When Dealing with Wolves by A. R. Thompson

Author:A. R. Thompson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: wolves, fantasy, magic
Publisher: A. R. Thompson
Published: 2021-06-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 32

The soft, warm pillow beneath Rostfar’s cheek rippled and shifted. She grumbled and tried to pull her blanket tighter, but there wasn’t any blanket to pull on.

“Mati, giv’m back,” Rostfar mumbled and reached out to pinch Mati’s arm. Her reaching fingers found only dirt.

Rostfar came awake in a heartbeat. Two pairs of reflective eyes shone from the darkness above her.

“Rostfar, hurry,” Yrsa whispered. As her eyes adjusted, Rostfar made out Myr and Yrsa’s shapes as darker patches of shadow in the grey gloom. The sun was obscured by a bank of clouds, and sleep still lay heavy on her thoughts like old snow.

“Unwolf,” Myr said, and all Rostfar’s newfound peace vanished. He turned and pointed with his snout towards a slope not far from where the wolves had settled. A thin, wolven silhouette stood alone atop it.

The pack moved close together in a defensive knot. The air swelled and trembled with their low growls, breaths steaming out in clouds. Rostfar couldn’t see the unwolf clearly enough to read its expression, but its pose, although static, seemed quite relaxed. Unhurried. As if it were idling away an hour watching baby goats play.

“It’s been standing there, watching,” Geren’s uneasy snarl came from Rostfar’s left.

“We attack,” Grae said. He had circled behind Rostfar to get closer to Yrsa, and now stood protectively at his littermate’s side.

“No.” Myr raised his head and fixed Unwolf with an unwavering gaze. “Let it come, if it will.”

Anger, blood-hunger, grief – they rose inside Rostfar like the tide. No matter what Yrsa said about the day of Arketh’s disappearance, this creature had blood on its teeth. She reached for her spear, but Yrsa’s mouth closed gently around her wrist.

“What are you doing?” Rostfar hissed.

Yrsa withdrew her teeth to answer. Rostfar seized her spear and bolted up the slope at a flat-out sprint. She lost sight of Unwolf for a single, fleeting second as she scrambled up a jut of rock, and skidded to a halt at the uneven summit. Alone.

Unwolf’s disembodied voice floated from the dark. “A human among wolves.” It sounded both mocking and genuinely affronted. “You . . . of the red hair. The not-raven spoke of you.”

“What?” The cold air burned her throat and drew tears to her eyes as she spun. Fog rolled along the ground below, too dense and swift to be natural. It hadn’t climbed this slope yet, but Rostfar could feel it anyway: creeping, hungry, toying with her senses.

“Wanted to know if I’d killed you, like I did that little child.”

A dark shape flickered out the corner of Rostfar’s eye. She whirled and thrust with her spear in a single, fluid motion. Something rushed past her, so close she could smell old blood on its breath, and she spun to face it again. Too slow. Quick as a hare and just as mad, Unwolf raced towards the top of the ravine where the caribou herd had been grazing.

Rostfar gave chase. She skidded more than she ran, but that didn’t matter. Unwolf was ahead of her, little more than an arrow-shot away.

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