"Faster! Move faster!"
A strange howl echoed through the night as the skies over Kavkhoka underwent a sudden transformation.
The hoarse, low-pitched voice sounded nothing like a human's. In fact, it wasn't human at all. Out in this lush, fertile land, a swift figure raced through the bitter wind stirred up by the strange celestial phenomenon, like a ghost flitting across the earth.
It was incredibly fast.
It moved faster than mortal eyes could follow. To the merchants riding across the wilderness on horseback, it was just a flicker of shadow, a black blur that swept past and left behind a gust of wind that chilled them to the bone.
But right behind that strange shadow came a blast of bone-chilling wind.
It was an even greater, invisible presence, as if the figure ahead were guiding it onward. Wherever it passed, the earth froze over, and frost coated the grass and trees. The poor souls caught in the icy gale immediately started sneezing and had to wrap their clothes tighter around themselves to ward off the cold creeping into their bodies.
From high above, a straight white line of ice cut across the Great Plains of Kavkhoka, racing almost perfectly straight toward the Fortress of Kerim.
Tracing the line back from its far end revealed a trail that stretched across nearly half of Nordtov. It was a strange track that began in the frozen tundra near the Far North, beyond the Great Wilderness.
The fact that this invisible shadow, now crossing the plains, could leave behind a path of ice that lasted for days was proof enough that it was no ordinary creature.
By comparison, the fellow leading the way for it seemed utterly unremarkable: merely an ordinary black-furred "werewolf" that walked upright.
Marcus was running with all his might.