That second was all Ludwig needed.
But now, carrying him alone, the remaining werebat was struggling. Its wings trembled with strain, and its altitude dropped fast. Gliding wasn't flying. They were descending. Fast.
Ludwig realized that he would probably either die or break a lot of bones from his current height, and began thinking of an idea before the second Reaver would hound him down.
He scanned below. Options flickered by—too many broken trees, too many corrupted ruins, and then he saw it: a tall, rotting tree that looked almost untouched by the Moon's corruption. Almost. It would have to do.
Behind him, the second Reaver surged forward again.
"Throw me!" Ludwig ordered, and the Werebat didn't hesitate, it flung Ludwig forward with as much power as it could muster. And instantly turned to the other Reaver. It dove at the oncoming Reaver in a last, suicidal act of defiance.
But two Werebats were nothing but a snack for the Reavers.
