Dylan's words rang out like a gong in the tense silence. The fourth creature—the one with the unnervingly calm eyes—still didn't move.
It crouched beside one of the black stones. Smaller than the others, but its posture radiated a chilling authority. Its fur was a dark anthracite gray, almost gleaming under the pallid light of the rising dawn, and its pale yellow, intelligent eyes never left the trio.
Then, without a growl, without a twitch, it tilted its head slightly.
That was the signal.
The other three beasts, who had seemed half-asleep, burst into motion. Not with the frenzied rage of the previous wolves—no. With brutal, silent coordination. Two flanked to the left and right, encircling the hill, while the third—the largest—charged straight at them, head lowered, fangs like daggers aimed directly at Maggie, who was bringing up the rear.
"Spread!" Maggie barked, more command than cry. Her axe swept the air in a horizontal arc, forcing the central beast to slow its charge.
