The beast was spinning in place, its snarl now just a wet, furious gurgle. The wound smoked slightly, as if the Essence channeled by Dylan had cauterized the flesh even as it cut it. The smell of warm blood and mud filled the air.
Julius still hadn't moved. His calm was a lesson in itself.
"She's not going to wait for you to catch your breath, Dylan. A wound like that only makes her angry. The next charge won't be straightforward. It will be cunning."
As if to prove him right, the boar suddenly stopped circling. It lowered its massive head, presenting the base of its thick neck and the dangerous curve of its tusks. A shudder ran along its bristly spine. It didn't charge. It took a step to the side, then another, tracing an arc around Dylan, its single eye – the other splattered with blood – fixed on him with concentrated hatred.
