The Darkening King. Justin Fisher

Step by tentative step they moved, Ned’s heart and chest pounding, the river’s cold current biting at his skin. There was now less than twenty feet between them and the second group of wolf-men. There was a flap of wings above them and a small kestrel swooped down low, first one then another. Was it one of Barba’s tickers? Had they been spotted? One of the wolf-pack noticed, its keen ears pinned back and its slack jaw loose and wide as it sniffed at the air. The other three’s fur bristled and they growled deep and low, scanning the riverbank for movement.