A wolf howl.
The merchant lifted his head, perked his ears, and quit his singing so suddenly the shift would have made a man jump. The mule stirred and slowed down. He slid his gold back into his satchel without taking his gaze from the darkness from whence the howl came. Anxiety crept upon him; his heart beats quickened, like little fists trying to break out of his chest cavity. The merchant shut his eyes and began to hum to the melody his mother had sang to him during the days when werewolves prowled the moonlit nights outside of his old homestead. He hummed, and the melody seemed to radiate from the merchant rather than coming directly from his mouth. The music was encasing and all around, and seemed to fog the atmosphere with magic. The merchant reached behind him under the carts tarp and searched for a torch and a bow with his hand. The merchant starred at the blunt of his torch and ignited the damp cloth with a minor spell. He tossed the torch 20 yards away from the wagon, knocked an arrow before the torch touched the ground, and continued his humming as he waited to draw his bow. He waited. Then two pairs of eyes, then another pair, and another pair, reflected in the darkness surrounding the torch light. Condensed clouds of breaths reflected in the orange light from deep, rattling breaths. The merchant then stopped humming, but the song remained, seeming to echo in the air around him. The merchant let two arrows fly in between two pairs of bright reflecting eyes. Two massive figures dashed forward over the torch light, heading toward the wagon. The merchant dropped his bow and pulled two knives out from his belt before a wolf lunged five feet in the air out of the darkness towards the merchant. The merchant arched his back nearly 90 degrees, dodging the lunging wolf. The beast soared over the merchant as he shoved a knife upward into the bulge of the beast’s chest. Another leaped onto the wagons edge just next to the merchants feet. The merchant punted the wolfs head beneath its jaw before the dog could get its back legs on the wagon. Two throwing knives slid down the merchant’s sleeves into his hands. He slung the knives down at two wolves snapping at the mule’s knees, the wolves dropped as the knives severed their spines. Then silence. The merchant stood glancing around his wagon in a defensive stance. He waited, then slowly let his guard down and exhaled a long breath as the echoes of his hum slowly faded in a cold breeze. He jumped off his wagon and examined the wolves. Easily bigger than myself, the merchant thought, pelts could fetch a fair price in Dawnstar. Night was already upon him though and the roads were growing more dangerous, but the merchant ignored his better judgment to retrieve the wolf pelts.