The werewolf tracks had multiplied.
Alan discovered several more sets of prints emerging from the undergrowth, merging seamlessly into the path following the centaurs. More unsettling was the discovery of human footprints among them.
He stopped at the junction where the two groups of werewolves had converged to investigate. Activating the non-locked mode of his Tracing Charm, the shimmering scent trails revealed that this secondary group had come directly from the deeper forest to intercept the lone wolf.
From the weight and depth of the tracks, he estimated there were four additional werewolves, all moving on four limbs. Mixed in was a heavy human boot print, its size suggesting a tall, powerful male.
*A human traveling with a pack of feral werewolves?* Alan mused. *Is he an infected leader, or are they his hounds?*
If these werewolves were part of a coordinated pack under a single commander, the situation was far more dangerous than a simple rogue predator. Under the glow of his monocle, he also spotted fresh, heavy bloodstains trailing back along the path from which the new group had arrived.
"Did they just finish a battle, or were they hunting something else?"
Alan faced a tactical dilemma. Pursuing the main group immediately would be reckless with so little intel. If he was ambushed by a pack of this size, even his skills might not prevent a life-altering bite. It was safer to scout the path the large group had just vacated; he might find clues about their numbers, their equipment, or their base of operations.
He buried a positioning charm at the intersection to serve as a beacon for his Apparition, then turned and followed the blood trail back into the dark woods. Activating the acceleration functions of his Phase Boots, he moved with predatory grace, leaping between mossy rocks and thick branches to scan the terrain from above.
After traveling nearly three kilometers, the metallic tang of blood became overwhelming. He slowed his pace, sending several ravens ahead to act as his eyes. A thousand yards later, the birds' shared vision revealed the source of the scent.
In a small clearing ringed by dense thickets, a shattered human figure lay sprawled in the dirt. Crimson splatters painted the surrounding leaves. Scattered nearby were the splintered remains of what looked like a heavy wooden trunk.
Alan didn't rush in. He circled the clearing using his ravens, ensuring no sentries remained. His caution paid off; a dozen meters from the corpse, he spotted a jagged gap in the bushes that wasn't natural. It bore the unmistakable scorch marks of a Blasting Curse. Beneath a nearby shrub, something small and motionless was tucked away.
He commanded a raven to investigate.
"A house-elf?" Alan whispered, watching the shared image in surprise.
The elf was dressed in filthy rags and covered in forest debris. It had fainted but was still breathing. Alan hurried to the spot. A survivor could provide the answers he needed.
He turned the small creature over, checking its pulse. It was covered in deep contusions and scratches. For a house-elf, such trauma was often fatal if left untreated. He carefully administered a restorative draught and cast a targeted healing spell on the worst of the wounds.
Soon, the elf's breathing steadied. Its large eyes began to twitch beneath their lids.
"Wake up, little one. Can you hear me?" Alan asked, trickling a bit of fresh water into its mouth.
"Ma—Master... no, Master, help me..." the elf mumbled. As consciousness flooded back, its face twisted into a mask of pure terror. It bolted upright, shrieking. "Help! Master! Kiki is scared! Don't kill me! Don't hurt Master! Help!"
The elf caught sight of Alan and scrambled backward, trembling so violently it could barely stay upright. Its eyes were wide with a frantic, uncomprehending fear.
"Calm down. Your name is Kiki, isn't it? I'm not here to hurt you," Alan said, his voice level and soothing.
But the elf was inconsolable. It ignored him entirely, its cries dissolving into hysterical wailing.
"Be quiet!"
Annoyed by the noise and the risk of attracting the pack, Alan's voice cracked like a whip. He reflexively channeled a sliver of magic into a Fear Curse. A cold, heart-palpitating wave of energy washed over the clearing.
The effect was instantaneous. It was as if a faucet had been snapped shut. Kiki gasped, its jaw locking, and even its tears stopped mid-stream as its mind went blank with fright. Alan winced slightly; he hadn't intended to use such a heavy hand, but the house-elf's legendary timidity made the spell's effect overwhelming.
"I am going to ask questions. You are going to answer. Do you understand?" Alan asked, his face a stern mask.
"Y-yes... please... please don't kill Kiki... please," the elf whispered, its spindly fingers clasped in a desperate plea.
"Tell me your name," Alan said, softening his tone just enough to keep the creature from fainting again.
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