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“Get out of here, Morgan,” Draven bellowed as I flew towards him.
I ignored him and kept running.
A fenrir leaped up, clawing at his chest, its teeth inches from his face. I shoved my blade hard into the side of its head.
The fenrir let out a howl of pain. The creature’s blood spurted up from under my hand, splattering my face.
Draven shoved the creature away, but kept a grip on its scruff and in a split second his sword had slashed across the fenrir's neck, ending its life.
We formed a tight circle, the three of us against the two fenrirs, watching as they moved around us, red eyes glowing in the firelight.
“Two down, two to go,” I shouted, feeling strangely gleeful. The fenrirs were terrifying, yes, but I was not facing them alone. At that moment I realized something. I stood flanked on each side by two men I trusted with my life.
“I'm running out of knives,” Vesper yelled from beside me. I could hear the grin in his voice without looking. Bleeding or not, he was enjoying this.
A roar split through the camp. Louder than the fenrir's howls.
In unison, we turned towards the sound. The fenrirs paused and turned as well.
What creature could make such a terrifying noise? For a moment I thought we were about to be attacked by something much worse than the wolves.
A figure appeared out of the darkness, racing across the camp. It ignored the remaining two horses, heading straight for where we stood by the slavering fenrirs.
With another roar, it launched itself at one of the wolves, claws and fangs tearing into its flesh with a savage ferocity.
I struggled to take in what I saw. A young exmoor, its fur a rich golden brown, sleek and shining even in the dim light, its eyes a glowing yellow. The exmoor's claws and teeth gleamed, razor-sharp and deadly as it tore through the first beast, ripping its body to shreds.
When it lifted its head, I saw the second fenrir cower and shrink back, but it was too late. The exmoor moved, a blur of fur and claws, leaping onto the last remaining fenrir and decimating it.
When the wolflike creature was dead at its feet, the exmoor stood panting, looking up at us from eyes that blazed with fierce intensity. While this exmoor was not as large as the one that Whitehorn had killed, it was still impressive, standing nearly as high as a horse. As it watched us, its long tail swished back and forth, a soft ball-like tuft of fur on the end.
I swallowed hard. How did one thank such a creature?
Draven stepped forward.
His face was impassive as he approached the exmoor. Then, with one graceful movement, he sank to his knees. Dropping his sword beside him, he raised a hand and slowly stretched it out, almost like one might do to a cat or a dog.
I could hear Vesper breathing hard from beside me. His hand slipped into mine, squeezing hard.
But the exmoor simply looked at Draven from behind eyes full of intelligence, then stepped forward, soft paws treading on the bloodsoaked earth, and nuzzled the outstretched hand.
“Holy Devina,” Vesper murmured from beside me. I had never heard him call on any of the goddesses, but this seemed a fitting time.
I stood perfectly still, watching as Draven carefully moved his hand to run it along the exmoor's beautiful striped head.
“Fuck me, it's actually purring,” Vesper whispered.
It was true. A deep and resonant sound was emanating from the exmoor's chest, filling the campsite with a loud rumble.
For the first time since stepping forward, Draven looked back at us. To my shock, he was smiling. It was a remarkable transformation. His ordinarily scowling face had softened, his full firm lips curving upwards to reveal a set of perfect white teeth. “She's beautiful, isn't she?”
I nodded slowly. “Very much so.”
“How do you know it's a ‘she’?” Vesper sounded interested.
Draven's expression was puzzled. “I just...do.”
He seemed about to say more when the sound of pounding horse hooves overshadowed the exmoor's rumbles.
