Jaeger made quick work of the Drake’s corpse with his large bush knife and tossed the last hunk of flesh and bone onto the dungeon floor where the starving wolves were gulping down the hunks of meat. He still felt the incredible power and peace of channeling the Form of the Mountain Spirits, his skin still covered in a layer of primal grey stone, and he had little to fear from the wolves should they decide to attack. For the moment though they ignored him, greedily feeding, and Jaeger slowly edged closer to the nearest wolf… reaching a cautious hand toward the chained collar attached to it’s immaciated neck. He was only inches away when the wolf suddenly crouched low and twisted away, his lips curling back in a vicious snarl as the wolf stared back at Jaeger with frenzied eyes; the reaction of a cornered and abused animal. Jaeger gave a low, primal growl of his own and slowly backed away, holding eye contact. For now he had reduced their frenzied hunger but they were not calm enough to allow him near the chains still anchored to the dungeon walls. He would have to return after his party had rested from their recent battles, so he backed up the stairs till the wall broke eye contact with the wolf. As he crested the top of the stairs he let go of the Mountain Form, feeling the familiar sense of loss that always came when he broke contact with the Primal Spirits; like saying farewell to a dear friend without knowing when you would meet again. As the surface of his skin lost the hard, stoney texture and his color returned to normal he scanned the room where his companions were recovering from the battle. Menna was tying off the last of the bandages on Althaea’s arm and beckoned Jaeger over to have his own wererat bites treated for the filthy beast’s infections. Jaeger walked over toward his friends forcing a smile for their victories and promising silently to himself that he would return for the wolves and hopefully, meet more of the vile creatures that made them captives.