A minute or two, Wulf rested near the dead creature, debating whether or not there was something he should harvest or not - his gaming instinct taking over. But then again, neither had he been provided with some form of supernatural bag of holding, nor did he enjoy the prospect of carrying even more weight down the mountain, so he let the turtle-snake thing behind. He would be furious, though, if at the end it turned out to be a rare resource or something. He could not stand such things in game and he could not stand them in real life. He was a hoarder and despised games with even a little bit of inventory restrictions.

Now, to get out of this seemingly calm plateau of undisturbed snow, though...Wulf squinted at the snow really hard, the bright reflection of the sun above ever so slightly burning him. Usually he was protected, as his hood shaded his face, but after the kerfuffle everything hung loose. No, there was no telling if more of these lurkers were hiding in the snow. He had strayed from the path above, and just cutting through the wilderness was an invite for trouble. In four days, he had not been attacked, and the one time he left the road...

He turned, looking at the slope he had slid down on, trying to find an angle to climb back up. He hesitated. It looked...achievable. Then again, he remembered the frozen patches expediting his fall. The road above came around and down to the same level as he was now on just a couple of hundred meters ahead. What if he just walked close to the wall?

The snow was deep, and it would be absolute ass to power through, but would it beat climbing a frozen slope? Well, Wulf was Wulf and as such as good a climber as a bowl of pasta, so he really shouldn‘t have stalled that long. He sighed, long and arduously, making his way into the snow along the wall, blown up high by the winds scaling the mountain.

Every step drained the elation he had felt since winning that battle, every inch of snow tired his arms ever so slightly, not to speak of his legs, which had been burning in exhaustion for a while now. At least he finally got the training in he had failed to keep up on his own.

Four days would not make him an athlete. A week would show some significant improvement, though. He already felt lighter and more dynamic, even if he stuffed his face with jerky without abandon every time, he reached a cabin with new provisions. Whoever had stocked those was an angel, Wulf thought, and a lifesaver.

Despite the extra action, the unforeseen detour, and the extra snow he had to shovel, this very evening, as he reached the cabin, was the first one he was not too exhausted to move. He had done it and had energy to spare. There, again, the feeling of pride swelled in his chubby breast. Physical achievement could feel so good. Who could have known? Not him, that was for sure.

There was a part of him that remembered the fight with the creature this morning fondly, like an adventure he had mastered. Winning was fun, after it was done at least. The fight had sucked.

This evening, as he sat in front of his cabin, would be the last in the mountains. The next day, somewhere around noon, he would reach the tree line he had stared upon from above for days. There was no telling what to expect after that. He would make for theses huts and houses on the coastline, he decided, the next best sliver of civilization he could make out. After that to the right, keeping the water to his left, towards the settlement he had seen on those cliffs and mountains above the fjords.

It was as easy a plan as they would come. Walk with the giant mountain in your back until you find the water. Then stay at the coast.

As he went to sleep, checking his progress as he always did, he noticed that almost all of his physical attributes had made big improvements, at least compared to before. What had changed? The trek had not been more physically taxing than the days before, on the contrary. Was it because of the fight, the danger, the adrenalin? Something about growing stronger in a life and death situation? It would fit with a lot of games, novels, and stories he had consumed by the hundreds, in which even craftsmen had to go on adventures, because only on those one could improve significantly.

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Wulf finally left the mountains for good, diving into the twilight of the pine trees. If he had his tree knowledge right, which was not at all a sure thing. Not leafy trees, at least. He had thought to finally feel less...endangered, but even if the cold had finally lost most of its sting and would lose more of it with every step down to the ocean, the shadows and the trees presented him with a whole new, never before experienced kind of unease. There were wolves in the woods. He just knew it. It was that kind of forest. it had a very red riding hood kind of vibe to it. Well, Big Bad Wolf kind of vibe, he was not half as afraid of a little girl wearing a red cap.

He stopped. If a dancing little girl with a food basket were to step out of the underbrush right now, he would scream and run. She would have no business being here, he made up his mind. He would not mess with girls in woods. Or old women. Or...

He had to vent his anxiety, and only naturally he gripped one of his axes, feeling the smooth wood and metal with his fingertips. It actually calmed him down. He usually was good at horror games or films, hard to impress, at the very least. But reality was so much more vivid, he found to no one‘s surprise.

Damn. He thought. People wander into woods in their free time? They are freaking scary! What is wrong with those people?

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

At least the weather was fine, and the sun shone through to the ground, if a bit murky, so he regained some of his manhood and started walking again, just as straight ahead as he could, always glancing behind to check if the mountain was still there. Even if it was not, he just had to go downhill.

An hour passed, or two, and finally...he had lost his mountain. The ground was pretty much even, everywhere he turned to. The trees seemed to be standing much closer together, too, and the light was dim. Then it started to rain.

He had been lost in his thoughts, wandering tended to encourage the wandering thought as well, so suddenly...he felt lost, at least. If he really was, he did not know.

Well, he had been walking straight, but once allowed in, the thought of having moved in a circle gnawed at his confidence, spiraling, festering, until all that was left was the desire to punch a tree in anger.

