Deadly prey

Only Egon's pack was brave or reckless enough to expand their territory into the swamps of Nela. The rest of the predators were afraid to go where even humans were wary of going. There was a reason why Nela was considered a cursed place. In the rotten swamps, the domain of life ended - the spirits of nature and ghosts reigned there. The wolves began their difficult and long march at dusk - game was more common at night than during the day, and hunters walking to the marshes felt just fine. Talking loudly in a growl similar to an expletive, the members of the pack nevertheless maintained the correct order, enjoying the darkness of the night and the fast running. But when, in addition to the dew, the paws began to get wet and the warm moisture squeezed out of the peat, the predators stopped, moving more cautiously. The rotten stench overpowered the scent, allowing the prey to hide as desperate as their future killers. But the wolves were now guided more by hearing than by sight. The swamp was quiet - unnaturally quiet. The birds didn't flap their wings, the foliage didn't make any noise. It seemed that all life had died out here, that something terrible and dangerous lurked in the darkness, just waiting for the wolves to enter his domain. Sniffing anxiously, the members of the pack tried to figure out what had caused this disturbing silence. The swamp lights flickered mysteriously in the night, their ghastly light was exciting and a little frightening, but it allowed them to navigate in the pitch darkness - the sky was covered with dense clouds, neither the moon nor the stars broke through them. The crooked thickets on the marshes were green with bright spots of rot, mold and fireflies, revealing the world of the night swamp, which was unusual and alien to wolves. But still, such an unusual environment made it possible to use not only hearing, but also vision. The pack saw their prey fine. Although it was hard not to notice it - having climbed onto one of the islands rising into the swamp, a young horse peacefully chewed the grass under its hooves, as if here, in a dangerous quagmire, it was sweeter than on a meadow. The seeming carelessness of the prey made Egon grin and growl at the rest of the pack to stay out of the way. He wanted not only to bring down the horse, but also to show the others how real alphas hunt. Moving forward, he, contrary to the laws of wolf hunting, intended not to drive the beast, but to kill it in a fair battle. It's unlikely that the horse will figure out which way to run! And the instinct of self-preservation will not allow him to dive into a stinking puddle, no, he will try to take the fight, and Egon will show everything he is capable of! Having calculated the jump so as to land on the withers of the ungulate and sink his teeth into the jugular vein, Egon retreated for a run and jumped swiftly, as if he had taken off. Even before reaching the prey, the wolf aimed. But to the sudden fright of the leader and the pack, the horse turned sharply and quickly and grabbed the front paw of the beast attacking it with a jaw full of teeth. Pulling at it, tearing it out with a bone, the horse threw the roaring Egon into the quagmire. The stunned predator did not immediately realize what had happened. The pain was not too severe, rather, because otherwise his body would have simply shut down, and the situation was already worse than ever. The swamp slime had captured the wolf and was now rapidly sucking it into itself, dragging it by its hind legs like a living being! Egon howled, floundering in the murky mud. He turned to look at the horse looking at him haughtily, which had regained its former peaceful appearance and calmness, then at the frightened pack, struck with horror and silently watching the monstrous scene. No one was in a hurry to rescue their leader. But the demonic horse glanced sideways at the splashing male: in his luminous eyes, contempt for the weak fool who decided to challenge him could be read. Now the predator was rapidly sinking - the quagmire held him firmly below the waist, but the male's attempts to free himself led to the fact that he began to sink further... At first, the angry growl changed to a desperate howl, and then it subsided. Egon opened his mouth with a wheeze, trying to breathe before he went under the surface and disappeared forever into the belly of the ruthless swamp. The pack did not disperse, the stray prey still stood proudly, pleased with the effect it had produced. And only one head remained visible from Egon. The mud felt strangely cold on the stump of his paw - it seemed that he should have already thrown back his tail in pain, but no! Or maybe the pain was driven away by fear, because no matter how the wolf pulled with its hind legs, it could not find the bottom. There was no shadow of hope in the call for help, but a heavy hoof increased Egon's sinking speed, pressing on his head and sending him to rot in an underswamp grave. With a gurgle and a slurp, the wolf plunged into a dense mass that pressed rot and dampness into his nose and clogged into his ears. There was a slight pressure on the body from all sides, as if the wolf had not just been drowned, but buried alive. His racing heart and anxious thoughts quickly caused an uncomfortable heat in his chest. The quagmire enveloped Egon like a cocoon, taking him in and not allowing him to escape from his embrace. The pain never flared up, only lived in him... Resentment and anger. Resentment for being so stupidly exposed to this monster, anger aroused by the desire for revenge... But no matter how he floundered, it was impossible to escape from the embrace of the quagmire. The wolf, trembling in a deathbed fever, lost the right to be called alpha, remaining only a vulnerable wolf cub. The moist coolness of the murky, dark slush was offset by the unbearable heat of suffocation, and the gloom was interrupted by bright random flashes of fading consciousness. The monster in the form of a horse let out a loud snort as the frightened pack rushed away. Then the horse stepped safely into the quagmire - its hooves were suddenly covered with ugly growths, the fur rapidly darkened, the features of the muzzle changed - it noticeably elongated, and sharp fangs protruded from its mouth. The dying wolf, from which bubbles rose more and more often to the surface, did not know that he was destined for a much worse death than shameful drowning. His prey will eat him.