another wolf came from the other side and repeated. And another for
one of the victim's legs. And another for it's final leg.
And the thing on the stone that once
was a bird, was left to flail and screech and cry and beg as the full
moon looked down above the hole in the sky. A shining eye on the horror show below. The bird bled on the rusty stone
and all noses of the wolves shot up giving a loud, synchronized,
horrifying howl!
The greatest horror, my friends, was
from the center wolf, the one who brought the bird, and who had a
scar from his left eye tearing back to the side of his face to his
mutilated ear. That scared eye fixed itself in mid howl directly on
me and my companion.
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