Gregor followed where her finger pointed with his eyes and held out his torch. At the edge of the firelight's illumination, he could see two thin birches that had bark stripped from their trunks at eye level. It seemed Loka was right. Gregor gingerly tiptoed forward, his sword at the ready in his other hand. 

They walked in silence as Loka's sense of smell took them deeper into the woods. Gregor hoped to maintain as much of the element of surprise as possible, and though the werewolf would undoubtedly see the torchlight at some point, the forest was thick and masked their approach. Every few dozen yards or so Gregor paused to ask Loka if they were still going the right way. 

After what seemed like a tense eternity of walking and shallow breathing had passed, they came upon a lair -- a small cave set into the side of a plateau. It was empty, save for fresh blood and human limbs. Gregor cursed under his breath and wheeled around, expecting the lycanthrope to leap out of the forest at any second. "It knows we are here," he whispered.