**********

  Bestiary Entry: Languid Wolf

  Scavengers, opportunists…killers. These killers preen the weak, the infirm, and the vulnerable. Despair if you live in a village after a failed harvest or botched medical treatment. Named after their prey, Languid Wolves scour the entire continent of Krailas in search of their meals. In contrast to other species, this solitary animal abhors socializing with fellow individuals outside of their winter mating season. The average lifespan of a specimen in the wild is ten to fifteen years. In captivity, upwards of twenty-five.

  This species resides in the lower strata of predators in any given ecosystem. It sticks to small prey like rabbits or fawns. Its preferred prey are the young, weak, or starved. Villagers are often advised to stand firm and act big when meeting these monsters. They detest healthy individuals and stray from direct confrontation. This adaptation has enabled the Languid Wolf to persist in environments where top predators have outcompeted other species. All creatures fall prey to time.

  Greenhorn adventurers are advised to travel in groups. Any wounds are to be patched up immediately. When facing a Languid, do not run, it will trigger their hunting behaviour. Allow it to pass. Attempts have been made to convert Languid meat into pemmican. The musk…is abhorrent.

  -Monster Encyclopedia Vol. 1

  **********

  Your average Languid Wolf has 280 million olfactory receptors. Each one is dedicated to telling it what the world is, where the next meal is, and where other predators lay in wait. The lingering scent of blood wafting in the air a kilometre away can trigger its hunting instinct.

  Your average human child has 20 million underdeveloped ones. They just recently discerned what blood smells like.

  On four legs, an adult female can reach 45 kilometres an hour, outpacing most non-magic carriages. Travellers would profit by keeping their children inside and out of view from the local fauna.

  A child with two intact legs just barely learned how to walk. “Running” is an overstatement when considering they have a baby clutching to their back.

  Raising her head above the undergrowth, the female Languid reorients herself to the scent trail. Her silver mane rustles with the wind. Adult humans are crafty. Children are easier. She has been stalking a family of four for the last two days, and it has been seven moons since her last meal.

  The female adult had laid on the ground and stopped moving during one night. The body reeked of rose petals. Plants had gotten to the meat first. Bad. She could have scavenged some meat off the bones, too bad the plant had poisoned the body. Luckily, the male had left behind his two cubs in the early morning.

  Jaraad and Cynthia woke up that morning to their dad’s disappearance. Losing both parents in the span of a single night was devastating. The sky and earth that had raised his sister and him had collapsed. The death of their mother smothered and strangled the hope they once had.

  The forest had murdered her. After their carriage broke down, the family rode the two mares for a few days. However, the gods forsook them. An adult Nighthaunter crashed upon the group. The venom it spewed had corroded the shortsword their father brought. The mares became sacrificial pawns for the family’s escape. His father muttered something about them being lucky the spider had already eaten. Lucky? Where are you now, Dad?

  Beaten off the worn road from the attack, the family struggled to navigate through the woods. Leaves greedily stole all the sunlight, leaving the forest floor a vampire’s delight. They did have a sun, though. As an amateur botanist, their mother had managed to scavenge the occasional mushroom and berry for the family. But one misidentification is the difference between living another day and the ferryman’s boat.

  Her kindness killed her. One night, she managed to bring back a pocketful of redcurrants. They were redcurrants, right? Ruby red and crimson red are basically the same thing. Besides, going for days without adequate sleep or food would bind anyone’s sanity into a wool ball.

  Instead of rushing to feed the hungry family, she still had the patience to first smear a bit of the berries on her lips. No reaction. She cautiously ate half a berry, she could save the other half for the kids. How was she supposed to know that was all it took? How? As that Gulcorpse seed travelled down her gullet, its miasma choked the life out of her. She collapsed within five minutes. Her body became the perfect fertilizer for a future generation of plants.

  Despite death cradling her mind, she nestled Jaraad and Cynthia in her arms one last time. Her hands moved mountains to clean their hair. Her kids shouldn’t know about hunger or thirst. She failed-—

  This amateur botanist from a nondescript corner of Krailas had a name. Her children knew her by “Mom.” This was an unbreakable testament to her existence. A name etched on rosary beads and midnight dreams. Her husband exchanged a final glance with her. Their pupils had spoken and yearned for years, but it’s over now. Crying would reveal their treachery.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  The old are filled with the cowardly and cruel. The good ones, the courageous, the beautiful, and the kind, died young for their friends and family.

  Their father lied to the kids and bid them to sleep. He tried to dig a burial space for his wife, but his bare hands barely made progress in the topsoil. All that he accomplished was a hole fit for a child and a mound of salty soil soaked in a crimson red. Desperation loomed in the moonlit sky.

  He made a choice.

  After losing their mom, Jaraad didn’t want to take any more chances. When the sun came up with his father nowhere to be seen, he grabbed Cynthia and ran towards the big tree. It towered over the horizon. Sunlight clawed through its mighty branches. His dad said Himavanta was a great place for explorers but bad for kids. Why did we have to come here then? No one could answer him. If you or your sister end up getting lost, run to the great tree. You should be safe there. They were his father's last words before abandoning them in the dark.

