The Undead wild wolf continued fighting, tearing through the guards.
It did so brutally, as it always did when commanded to fight anything. Against animals, it tore, against humans, it tore.
The eight guards outside the stone building had formed up properly, swords out, their stance one of determination.
Against a living wolf, even a large one, eight trained soldiers with swords was a manageable problem.
The original undead wolf was not a living wolf.
It hit the line at full speed and went through it the way water went through a gap, not fighting the resistance so much as finding the path of least resistance and taking it, which in this case meant the space between the first two guards before they could close the gap.
One of them got his sword into the wolf's side and the wolf turned its head and bit the man's arm at the elbow and kept moving. The arm went one way. The man went down. The wolf was already at the next one.
