Mishka growled softly, snapping Claude out of his thoughts. He raised his rifle, scanning the treeline ahead. Dark shapes moved in the distance, barely visible through the storm. The low growls of wolves carried on the wind, growing closer with every passing second.

Claude’s heart raced, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Wolves,” he muttered. “Volk’s.”

The first wolf lunged from the shadows, its glowing eyes locking onto him. Mishka met it with a roar, her massive paw swiping it out of the air. Claude fired a clean shot, the crack of the rifle echoing through the frozen night.

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The fight was short but fierce. The wolves were larger and more vicious than any he’d seen before, their fur shimmering unnaturally in the moonlight. But together, he and Mishka held their ground, their movements synchronized by years of trust.

When the last wolf fell, silence returned to the wilderness. Claude leaned against Mishka, his breath coming in heavy puffs. Blood stained the snow around them, but the strange tracks continued, untouched by the fight.

Claude stared at the trail, unease creeping over him. The tracks didn’t match the wolves they had fought. Whatever had made them was still ahead, and it wasn’t something he understood.

“We keep going,” he said quietly, brushing snow from his rifle. Mishka huffed in agreement, her breath steaming in the cold.

Together, they pressed on into the storm, the unrecognizable tracks leading them deeper into the unknown.