They bore the archer down beneath the tree, the weight of their hurtling bodies crushing her beneath them.
Her long knife flashing, she had managed to stick the Wolf which reached her first. The dead weight of its body as she drove the knife in to the hilt threw her off balance, and she stumbled back against the tree, then crumpled beneath the onslaught of the others. Long, sharp fangs ripped her exposed arm, and she felt the hot, foul breath of the Warg against her neck.
As suddenly as it happened, it was done. The Wargs had called the Wolves from her, in answer to another danger. She lay under the dead body of the Wolf, her arm aflame with pain where the teeth had scored her - her head pounding from its hard contact with the tree as she fell . . .
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Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.
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