They'd been walking for perhaps ten minutes when Arthur stopped again, this time with his head tilted slightly as if listening for something.
Jacob noticed immediately, his hand moving to his axe. "What is it?"
"There is movement," Arthur said quietly.
Nero focused his hearing, filtering out the ambient sounds of the forest. After a moment, he caught it too. The soft rustle of disturbed undergrowth coming from several different directions at once.
"Brandors, perhaps." Jacob muttered, his eyes scanning the trees. "Those rabid fuckers must have been drawn in by the scent of blood."
Jacob's axe was already in his hand as he asked, "How many you think there is this time?"
Arthur shrugged, "It's hard to say."
The rustling grew louder, closer. Through gaps in the undergrowth, Nero caught glimpses of movement—large shapes with matted fur and too many limbs, their heads grotesquely oversized compared to their bodies.
Then they attacked.
