Greykin Mountain

| 14 | Stricken

⥐ ⋞ ☽ ⋟ ⥐

Moonlight came as a relief like warm cocoa on a bitter night. Jackson stared at the end of the tunnel; the sound of whistling wind grew louder, and he could almost taste the fresh air. Repose caressed the pack as they all started moving a little faster, following Elias toward the exit. And when they finally emerged from the gloomy, blue caverns into the white forest, the group stopped for a moment to stare out at the trees.

          Jackson's sights followed Damon, though. He watched as the Alpha moved past the group and jumped up onto a boulder. His ears pricked as high as they could, his eyes widened, and he seemed to listen. Was he communicating with Aysel?

          Damon stared down at his wolves. "We've got about fifteen klicks to go. This way," he said, jumping off the boulder. His paws hit the snow-covered ground with a thud, and once he started heading down into the woods, everyone followed.

          They travelled in silence for a while. Jackson found he much preferred it outside—he could breathe, and he could see more than just shimmering blue walls. The paintings had been a nice relief, but trees and snow-covered grass were much more to his liking.

          But of course, there were cadejo out there. He constantly checked to his left and right; he thought he saw something moving around between two bushes, but it was only a rabbit, which pounced out and raced in the direction of a small stream.

          And everything seemed calm.

          Until they approached a small glade.

          The pack slowed down, and when Damon abruptly halted and dropped to his stomach, they did the same. All the calm was swiftly snatched from them as a cold, sinister wind blew toward them, carrying the putrid scent of rotting flesh and wet fur.

          Jackson knew what that smell was, and it sent a panicked shiver through his body. He ducked into the snow, his heart thumping in his chest as he pricked up his ears, listening. Gnawing teeth and distorted, monstrous snarls filled his skull—tearing flesh, spilling blood.... Those sounds seemed to steal the majority of his interest.

          "Quietly," came Damon's voice. "We'll move around them."

          He glanced over there and saw the Alpha very slowly and silently leading his crouching pack to the left. He was aware he should follow...but he didn't. His legs stayed planted on the ground, and while the group shifted away, Jackson's sights focused on the glade.

          Jackson lifted his head enough to see over the frozen bushes in front of him, and he couldn't be sure whether it was horror or curiosity he was feeling when he saw a pair of rotting wolves feasting on the corpse of a grey wolf walker. Judging by Damon's reaction, it didn't seem like the wolf was one of his, but that wasn't why Jackson was staring at it. No...he was gazing because a part of him felt enticed.

          It was his hunger. That gut-aching hunger. It was forcing him to think that any food was good right now. But another wolf walker? He scowled in disgust—why was he even thinking about it?

          "Rogue?" came Damon's voice.

          Jackson took his eyes off the cadejo and looked to his left. He couldn't see the pack.

          And then something rustled through the brush.

          He sharply turned his head, searching for the feasting cadejo—his sights shifted to his right, locking with one of the rotting wolves as it searched through an abandoned hunting cart. He tensed up, his fur prickling, his heart thumping. His claws dug into the ground as fear ensnared him—he knew he should flee, but his horror kept him where he was.