Hunting Pack

Tyvalt halted his steed at the edge of the safe zone. Here at the borderline, the viscous mists sent out creeping tendrils along the ground.

Bare stone. Nothing grew here; the toxic stew was not thick enough to support the riotous color of the valley jungles, but true plants could not withstand even this much.

“We should not linger,” his native guide insisted.

“Oh? And which of your superstitions are we violating now?” Tyvalt had been unimpressed with the colony thus far.

“The sky-wolves hunt the border.”

Tyvalt scoffed, but even as he did, the distant howl went up overhead…