It is a slow and miserable struggle to the treeline, but the difference feels like a plunge into cool water. Immediately the ringing glare of moonlight is eclipsed by the canopy. Soft darkness swallows them both, and John breathes easier, a tremble running through all his coiling limbs.

The trap is easy as ever to spring. Vines snap up around them like tripped snares, and John lets it take the wolf with his tentacles still tangled in tight. As the woody vines begin to ratchet tighter, he tries to extricate his limbs in a hurry.

"There," he pants, voice reverberating strange and metallic through the grove. "Be still. I... I won't let it claim us. I'll stay awake."