His golden fur was thick, protecting him against the thick thorns of the roses that lay strewn across the ground. His paws felt hot and dry in contrast to the ice-cold soil but he ignored it; there was a bigger problem to deal with.
The scents of the ancient pathways were always overwhelming. The wolf lifted his nose and was instantly overcome with fresh smells drifting over him in torrents, brought to him by the whistling breeze.
Rabbits and other small mammals were frolicking somewhere behind him, unaware of the danger they were in – that there was a predator nearby. Birds were singing up on their branches, collecting their dirtied twigs for extra warmth, and then there was the scent of wolf – the smell of his pack members carrying out his orders.
But even those smells were overwhelmed by the stench, by the ashen scent of death and evil that lay beneath him. Jordan’s ears pricked forwards as he stepped toward the darkened ground. No light had reached here and it wouldn’t for some time.
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