Greykin Mountain

| 50 | Ridge

⥐ ⋞ ☽ ⋟ ⥐

Jackson was running when his vision started clearing.

          On all fours, he raced through the gloomy woods, panting, snarling, and with the taste of blood in his mouth.

          It had happened again, hadn't it? Was it Draven's blood he could taste? Or had he killed another wolf walker?

          He kept running as fast as his legs would allow him, unsure of where his destination was—all he knew was that he had to keep running.

          But it was soon clear that the snarls and growls weren't his own. He looked over his shoulder, and the moment he saw a trio of rotting wolves following him, his eyes widened in horror.

          That was why he was running.

          As fear enthralled him, he tried speeding up, but the cadejo matched his speed. He darted left, and he swerved right, but the corpses mirrored his every move. Even as he slowed down when his legs were starting to ache, the cadejo slowed, too.

          Why? They could evidently run fast enough to catch up with him at this point, but they made no effort to do so.

          Something shifted through the darkness up ahead. Jackson stared in terror, sure that it was more cadejo closing in on him. But when the moonlight broke through the trees, it revealed a black-furred wolf fleeing.

          Jackson ran faster the moment he laid eyes on it, getting closer and closer and closer—and when he was near enough to pounce, he launched himself at the wolf and sunk his teeth into its leg without a hint of hesitation.

          He snarled, tore, and chewed, pulling the wolf apart—but he wasn't feasting alone. The cadejo that had been chasing him sunk their teeth into his kill, too, gnawing and growling as they devoured the wolf's body.

          Why were the cadejo ignoring him? Why were they eating with him? And why did he feel such glee as he gorged on the wolf's flesh?

          Jackson jolted awake. His heart was racing, his eyes darted around frantically, and his body felt stiff and cold.

          It was dark; not a gleam of light anywhere he searched. It smelt of mildew, sulphur, and blood—fresh and rotting. He could hear muffled moans of agony, quiet whimpering, and dripping water. At least he thought it was water.

          Where the hell was he?

          His eyes started adjusting to the dark; being a wolf walker allowed him to see in the pitch black as if he was wearing some sort of high-grade night vision tech—although it was all in shades of grey, he could see everything.

          He was inside a huge cavern. The ceiling was covered in sharp, jagged stalactites, and hanging from the spaces between them were creatures he couldn't identify; they hung upside down like bats, only they looked like they were the size of a man.

          It was then that he realized there were bars in front of him. He frowned and reached out, but when he touched the shimmering metal, his skin burned and sizzled, forcing him to pull his hands back with a sharp, pained grunt. He looked up—more bars. To his left...to his right...bars. He was in a cage.

          His panic increased, and when he reached into his pocket to find his phone was gone, he thought his heart might burst out of his chest.

          How had he even got here? What was going on? And who were all those people he could see chained to the wall by their wrists? He stared at them, watching as they sluggishly looked around the wide cavern, grunting, groaning, and seething something dark from their mouths. Twisted growths were sprouting from their cracked skin—they looked like horns, spikes, and spines.