Another scent permeated the salty air. Dog. Merel gave no sign she had noticed the company, but she quickened her pace. Wherever there were hounds, Man was not far. Her mind raced: she knew they carried weapons that spat fire. Weapons that could strike down a wolf without ever giving them a chance to act. Up here on the cliffs, there was nowhere to go save for the narrow trail. It grew more and more treacherous, and she hoped that would be enough to dissuade the dog from pursuing her. They were loyal to their masters, yes, but they could be cowardly creatures.

Her heart pumping frantically in her chest, she threw her body to the ground as soon as she reached the crest of the cliffs. No shot came. Instead, all she heard was an indignant voice. The golden-furred dog had followed her all the way up here. At first all she could do was stare in disbelief. Then she remembered herself and got to her feet, teeth bared.

Where's your master? she growled.