"I can't leave it!" Megan shouted, her voice echoing through the trees, raw with emotion.
"You won't need to," Artemis replied calmly, stepping out from the shadows and materializing beside her sister.
At Artemis's feet lay a man —bloodied, bruised, and barely breathing. His armor was torn and dented, his clothes soaked in crimson. A jagged bite mark spanned from his collarbone to his side, deep and ragged. The unmistakable signs of fangs.
His face, hardened and scarred, was that of a seasoned hunter. A thick beard clung to his jaw, darkened with sweat and blood. Tribal markings were tattooed down one arm, half-obscured by claw marks. A bow lay shattered nearby, its string torn, quiver emptied. Whatever happened between him and the wolf had been a brutal, desperate battle —both man and beast clinging to life by mere threads.
"Wow," Artemis murmured, hands on her hips as her gaze drifted to the dying wolf Megan was kneeling beside. "He got him good."
