I approach slowly, inch by inch, willing him to allow me to wrap my hand around his nose and hold his mouth shut.
I’m surprised when he quickly settles down onto the bottom of the cage, letting me hold him. I expected him to rage against me for trying to constrain him, since he can’t read my mind to know my intentions.
With my other hand, I reach through the bars of Kori’s cage.
He gnashes his teeth at me, forcing me to stop, my arm extended and fingers dangerously close to his mouth.
“Kori. Easy.”
Again, he gnashes at me and I fight the instinct to withdraw my hand.
“Kori.” Thoren’s voice sounds behind me. “Be still.”
The white wolf growls at me again, his teeth drawing back, but he slowly lowers himself to the bottom of the cage and allows me to close my hand around his snout.
Kalith watches me for another full minute as if he’s waiting for one of the wolves to rebel and prove they should be killed on the spot.
When both animals remain quiet, he looks at Malak, who waits nearby.
“Do it,” Malak says.
Kalith presses his hand to Skirra’s cage and the bars retract, reforming a band.
Kalith steps hurriedly back, clearly expecting Skirra to attack as he slips the band onto his arm.
My heart is in my throat as I worry that Skirra might make a move before Kori is free, but the gray wolf remains quiet and still, his focus on me.
“Easy,” I murmur.
As for Malak, he now prowls back and forth only a few paces away, a gleam in his eye as he waits for Kalith to step out of the way.
Kalith rounds me, but in order for him to stand close enough to Kori’s cage on my other side, I have to move in front of Skirra’s enclosure, blocking Malak’s path.
As soon as Kalith releases Kori, I’ll knock the Blacksmith aside and pray the wolves are fast enough to dart past Malak on their way to freedom.
Kalith retracts the bars from around Kori.
I barrel into Kalith, knocking him aside as I release both wolves from my hold.
At the same moment, Thoren cries from behind me. “Kori! Go!”
The white wolf leaps through the air, his claws grazing my back.
Kalith shouts and his hand shoots out—the one in which he’s holding the band he just retracted, but he’s too far away from Kori to cage him again.
The white wolf lands and streaks across the snow, his bloody snout a crimson blur.
Across the way, Malak drops into a crouch, both of his hands moving, palms gliding across each other so fast that it’s difficult to follow.
The bow and arrow that form in his hands are frighteningly clear. The arrow is fully formed, already nocked, and the bow is already taut.
Kori hasn’t made it five steps before Malak shoots.
My heart is in my throat as Kori darts to the right.
Thud.
The arrow hits the tree he passes, a mere inch from his body, cracking into the wood.
