Lifts wolf

He could not budge it. The paw was no bigger than a feasting plate, but heavier than a Land Raider. Back straining, Russ pulled at the paw. His face turned crimson to the roots of his hair. He let out a bellow of frustration.
The paw shifted from the ground, creeping upwards fractions of an inch from a time. 'A fine feat!' shouted the Erlking. 'Now you must move the rest of him.'
The wolves laughed and banged their implements on the table. Russ heaved harder, pushing from his legs, the muscles in his back on the verge of tearing. Up the paw went, past Russ' knees, then past the top of his thighs. Slow as a glacier inching its way down the mountains into the sea, Russ drew himself upright. His teeth were damped, knuckles of his interlaced fingers white, until he had the leg high off the ground.
At this disturbance to its slumber the wolf shivered, and pushed out its paw, sending Russ flying backwards with such force he cracked the post he landed against. On breath ragged with the effort, he tasted blood.
...
	'Your wolf, your pet. Why! What fool do you take me for?' He pointed at the sleeping monster. 'That is none other than Morten himself, the greatest wolf of all, and the lord of the lowest of death's halls.'
The wolf looked up. Two heads, not one regarded Russ with piercing eyes. One month yawned capaciously, then it settled back down to sleep.
'No man can move death,' said Russ. 'It is a point we must all come to, and it cannot be dislodged by mortal effort. There! In naming the three of your challenges I win the fourth. They were not fair, you sought to deceive me. The deceiver is always undone.

Wolfsbane