The wolves are coming.
However, Yu Sheng couldn't see the exact shape of the wolves—he could only hear the continuous sounds of branches being stepped on and bushes being brushed past from behind, the occasional muffled whimpers, and at times, he could even smell the rotten fishy scent mixed with blood carried by the air, a frigid breath spreading through the forest like the approaching cold winter, gradually stripping away the vitality and warmth.
The howling of wolves surged again, rising and falling, emanating from every tree, every bush, and every shadow around, with the Wolf Pack circling the prey, constantly tightening the encirclement.
"Run! Don't stop! Run!"
The squirrel had already climbed from Yu Sheng's neck to the top of his head, this small rodent vigorously swinging its paws forward, letting out a sharp cry.
"Run to the path! Run to the place with lights! Run to where the wolves dare not go!"
