The group let Jarik advance well ahead. If anything was to scare away the wildlife in the Ildonia countryside it would be the sound of the armed men pretending to be quiet. They only caught glimpses of the half-elf through the foliage.
As the group made their way through the underbrush the late day sun fell and evening took over. Wolf howls surrounded the group. The beasts called to the moon, a warning that outsiders shouldn’t intrude upon their territory. Jarik’s voice cut through the night in a high pitched scream. Wolf snarls accompanied his shouts.
“He’s probably fine,” Gaston said. The rest of the group’s faces went white. “A strong half-elf like him? He could take a whole pack of wolves with that dagger. Why should we not believe his tales of immense skill?”
Jarik screamed again. “I think we should help him,” Miirik rushed into the darkness towards the screams. All but Gaston followed.
“He said he could handle it,” Gaston called after his friends. “No sense hurrying to help the great warrior.”
A giant wolf had clamped on Jarik’s arm and shook him about. The half-elf tried to poke at it with his dagger. His screams shattered the countryside.