Lin appeared at his side a second after the portal opened up due to his summoning order.
The fox's white fur was clean — the morning's washing had addressed the night's record, and the scout force's engagement had not produced the kind of distributed, saturation-level contact that the plainfield's feral mana beast situation had produced. Lin looked the way it normally did.
He looked at the fox.
And then at Fenrir.
At the crack in the ground, still running, still straight, still pointing ahead.
He mounted Fenrir.
Lin fell into position at the wolf's flank.
The center was still ahead, the presence still growing stronger in the direction the crack pointed, the ancient quality of the forest still deepening around them.
He moved forward.
