General Charis took a sharp step back, his armour creaking with the sudden tension in his limbs. His eyes, usually calm and discerning, now widened with recognition and dread.
"Ulroks," he hissed. "Gods help us—it's a pack of Ulroks."
His voice cut through the dry wind like a blade, drawing every pair of eyes toward the emerging beast.
Luke turned to him, frowning.
"You know what those things are?"
General Charis nodded grimly.
"Ulroks don't hunt alone. They move in packs—always in packs. One drives the prey into a frenzy, and the rest wait beneath to tear it apart from below."
