The next day
A gray-furred giant wolf, nearly ten feet long, raced along. Its tail split into two prongs, its fangs crossed, and its tongue bristled with backward-pointing barbs. As it ran, the sound of clashing metal rang out.
The Golden Claw Wolf Demon was running.
The faster it ran, the more swiftly the endless forests on either side swept backward.
Before long, it found a mountain range with complicated terrain.
It ran inside. When it passed a muddy bog, it expertly rolled around in it, masking the scent of its fur with the smell of mud—and, of course, the stench of decay.
The Golden Claw Wolf Demon was actually a very particular wolf.
The last time it ate a hunter, it gave its underlings the intestines it had once loved most. Then, unhurriedly, it tore the hunter's belly meat into strips, roasted them bloodily over a fire, and ate them.
A wolf like that naturally treasured its fur.
But now, it couldn't afford to care about any of that.
It dashed back and forth through the mountain range.
It remembered a place here: an extremely secluded cave, so hidden it seemed forgotten by the world. It had to hide there.
Before long, it found the cave.
The cave was in a cliff.
The mountainside plunged sheer as a blade, with dark vines dangling down to cover the cave entrance.
It shot off the cliff, not even daring to dig its claws into the rock and leave a trace.
It carefully tucked in its claws as it fell. Only when it reached the cave did it suddenly shift, dive inside, and hurry deeper into the cavern, hiding behind a jumble of jagged rocks.
It was well hidden.
It held its breath and kept its breathing slow.
It had never expected