The Aid Of Old Times

The man in the cloak stepped toward him, his large hand reaching out. El Ritch grasped it, and with effortless strength, the man pulled him to his feet. His legs wobbled, his body still reeling from the blow to his skull. The moment the man let go, he nearly collapsed again. Without hesitation, the stranger caught him, slinging one of El Ritch's arms over his shoulder to steady him.

"It's dangerous here," the man said, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble. "The beasts will smell human flesh and start hunting soon. Best we find a safe place."

Then, with no warning, the man lifted him, one arm securing him with ease.

El Ritch barely had time to react before the ground was gone beneath them. The man leaped, clearing vast distances with terrifying ease. The cold wind bit at El Ritch's face, but the thick cloak wrapped around him, shielding him from the worst of it.

He glanced back.

The fox was following them, keeping pace without effort.