  After a few paces, the half-awake sister could no longer continue. Days of dehydration and hunger had caught up to her. The wool dress she wore had been camouflaged into a mud brown. Her feet were sore and bloodied. The tiny nine-year-old boy lugged his five-year-old sister onto his back and continued their journey.

  Whether it was fate or chance, Jaraad’s hazelnut eyes met the wolf through some bushes. There were thirty paces between them. He glanced down at Cynthia. She had just started to grow wisps of blond hair a few suns ago. Perhaps if he abandoned her, he could survive. However, the notion of treachery did not yet exist for Jaraad. He cradled her in his arms and ran.

  The best target for a languid wolf is a runner. Their stout legs are built to chase down small prey until they run out of stamina. However, she would have to stay on the lookout for any competitors. She kept a casual pace as the duo ran. Wayward saplings, sprawling bushes, and tall grass were all hiding spots for the true threats of the forest. She weaved through the forest floor with the callousness of a seasoned killer.

  Jaraad managed to hit every single branch known to man as he ran. Every stone and outgrowing root conspired against him. Each piece of decaying piece of detritus his feet landed on roared in the understory. Everything was listening. The chirps of any feathery companions have long hushed silent from Jaraad’s desperate run.

  Every time he turned to see if he had lost the beast, he saw his eyes glinting from its masticators. His cheeks were painted with scratches. A wayward rock would dig into his flax woven boots painting it in scarlet. Blood was oozing out. Absolutely intoxicating.

  The adrenaline pumping through his body was beginning to wear off. Cynthia had slid down his back considerably during the run. She was gripping onto a melting ice sculpture. He was exhausted. The trees and bushes around him were growing siblings. He wiped his eyes and forced one foot ahead of the other.

  “I want my mom,” whimpered Jaraad. Beads of surrender ran from the corners of his eyes, dropping on Cynthia’s arm. She swivelled her head to Jaraad’s face, her whole world. Why is he so sad? Did she do something wrong?

  “Jaja?” her slurred speech boomed in his mind. Last week were her first words. Jaraad was ecstatic when he found out she tried to learn his name first. Helping his mom change the linen swaddling each morning was worth it.

  “I wish I could help Mom again,” he said. Jaja wiped his tears away. He shifted her along his back. Adrenaline be damned. Wolf be damned. “Jaja will save you,” he whispered.

  The boy’s pace had noticeably slowed into a stumble. It was time to finish this. The wolf began closing the distance. She unhinged her jaw and lunged for the boy’s leg. Unfortunate. She only managed to nip the back. Were the trees acting against her? The autumn leaves were dancing in the air from all the struggling of these two morsels. It was inconvenient how often they would block her view.

  Jaja looked behind and barely pulled away his left leg from fully being encompassed by its fangs. Half of his calf was missing. The cavernous hole in his body threatened to swallow his vision. He didn’t know which flowed quicker, his tears or blood. Spasms of pain reminded him to keep limping.

  The morsel was soft and delicious. But it was a morsel. The flax cloth from the boy’s trousers had jammed in the bits of her teeth. Annoying. Her long, angular tongue rummaged through the last stains of liquid ambrosia remaining in her jaw. She resumed the hunt. With the scent of blood filling the woods, other predators would soon be nearing the scene.

  “Please. Anyone. Is there anyone out there?!” yelled Jaraad. To hell with keeping quiet. Jaraad’s pent-up frustrations began bubbling out. “Just stay away from us! Choose something else to eat!” It was a miracle his left leg still had any movement left. He had lost all sense of feeling from it.

  Cynthia’s voice chimed behind him, “Jaja, are you tired? Cyn can walk on her own.”

  Like hell you will, he thought to himself. “It’s okay, just a little bit more,” he lied.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, we’ll be safe,” he lied again.

  The brush was beginning to thin. Soon there would be nothing to stop the wolf’s advance. Jaraad’s eyes locked on a small clearing in front. A sapling barely reaching his height stood alone. As he stumbled forward a distant voice drifted through the duo’s ears.

  “But the berries were too sour! Do ya know what sour tastes like?” said their saviour.

  He clawed towards the voice. Hobbling forth through the final bush, he croaked, “Save us!” Jaraad wiped his eyes and looked around, all there was, was a small clump of light floating near the plant. “I’m sorry Cyn, I’m a bad brother,” he said, collapsing.

  “Jaja!” cried Cynthia. She stood up and turned to the forest. For the first time, she saw the monster hidden in the shadows. A pair of red eyes greeted her. Its saliva had traces of her brother’s blood sequestered in those pink droplets. Her legs wobbled with the wind. The wolf was nothing like the picture books her father read to her. None of the pictures showed how desperate or how hungry they were.

  A paw slithered through a branch.

  Jaraad’s gurgles slammed her out of her shock. Their mother: gone. Their father: gone. But her brother was still here. Cynthia spread her arms and screamed, “Jaja not good, eat me!” Tears pelted the soil. Treachery is a learned behaviour as you grow into adulthood. These children will never learn it.

  A waterfall of fur and lunged from the bush.