Aethelwing's patience evaporated. She unleashed a series of piercing, furious screeches that shattered the forest's stillness. The Vassily Greatbat seized this momentary distraction, launching upward with explosive velocity from directly beneath her. She sensed the impending threat and pivoted mid-air—their gazes locked in suspended animation. The Greatbat's crimson eyes bored into her with preternatural intensity, a stare that seemed to dissect her very essence. Despite her instinctive hesitation, she committed to counterattack, her pale amber talons extended for the kill.

  Her strike was anticipated with uncanny precision. The Greatbat executed a lateral twist, its massive form impossibly nimble as it flipped away from her deadly talons. In the fraction of a second that followed, searing pain erupted along her leg—a deep laceration had appeared as if conjured from nothing.

  Comprehension dawned. This wasn't merely an exceptional predator—this Greatbat possessed some unnatural ability to anticipate her every move, perhaps even penetrate her thoughts. Consumed by indignant fury, Aethelwing abandoned calculated strikes in favor of raw power, hammering wildly with her wing. The bat tumbled through the air, driven several meters backward by the unexpected ferocity. This time, it failed to evade.

  Her suspicion crystallized into certainty. The hawk veered sharply leftward into open airspace, yet within heartbeats, the Greatbat materialized directly in her flight path. (It can read my thoughts,) she realized with cold clarity. (Damn it, I cannot have thoughts.)

  The Greatbat observed her with unmistakable satisfaction, those blood-red eyes still radiating that soul-penetrating intensity. (Rely on instinct.) With this final conscious directive, Aethelwing surrendered to her primordial self. Her magnificent wings expanded to their full span before she plummeted diagonally downward.

  The Vassily Greatbat pursued immediately. It had anticipated that the hawk would execute a classic hunting maneuver—skimming treetops before an abrupt skyward ascension. Instead, Aethelwing's trajectory remained unaltered—she plunged directly into the dense canopy. The Greatbat followed without hesitation, their twin forms sending explosive cascades of foliage erupting throughout the forest cathedral.

  Aethelwing navigated the arboreal maze at breathtaking speed, her extraordinary vision and aerial mastery allowing her to weave between thick trunks with millisecond precision. She had abandoned all predatory ambition, fully embracing her temporary role as quarry. With her magical reserves depleted, body compromised, and facing an opponent with apparent thought-reading capabilities, her survival depended entirely on her evolutionary advantages—the pure, unthinking excellence of her physical form.

  The Vassily Greatbat possessed no inferior eyesight—its visual acuity remained formidable. However, in conditions of minimal illumination with countless obstacles, visual hunting became secondary. The ultrasonic emissions from its specialized vocal apparatus mapped the surrounding environment with extraordinary detail, providing instantaneous feedback that guided attack or evasion decisions. These echolocation capabilities transformed the pitch-black forest labyrinth into a perfectly navigable space. Occasionally, avian-shaped echoes betrayed her position.

  The woodland density presented significant tactical complications. Beyond mere flight impediments, the primary challenge for the Greatbat lay in maintaining cognitive connection with its prey. Within its echolocation landscape, the hawk manifested as intermittent, fragmented imagery, constantly obscured by intervening vegetation. The Vassily Greatbat, despite its supernatural advantages, found itself functionally blinded—reduced to pure pursuit tactics to maintain contact.

  Eventually, even these fleeting echoes vanished completely. The Greatbat emitted increasingly frantic ultrasonic pulses, but received only static environmental feedback—endless trees, branches, and leaves. No trace of living prey. (How could it simply vanish from existence?)

  Cedar silhouettes blurred past as it maintained its forward momentum, scanning desperately for any sign of its quarry. A powerful gust swept through the canopy, creating a chaotic symphony of rustling vegetation. Amid this motion, one particular branch behind the Greatbat exhibited strange behavior—it remained eerily motionless while surrounding foliage swayed violently. The branch appeared to detach from its parent limb. The predator, focused entirely forward, registered but dismissed this anomaly.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Within the next heartbeat, excruciating pain exploded through the Greatbat's cervical region. An overwhelming force slammed it against a massive trunk, dislodging a cascade of leaves and debris. Razor-sharp talons impaled its neck and lower abdomen simultaneously, anchoring it to the tree with the finality of steel spikes.

