The form comes out of the shadows and nightmares, long and lean and fanged and clawed itself. It catches him easily, muscled body not even pumping hard. It doesn't snap at his heels though or catch at his calves with snarling teeth. Instead it charges up along side him - and then keeps pace at his side there. Eyes that glow blue are slitted against the speed of their movements and pointed, furred ears are tucked back flat against a streamline skull. The wolf makes the leaps in tandem with the blond infantryman, never ahead, never behind, never touching or crowding too close. But it runs on the side where the road would drop off, guard against falling into oblivion and the mist smokes from its nostrils with each exhale. If it notices the man at its side, there's not indication.