It wasn't until the wolf was tired that he could gather his humanity - that was a laugh, his humanity - well then, he gathered himself together and stopped running. There was no one here to attack, so he ran. If he was frightened, he attacked or ran. The wolf was a simpler creature than the mage who hid within him.

The fourth sizzle of magic, the searcher's magic, was too much for the wolf. He fought to blend better with the form he'd taken, to lose himself in the wolf. He'd just never thought it would be when he was so weak. He'd always known that he would be found one day. Perhaps the one who looked for him was just idly hunting - but when he felt a third sweep, he knew it was unlikely. He was more afraid he wouldn't die, afraid of what he would become. Death didn't frighten him he sometimes thought he had come here seeking it. but he was so afraid, and his illness clogged his thoughts. He should lie low, it was the best defense. The searcher looked for a wizard and would never notice the wolf who concealed the man in its shape unless the fever betrayed him. The Northlands were rife with wild magic - which is why other magic couldn't work correctly here. The searcher's tendrils spread out again, brushing across him without recognition or pause. After all this time, after all of his preparations, he was going to be brought down by an illness.

Feverish and ill, his head throbbing so hard that it hurt to move, he couldn't pull his thoughts together. The wolf stumbled from the cave, knowing that someone was searching for him and he couldn't protect himself this time.

Frost Burned by Patricia Briggs