The Price of Rejection

The damp scent of churned earth and spilled blood grounded the clearing in brutal reality.

*I need to see her,* Garmr’s presence thrashed violently against Magnus’s skull, driven by an instinct far deeper than the thrill of combat. *Catch her scent on the breeze. Track her down. Move.*

Magnus locked down the urge with iron discipline, purely because unleashing the leash now meant absolute chaos.