Magic flowed from Adria’s blood to the shapes she’d woven, and only the last word of the spell remained unspoken. As it reached the tip of her tongue, La’Var slid down the cliffside. He landed beside Adria, sword flickering from the light of a torch in his other hand. She stopped the spellcasting in time.

Another day without using the Auditorium’s evil sorcery, she thought, weight falling off her shoulders, and looked around: the light revealed, to her eyes, the cave she’d fallen into.

Steep stone walls with dark holes surrounded her, like in a northern dungeon, dying leaves covered the ground, stripped trees and sharp, spikey bushes stood as remnants of past life.

A few steps in front of Adria growled ten black-furred Winterwolves. One moment, at the sight of light, tears of blood flowed from their eyes. A second later, the eyes closed, and the wolves howled in unison. Fire and light were not their things. Over their own sounds these beasts couldn’t hear the leaves Martin rustled as he sneaked behind them, claws risen and ready to strike.

Adria turned back to the hunter beside her. His eyes were locked on the Winterwolves, watching their every move and trying to predict.

“Not only did you fall into a Den, but one filled to the brim with damned Winterwolves,” he said through his teeth. After a pause, he cackled and continued, “I guess we’ll use them as bait instead.”

The beasts backed away from the flames of the torch. Their legs twitched. Their breaths slowed.

“See that?” La’Var pointed with his sword. “They feel like they’ve lost their advantage. And now there’s a little bit of fear inside, a bit of anger, a bit of excitement. Too many emotions for a wolf to handle. They can’t help themselves – they have to attack.”

“Why are they backing away, then?”

“Getting ready for a big old jump. And waiting – can’t be a wolf in a pack and attack all by yourself. First, the leader goes then the others follow. But now they’re in for a fun surprise. Their tried and tested plan won’t work out.”

“You’re going to kill the leader?” The thought gnawed at her. Her hands curled into fists.

La’Var nodded.

“Whatever’s going on in their furry little heads will stop. They’ll be scared, terrified, confused to the bone. They’ll run… Right into the ghost’s claws.”

The last of hunter’s words left his tongue and the leading wolf leaped, maw wide open and aimed for the hunter’s green neck. La’Var was still. The wolf prepared to bite. And then the hunter’s sword snapped uprights, piercing through the roof of the beast’s mouth. The creature whimpered, flailed its paws, and... Surrendered. La’Var raised the sword above his head and swung down, tossing the corpse. It thumped by Adria’s feet.

Adria scuttled back a few steps. The fear of the wolves vanished. Spite towards them went away as well, and she crouched, laying a hand on the dying beast. Its pain stung Adria’s heart like she’d formed a hunter’s connection with it.

Squealing, the nine Winterwolves turned away and ran, right into the spirit’s ambush. Claws cut through the air, and it whistled. A rain of blood began to pour as body after body thumped into the cover of dead leaves.

Adria’s rattled nerves cracked from this display of violence. With tears in her eyes, she dropped her head into the dying wolf’s fur. Crimson soaked her hair, and to drown the terrible sounds, she whispered.

“Why does this have to happen? Killing, death, pain! It’s everywhere! Can’t there be peace? Can’t it all stop? Stop!”

In a snap, silence snatched this den of Winterwolves and swallowed it, and Adria’s heart pounded and blazed in her chest. Sorcery began to drain from her soul. There was no doubt that it was happening again. And Adria could only slowly raise her head and watch.

La’Var and Martin picked up off the ground and levitated several meters in the air. They couldn’t move. The flames of the hunter’s torch morphed and expanded like magma, licking the tops of the Den’s dying trees. Fire engulfed the dry wood. Soon enough, the Den was ablaze. The Winterwolves, who’d remained squealing and whimpering on the ground, shivered at the heat and escaped into the dark holes of the Den’s walls.

Exhaustion slapped Adria. And a throbbing headache came on.

La’Var and Martin dropped to the ground. The two stared at each other before turning to Adria.

“I’m sorry,” she uttered. “I didn’t mean to…”

Without asking unnecessary questions or wasting a second, La’Var began crouching by the wolves, slicing their necks then putting the corpses on his and the ghost’s shoulders. He crouched by Adria. She caressed the head of the dying pack leader. One part of her soul plead for the beast to be spared. The other part was frazzled by… the happening of moments prior.

A blade flashed and crimson spilled from the wolf’s maw, and the last warmth left its fur.

“This was, by all means, an honorable death.” Martin landed beside Adria and helped her to her feet. “This Winterwolf challenged you to a duel and fought till the end, albeit lost quite quickly. Still, he got respect and mercy from his enemy. Is there a better way to die for a wolf?”

Adria flashed a weak smile at the ghost. You’re right, you’re right…

La’Var filled a vial with the beast’s blood and slung the corpse over his shoulder.

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“I don’t know about you, but speaking of me, I’d rather not end my day as a pile of ashes. Let’s get out of here, right?”

Tumbling into the pit had been far easier than clambering out.

Coughing from the smoke, sweating buckets from the heat, Adria and La’Var scaled the stone walls of the Den, while Martin hovered up beside them, whining from the wolf corpses chucked on his shoulders.

Once they got out, they fell to the ground and heaved. For the thousandth time, Adria contemplated her being in this hunt. Until a flock of pigeons landed and stared at the beat-up hunting party. With a wide grin, Adria sat upright and crouched over to the birds, extending her hand. At the same time, La’Var’s face soured, and his shaking green hands drew a bow.