So, he did. And like all the other times he had done so, he very much hurt his hand, cursing, jumping, and shaking his hand at the unfairness of the world. Only this time he was heard.

Somewhere, it thundered. Wulf stared up, feeling raindrops falling on his face. Then pouring in like the heavens had opened the floodgates. There was no lightning, though. What was the thunder about?

There rose a tentative growl to his right, a warning. Guttural and deep, rumbling in a mighty chest. The sound cut straight through Wulf’s little tantrum, freezing him on the spot.

Then he was shaken by a violent roar from the depths of the forest - somewhere to the left behind him. The sound was so deep, so bestial and so loud that Wulf could physically feel it shaking him. The blood froze in his veins and panic leapt into his throat as he threw a hectic look back. Something huge broke through the undergrowth, branches shook, wood shattered.

He would have screamed if his throat had not seized up in sheer terror. He saw a black outline, at least as high as two horses, glistening, wet fur, claws, and flashing teeth. The only thing Wulf could clearly focus on in the hazy darkness were the eyes, red-hot, sly, and evil. A look fit to send crowds into a desperate flight.

Wulf could read the creature's decision to kill him in those eyes, it was that simple. Infinite self-confidence. His death had been decided and as such was already certain, there was nothing a man could do about it. He was the prey in a foreign territory belonging to a predator mightier than him.

Wulf bumped against a tree trunk and stumbled. He flailed wildly, trying to find his balance, but went to his knees into a thorny plant.

Again, breaking wood cracked behind him and splinters of wood cut through the back of his neck. A ditch! He lunged forward while still falling, feeling an ominous breeze rush over his neck, where his head had just been a second ago. Whether claw or falling tree, Wulf did not know to say, but his heart hammered ever so faster for the brush of death.

Wulf slid headlong into the ditch, crawled on down on his hands and knees. I should be dead, why am I not dead? The bottom of the trench was filled with thick mud, ice cold and covered with snow dissolving in the rain.

Wulf spat and coughed, crawled forward, fought his way through the viscous soup, deep into the mud. His lungs begun to burn, his muscles aching, and he felt the proverbial breath of the beast on his neck, that his hairs stood on end. Something ancient awoke in him, helpless rage, instincts, and the irrepressible will to survive. Something inside him took the wheel. Two trees stood at the edge of the trench, forming something like a natural tunnel or choke point. He slipped through with no strength left, gripping his knife so hard his knuckles hurt. Then, he waited, blinking wildly to push the rain out of his eyes.

The impact was shockingly hard, considering there were two mature trees between Wulf and the beast's furious onslaught. The trees violently swayed and cracked, the branches whipped wildly back and forth, and Wulf was pushed a step away from the tree shielding him.

There the scarred hairy maw of the beast was, hot, foul breath hitting Wulf‘s face like a slap. The beast forced its enormous head between the trees, pushing the branches away, snapping, growling, roaring. Wulf screamed in answer and threw himself into the reach of the beast’s teeth, red mist rising into Wulf’s eyes from deep within. The rage, the fury seized him, the will to fight when there was no other way. His scream turned into a roar, his human thought processes disappearing behind the storm of frenzy and bloodthirst.

Wulf grabbed his knife with both hands, saw the eye, the devilish, cunning eye, and plunged the blade into it with all the strength he had left in him. He saw the creature reeling back, tumbling over itself, clawing at its own face, then, with a yelping, it disappeared over the edge of a hole Wulf had not even known was there. There was crashing, breaking of trees, and furious roaring. But then, the wind and rain swallowed every other sound.

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The first thing He noticed was raging pain in his back. He struggled to regain consciousness, fighting his way through a thick fog in his head. His legs were numb and twitching in spasms. Heavy raindrops

mixed with the blood on his face. Or was it melting snow? He was at the end, hungry, frozen through, and wet. I'm going to die here, the thought jerked through his head like a lightning strike. He would perish if he could not muster the strength to save himself. He cursed.

His back burned like a blazing fire, but he could move. He had deep cuts, flesh wounds probably, but his muscles still worked. Hurts like hell, though.

Good, pain is a good sign. He kept just lying in the rain for a few more moments to catch his breath, then braced himself against a tree.

He tore off his cloak, breastplate, and shirt, which were more than dirty and torn, and threw them out of the mud to the side. It was important that the wounds on his back had a chance to get as clean as possible, and the clothes would let dirt and fibers into the wound. If Wulf could just hang on a little longer and not again fall unconscious in the mud, the rain might wash out the already soiled parts of the wound. If he was a little lucky.

Then, if Wulf could make the couple of steps to dry land, the wounds could cleanly crust over and he would not chill out completely, if the rain stopped in time. If I do not die of blood loss or lose consciousness. Or the beast comes back. Or a normal wolf or another predator.

Wulf could not stop letting out a whimper as he moved slightly wrong, flaring up the pain in his back, but he welcomed the pain and trudged forward. Pain is good. Pain means you're alive. Pain means you have something to lose. Pain keeps you awake. Take another step Wulf, just one more step.