The sky lightened, as a strong wind drove the fog back. It rolled away in grey waves, revealing the tents, campfires and hundreds more soldiers but that was someone else’s worry. Grey Fang shot toward the pavilion of the General, straight as an arrow. Five more groups of soldiers in the same defensive “porcupine” position stood between him and his goal.

As he neared the next group of soldiers, he picked up his speed, moving faster and faster until he was sprinting at them. This group was not as confident as the last and had learned. Three of the men in the front positioned their spears at a downward angle. If Grey-Fang hit them like he had the last group, he would skewer himself, but that wasn’t what he had planned.

Just out of striking distance he planted the spear he had borrowed from a dead man and pushed hard against the ground. The suppleness of the wood multiplied his momentum to carry him over the entire formation and he hit the ground running.

Grey-Fang grinned without humor. One down, four to go.