  From behind, the triumphant sound of powerful wings beating the air reverberated through the forest.

  Followed by the unmistakable, piercing cry of victory.

  "Why in blazes are they catching up so quickly?!" Old McKenzie shouted, fighting to maintain his seat as the horse beneath him galloped with bone-jarring intensity.

  "How should I know?" Ivan replied, his own body bouncing violently in rhythm with his mount's desperate stride. "Why don't you turn into the Wolf King and ask them?"

  "I'm not a damn shapeshifter!" Kendrick McKenzie snarled, struggling to adjust his position. The horses had bolted of their own accord, animal instinct overriding human command. The pursuing Dire Wolves, masters of stealth until they committed to attack, were now in full predatory pursuit. Both black warhorses displayed renewed vigor after their brief respite, yet it seemed insufficient.

  The wolves, too, had benefited from rest. The alpha and remaining female now moved with frightening speed, their reserves replenished by Raymond's fallen mount and whatever prey they had claimed en route. "Didn't you confidently predict their imminent collapse?!" the old courier shouted, gesturing behind them. "Your assessments appear somewhat flawed!"

  "Everyone screws up, I guess." The archer glanced ruefully over his shoulder. "This pack defies conventional understanding. Their behavior patterns, hunting strategies, cognitive capabilities—when enough anomalies accumulate, standard predictive models become useless..." His mount executed a sharp evasive maneuver around a towering trunk, nearly depositing him into a low-hanging branch. Ivan Northes flattened himself against the horse's neck. "The fundamental problem remains unchanged, old timer. Within these woods, neither Black Lily nor Black Lilac can maintain sufficient lead."

  "My profound gratitude for elucidating such obscure concepts," the old man retorted with acidic sarcasm. "Perhaps we should conduct a formal racing event on Borna Plain instead?"

  "A brilliant tactical innovation," Ivan countered with matching frost. "With the minor prerequisite of first reaching said plain—roughly three hundred furlongs distant. At our current pace, the critical variable becomes whether our mounts or their pursuers collapse first."

  "My wager favors lupine exhaustion," Kendrick McKenzie declared with resolute confidence.

  Ivan Northes glanced backward. "For all our sakes, your optimism had better prove justified."

  Stellan gasped awake, clawing at his throat. He was choking, stomach churning. (Booted out...) He swept back his sweat-drenched hair with trembling fingers. (It possesses masking capabilities... What manner of entity inhabits that avian form?) His breathing gradually normalized. (I must reestablish connection with the Greatbat's consciousness... or victory becomes impossible.) The young nobleman closed his eyes with renewed determination. (Absolute concentration required...)

  Failure.

  (Emotional equilibrium first... then mental focus...)

  Another attempt.

  (…Temporal window rapidly closing...)

  "Trouble," Old McKenzie muttered, his voice barely audible above the thundering hoofbeats, yet it caught his companion's attention.

  "Developments?" Ivan Northes called back without turning.

  "Black Lilac's respiratory rate has accelerated dramatically, and forward momentum has... measurably decreased." His palm registered the alarming heat radiating from his mount's lathered neck. "Our collective velocity is diminishing, young warrior..."

  "Your prognosis appears increasingly improbable," Ivan observed grimly. "The equines will surrender to exhaustion before our lupine adversaries."

  "Human error remains universal..." Kendrick McKenzie offered a bitter laugh, allowing the familiar aphorism to remain incomplete. "These wolves possess endurance capabilities superior to our mounts, however exceptional."

  "The problem isn't endurance—it's this accursed vegetation," Ivan countered, yanking the reins to narrowly avoid collision with a water cedar directly in their path. "Forest density increases proportionally with our proximity to Borna Plain. Under these conditions, the horses cannot achieve optimal velocity, and their substantial mass severely compromises maneuverability. Without forest egress, our tactical advantages remain entirely theoretical." He reached back, fingers closing around the whalebone bow secured across his shoulders. "Combat engagement becomes our sole viable option."

  "Your projectile inventory consists of precisely two arrows," Old McKenzie reminded him pointedly. "Factor in rapid mutual movement trajectories and suboptimal illumination—successful targeting probability approaches negligible."