The mist thickened as the group ventured deeper into the forest. The air was so damp that it clung to their skin.
The path twisted unnaturally, as though Targe itself sought to confuse them. Vell led the way, his steps purposeful despite the oppressive atmosphere.
The leader of the witches’ coven walked beside him at first, but her attempt to project confidence faltered as the path grew darker. Slowly, she fell behind, trailing in his shadow.
“Stay close,” Vell said, reaching out to take Sonder’s hand when the darkness became particularly oppressive.
Behind them, the witches moved in a loose formation, their whispered spells and faint charms barely audible over the groaning of trees. Branches swayed and twisted unnaturally, though there was no wind.
“The forest doesn’t seem very friendly,” Sonder said, her eyes scanning the warped trunks and tangled undergrowth.
“It’s not,” Vell replied flatly.
A guttural growl echoed through the forest, freezing the group in their tracks.
The witches stiffened, their heads darting in all directions, trying in vain to locate the source of the sound through the thick mist.
Another growl rumbled, closer this time, and a pair of eyes appeared in the shadows. Then another. And another.
“Wolves,” Vell said, releasing the tight grip he had on his staff. He sounded relieved, as though the creatures were beneath his concern.
But as they stepped into the dim light, it became clear these were no ordinary wolves.
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Their fur was tangled with moss and bark, with patches of flesh either hanging in shreds or missing entirely. Open wounds revealed rotting sinew, and their eyes—white and milky—seemed to be the same as Sonder’s.
The witches scrambled into a defensive circle, their trembling hands sparking weak magic.
“Coven, defend yourselves!’ barked the witch in green, her voice sharp with urgency.
They began chanting in unison, their combined magic forming a fragile dome of light around the group. The shield shimmered weakly, flickering as if mirroring their fear.
One wolf lunged, its claws scraping against the barrier. The young witch maintaining that section of the shield flinched. The light dimmed, and cracks rippled across the dome.
“Focus!” the witch in green shouted, stepping to the center of the formation. She thrust her hands outward, sending a surge of green energy through the shield. The cracks sealed, but the dome’s unsteady glow made it clear it wouldn’t hold for long.
Another wolf darted forward, slamming into the barrier with a snarl. This time, the shield shattered with a sharp crack, fragments of magic fizzling into the mist.
The pack moved in, claws tearing at robes, snapping jaws aiming for exposed flesh.
Vell stepped forward, raising one hand. A wave of energy rippled outward, slamming into the wolves and momentarily halting their advance.
The creatures recoiled, their eyes narrowing. But the reprieve was brief. A particularly large wolf, its body more bark than flesh, charged directly at Vell, its maw wide open, baring fangs.
Vell twisted his staff, releasing a pulse of concentrated light. The energy struck the wolf mid-leap, sending it tumbling back into the shadows.
“This is wasted effort,” Vell said coldly. “She will send more. Move.”
As if in response, the forest groaned. Branches lashed out like living things, one coiling around a young witch’s wrist and dragging her toward the shadows.
The young witch screamed, struggling helplessly.
Sonder reacted instantly, her training with Vell coming to mind.
She conjured a barrier—not to defend, but to sever the branch. With a sharp gesture, it sliced cleanly through the wood.
The wood hissed as though in pain, recoiling and releasing its captive.
Go!’ Vell ordered, his command sharp as a blade.
He swung his staff almost dismissively, conjuring a wide arc of light that pushed the wolves back once more.