Chapter 79. Storm

It happens so fast. The sweep of hyper speed, flying fur, and like a tide, we pass the rune border in unison. Each of us is protected from the fog, which fills our lungs with its sour greenish heaviness, adjusting to the gloom so we can see ahead. I’m startled at the fact I can taste it, feel it invading my lungs like dense smoke from a burning fire, yet it smells and tastes like damp early dawn on the mountain as winter turns. Rotting plants and leaves give it that earthiness while it slows down my breathing as I labor to push through it. It’s cloying.

It took her all night to find a way to be sure that turning wouldn’t remove any protection, and she did, as an extra measure to the potion… seems the base of a foot is the one place on a wolf you can put a magical symbol, and it stays. Who knew? Even in turning where we shed all human things, our feet keep enchanted paint. So, between magic potions and painted sigils, we should be safe.

Every single wolf who showed up her