An arrow zipped by Adria’s ear. Another skimmed her a moment later. The arrows pierced pigeons, nailing them to the ground.

Adria’s jaw dropped: she spun on her heel and yelled.

“What are you doing?!”

The hunter aimed the bow at Adria then gestured for her to move away. She kicked the ground and shook her head. She wouldn’t move a single step. La’Var groaned.

“The talk of the woods? Did you forget about it?! These pigeons could tell the wyrm we’re on its trail. They could spoil our trap!”

Oh. That’s right. Defeated, she stepped aside. An arrow swished by.

The hunter cursed.

“Little bugger with wings got away.” He picked up his backpack and waved for everyone to hurry up. “We don’t know where it’s going or who it’s talking to, so we must move. Now.”

The hunting party picked up the wolf corpses and trekked the wyrm trail.

Adria’s feet joined in on her head: it began throbbing with pain. Her back ached too, and her mouth was dry, but the time to stop, rest and drink up had long passed. And to this march, there was no end in sight.

La’Var cursed and hmpfed under his breath.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,” Adria said in between strides. “With violence and chaos everywhere, I don’t make the best decisions. No, I can only screw up. I’m not made for this.”

“You screwing up don’t nag at me. I knew what I was doing when I brought you along. But… The spells you’re casting… Something’s up…” La’Var trailed off.

“I didn’t know you still collected souvenirs from every beast you hunted,” Adria said and thought, right now, let’s not talk about my magic.

“The vial isn’t a souvenir -- it’s something that’ll save our lives.”

“Remember, young lady, we’re dealing with a wyrm, not a worm!” Martin added.

“Excuse me for not being a hunter, but how will a vial of Winterwolf blood save us from certain death?” Adria asked.

“Don’t they teach beast science up in the north?”

“Well, I know how wyrms look, how they hunt, how they move. They dig caves to sleep. And they have incredible senses.”

“Incredible senses,” La’Var repeated Adria’s last words. “There lies the secret of those overgrown worms who want to be dragons. Whenever you set a trap, you leave traces of your scent and your sweat for the wyrm to catch onto. If we want the trap to work, we must douse everything we touch in the wolf’s blood.”

The wyrm trail stretched farther into the depths of the Bowl of Fur and Teeth, yet the hunting party stopped.

“This. Ain’t no better place to catch a wyrm than here.” La’Var looked on.

The antlers of Verti deer glowed atop a circle of enormous boulders forming an arena with a wide opening in its heart. The deer observed Adria, La’Var and Martin, like wisemen deciding if this fight between goblin and beast shall be allowed. After a minute, they turned away and left. So, it was determined. The wyrm would face death here. La’Var moved ahead and dumped wolves into the middle of the arena. Huffing and puffing, complaining about knee and back pain, the hunter sat down and took off his bag. He took out a bear trap, countless meters of rope and the vial of blood.

The cap of the vial popped open -- the hunter poured half of it into a smaller vial, handing it over to Adria. As she pocketed the glass, the hunter’s connection returned. She turned away and began setting up the traps, letting her body move on its own, and La’Var thoughts decide what she would do next.

Adria placed a bear trap in front of the fallen Winterwolves. Kneeling, she tightened the bolts and scratched off some rust that kept it from shutting right. She tested it out. The trap snapped shut with a clank. A little gear on its outer frame twisted.

Adria hid the trap with branches and leaves. La’Var tied a rope around the gear on the outer frame of the bear trap and led it up to the boulders, where he connected it with a wide net. If all went according to plan, the wyrm would investigate the Winterwolf’s corpse, triggering the trap. Then, the trap would proceed to snatch the beast and drag it into a net, where it would be slaughtered.

Adria shuddered at the realization of how the contraption worked.

Once Adria and La’Var finished setting up, they awakened Martin from his nap on the ground. The spirit yawned and shrunk, hiding in Adria’s pocket. Snoring sounded in her pants. She and the hunter clambered up the boulders and laid in wait, like bandits on the hunt for a merchant’s caravan.

La’Var, out of his bag, took a pair of binoculars. They released an aura of sorcery. Strange glyphs were inscribed around the frames of the glass. These things can see in the dark, Adria realized, and

La’Var grinned at her astonished face.

“Ripplerip gifted me this in my youth -- I don’t think I’ve had a hunt where it didn’t come useful,” he said. “You’ll hear the wyrm coming. I’ll smell it. The ground will tremble and shake. When it’s close enough, we’ll use these to see. Just remember to not equip them too soon as they use your sorcery.”

They waited until evening arrived. One would think they would’ve filled out the time with conversation, but they simply enjoyed the silence. There weren’t many quiet moments like these in the last week.

As Adria took the last sip of the half-decent tea La’Var prepared atop the boulders, the ground trembled. La’Var snapped out of a half-slumber. He took out the binoculars and handed them over to Adria. I have more sorcery in my heart, she realized. If he uses them, he’ll be left too tired to do anything.

She put the cold glass up to her eyes. For a moment, nothing could be seen. The glyphs on the outer edges of the binoculars glimmered, and a small drop of Adria’s sorcery drained.

The view became clear as day.

Adria shuddered, reached for her bone dagger.

The ground quaked again, growing more violent every moment.

She tossed the binoculars back to La’Var, and gestured for him to get his blade, and for him to prepare for the worst. A confused look took hold of his face whilst Martin awoke and slithered out of Adria’s pocket. Again, Adria pointed at the hunter’s sword.

“What is it?!” La’Var snapped.

Adria took out the vial of Winterwolf blood. Still full.