The smell reached John before the sound did.
It slid through the forest on a slow breeze, faint but sharp enough that his senses caught it immediately. He lifted his head slightly from the thick branch where he had been lying, golden eyes narrowing while he breathed in again.
Wolves.
Not the small scavengers that prowled the edges of the forest. These carried the scent of organized hunters. Lean, hungry predators that moved in packs and relied on coordination more than brute strength.
Below him, the elven village still carried the quiet rhythm of late afternoon.
Several adults were finishing their work near the wooden structures, stacking cut logs beside half-built walls. The smell of fresh sap drifted faintly upward from the timber. A pair of older elves argued quietly while examining a tool that had snapped near the handle.
Near the center of the clearing, children ran through the grass in a messy game that involved a lot of shouting and even more laughter.
