And Faelon changed.

One moment, Michael saw her lunge at the other wolf, her face and teeth reaching for its throat. Her body shifted, like quicksilver under moonlight, and the next moment her brindle-coloured snout and long canines were snapping shut. Michael heard the sharp crack of her teeth closing on air. As the black wolf passed, her claws reached out and raked its hide, and her teeth snapped again at its hindquarters. They bit down on flesh this time. She whipped her head and tore a great chunk from the animal’s flank. Its cry pierced the air, but it ignored her, too intent on its prey.

Michael had six metres of distance to watch as the male wolf slipped past Faelon, landed on the ground, stepped forward twice, and then lunged straight for his throat.