It’s there. It’s there and prone before her, primed for the strike. In another moment it’ll be up again, and —

(Spines growing crooked from its jaws, pitch slopping from the place where flesh meets bone,)

— She freezes. Her arm shakes, and she freezes a moment too long: The spell breaks. The wolf throws itself up, snarling, a lunge there’s barely time to shove Myr free of, with Garahel occupied at another of the beasts. There's still time, she can still put an end to this. Needs to put an end to it.

Contracting the Blight,

Her fingers curl, hand won’t move.