### 341

The blood of the dead wolf stains you from head to foot, filling your nose with an acrid smell. With sword in hand, you stare down at the carcass and shiver at the thought of how close you came to death. The dim light grows brighter, and for a moment you hear laughter, cold and distant, before the light fades to its usual murky glow, and you are surrounded by silence.

Turn to 298.

Text copyright © 1986 Joe Dever.
Illustrations copyright © 1986 Gary Chalk.