“We entered as hunters, and became the prey,

We narrowly escaped from a harrowing fray.

We knew what we faced, but not how to fight,

We had to find a way to survive the night.”

“I really hope you have a plan!” Arra shouted, jumping out of the way as the werewolf swung a massive arm at her. Garassk thrust his spear at a werewolf, drawing blood, and driving it back, but he now knew it was only temporary. He thrust a few more times, but the werewolf was learning to keep advancing, and he was running out of space. Desperate, he tried to reach for his dagger, and swung a sack at it instead. The beast yelped, and a small burn appeared where Garassk had struck it. The rest of the creatures turned to their comrade.

“Get out of here!” Garassk shouted, charging for the stream and letting the current pull him away from the werewolves. Arra dived in after him. The raging river rushed away from their wrathful adversaries, and his mind rushed with it.

They were eventually deposited into a small pond where the river ended. Garassk clawed his way up to dry ground, Arra coughed next to him, and they both stayed low to the ground to catch their breath for a moment.

“What happened?” Arra asked when she’d finally finished coughing. “What did you... do?”

“I don’t know,” Garassk replied, equally shocked. “I ran out of space to use my spear, so I attacked with the first thing I could grab.”

“What was it?”

“This,” Garassk said, holding up the sack.

“A sack?” Arra asked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s what you attacked him with?”

“Well, I was trying to reach for my dagger.”

“What’s in the sack?”

“Several… silver… wait!” Garassk shouted.

“What?” Arra asked.

“I grabbed this off of the men who’d tried to kill us! Silver coins!”

“So?”

“Werewolves are vulnerable to silver. We have the means to fight back!”

“Finally, a fighting chance,” Arra said, smiling.

Howls in the distance reminded them that the wolves were still out there, and probably angry.

“We’d best get moving,” Garassk said. Arra nodded in agreement.

They followed the river, navigating their way through dead trees and cold winds. Despite knowing that the wolves could now be injured, fear still wafted through the air. Garassk never stopped checking for their scent.

They eventually stopped walking to give their legs a rest, despite a putrid stench smothering their senses as they progressed. Garassk did his best to point his tongue in the direction that the wolves would be coming from, but he couldn’t keep the new smell off of it, and eventually had to give up.

“Well, now we know that silver can work,” he said to start a conversation. “All we need now is a plan.”

“And a miracle,” Arra panted. “At this rate, I have more faith in me growing wings than us getting out alive.”

“Now, now, that’s the kind of optimism I look for in Rathorn.”

“The wolves are surely on their way. What can we possibly do?”

“Find a way to use silver against them,” Garassk said, looking around at their surroundings, and noticed a cooking pot mounted nearby. “Perfect!”

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“What?” Arra asked, cocking her head in the same direction.

“I have an idea,” Garassk said. “If we can get a fire going, we can melt some of the coins down in that bowl. We might be able to coat the tips of our weapons in the silver, and be ready when the wolves arrive.”

Arra’s face lit up.

“That’s brilliant!” she cried.

“People are always so surprised when I’m clever,” Garassk muttered. “We’ll have to get a fire going. Can you gather some wood if I stay here and fish?”

Arra nodded and walked off. Garassk used his spear to collect several fish to keep their bellies full until they were ready to enact their plan. He was already digging through his pack to find a piece of flint when Arra returned empty handed.

“Did you happen to see the werewolves while you were away?” he asked.

“No,” she answered. “But I’ve been thinking. What’s this pot even doing here?”

“Zaroth probably has these set up so he and his competitors don’t have to carry the tools to do their own cooking in the forest. I would imagine that there are more of them scattered about.”

“Makes sense. Just one problem.”

“What?”

“There aren’t any trees. They’re all fake. How are we supposed to light a fire?”

“Fake? What do you mean they’re fake?”

“They’re all metal. Like someone wanted to create a fake forest. Look.”

She led him to the closest tree, and wrapped her knuckles against it. A dull metallic echo rang out with each blow.

“There’s no wood here,” she said.

“Hmm. Curious,” Garassk said. “Why would anyone… wait.”

He tasted the scent of rot and death. As repulsive as it was, he did his best to find the source of the scent.

“What is this?” he muttered. After a few seconds of circling around the area, he finally realized that the smell was coming from something that had been buried. He dug his claws into the ground until he felt a bone.

“What is that?” Arra cried out, recoiling in horror.

“Something to burn,” Garassk said, digging further. As he found and tossed more bones to the surface, it started to dawn on him that he’d stumbled upon a mass grave.

“Where did this come from?” Arra said, not even hiding her disgust.

“I’m guessing this is what happens to people who failed the hunt,” Garassk suggested. “There’s werewolves out here, so it’s not like it’s a safe place.”

He ran his dagger across the flint to get some sparks as Arra did her best to put the bones near the pot, despite her revulsion for touching them. Within seconds, they had a steady fire and cooked fish. It wasn’t quite the same quality as what Zaroth provided, but it filled their bellies, which made Garassk feel more at ease. Once the fish were gone, he took the time to clean and sharpen his sword. It wasn’t long before he had it sharp and shiny again.

“Good as new,” he whispered.

A howl made the air get colder. Garassk sprang to his feet, and dropped the coins into the pot.

“Keep that fire going,” he told Arra. “We need those coins to melt before they get here.”

He watched as the shiny coins slowly turned into a shinier liquid, and listened as the wolves came nearer. Their panting and paws hitting the ground made his own heart beat faster. Once the silver was in liquid form, he and Arra hurried to coat their weapons in it.

Within seconds, the wolves were in view. Arra drew her first arrow, and shot it right in the chest of the nearest wolf. He screamed as the concoction burned its way to his heart. The other wolves were then split between slowing down, and charging towards them faster. Garassk charged them and thrust his spear into each one as he moved, prompting yelps, and buying Arra the time to finish them off.

The largest wolf lashed out at him, and repeated the process, keeping Garassk on the defensive. Every thrust cut through air, but missed the wolf. Frustrated, Garassk tightened his grip on the spear, and lunged forward, burying it into the beast’s chest. It howled in agony, shrunk back into its human form, and collapsed. Garassk rolled it over to see Lycaon staring at him with pale dead eyes. A realization dawned on Garassk.

“Lycaon?” Arra said, as she approached the scene. A trail of dead men who had once been werewolves was paved behind her. “Zaroth’s servant? What?”

“I think I’ve figured out two things about our situation, Arra,” he said, getting up. “And you’re not going to like them.”

“Try me,” she said.

“The first is that Lord Zaroth is no ordinary man,” Garassk began. “In fact, he’s no man at all. He’s a vampire.”

Her face went pale, and her body shook. Arra tried to speak a few times, but the words died in her throat. She took a few deep breaths before she dared to make another attempt to ask the next question.

“And what’s the other thing you figured out?” Arra finally asked.

“He has no intention to let us get back to the castle alive,” Garassk answered. “He’s hunting us.”