Fatefull

His hand is warm as it clasps my arm - more than warm, hot. As if he burned with fever. I can hear our puruers coming closer. "Stay by my side and walk faster. And for the love of God, don't look back." The steps behind us charge. No longer do they sound like footsteps. Instead they're softer - they click upon the cobblestones. As I'm unable to wrest myself free from my cantor, I defy him by looping back. And thee I see the wolf.