The child had somehow managed to get himself turned into a wolf.
The night before had been a long one and, while Tern had insisted at the time that Murk needed the sleep, Tern had been the one curling up at the base of trees. Sometimes, when situations were frustrating, Murk could count how many ways the child could get himself killed if they were in Oppal. He stopped when it reached the mid-forties and started correcting Tern’s behavior.
But last night… walking while weary was often a bad move. Leading a child while weary was a fatal one, as the child, or your compromised leadership, could get you both killed. So, trees.
He smelled the Banquon ice wolves on the approach across the lake and chose not to move. Tern had done the same. Then, the scent had gone unbearably musky and Tern had stirred. A hand on his chest stopped him from getting up. If the wolf wanted to mark their tree as property, it hurt no one. Murk had taken the precaution of getting a vial of the stuff befo