He had been walking for several minutes.

His gaze wandered, left to right and left again, scanning the forest for any signs of activity.

It had been a while since he had heard the `thunder´ and so far everything had been quiet.

A little too quiet.

He strengthened his grip on his trusty `weapon´, the wooden stick, and continued to move.

After covering roughly one kilometer, the background sound increased again.

Straining his ears, he managed to identify a few sounds, mostly the howls of dogs or wolves and the clash of metal.

He stopped, uncertainty halting him.

He had no idea how he had gotten here, to this forest.

No idea where he was going, and especially where he was supposed to go.

Sure, he had no other clues to guide him, but was it really wise to move towards the sound of thunder?

Especially now, with howls and presumably the sounds of battle coming from the direction he was moving towards.

Remaining here would not solve anything, he decided.

Either forward or back!

He looked back into the forest, back towards the direction he came from.

`No sense going back, huh,´ he thought and started moving forward again.

Just then, he glimpsed something in the corner of his eye.

With a quick lunge, he moved behind a tree. His pulse accelerated and he could hear his breathing quickening.

It sounded so loud, as if he had just run a marathon and was gasping for air.

How could anyone miss him if he was breathing this hard?

His finger strengthened his grip on the wooden stick, as he slowly peered around the tree.

What he saw confused him. Confounded him, really.

Roughly 20 meters to his right, two small `children´ were running away from a man chasing them.

The man looked strange. The first thought that crossed one’s mind would probably be werewolf.

Or more accurately, were-dog.

His upper body was covered in cream-spotted, dark-gray fur, especially thick around his back and neck. His ears, at least the one he could see, were pressed against the side of his head, long and also blanketed in fur.

His face sported an elongated snout, open, his sharp teeth visible and his tongue moving rhythmically with his breathing.

Stranger than seeing a legendary beast walking upright on its hind legs was seeing it armed and clothed. The left shoulder was protected by a leather pauldron, the leather strap stretched across the bare back and chest.

A large leather belt protected the abdomen and provided room for pouches and a dagger.

The shins as well were protected by leather guards fastened with straps and buckles.

In its right hand it carried a single-bladed axe, that was aimed towards the fleeing victims.

The two `children´ were about as strange the were-dog chasing them.

While they also were covered in fur, its color more akin to ochre, it was neither as long nor as thick.

In fact, if not for the long ears, pressed tightly against their heads and the long, bushy tails, they could almost pass of as human children at first glance.

As he was studying the childlike creatures closely, the smaller one stumbled. The larger of the two, holding its hand also fell, but quickly got up and turned towards the pursuer, a knife in hand.

The were-dog slowed, then stopped, merely a few meters away, relaxed its posture and started twirling its axe.

The larger of the `children´, judging from its shape and apparel, a girl, jumped in front of the smaller one, taking a stance, both arms extended, holding onto the knife while shaking.

A high pitch howl and then, words.

“S-S-STAD! F-FAN AR SHIÚL!” the girl howled, still holding the knife like an amateur.

The Were-dog stopped, growled and adopted a posture, ready to pounce, swinging the axe from side to side, making sure the girl could see. The little one behind her was whimpering, holding onto a fold from the girl’s dress.

The pursuer took a tentative step forward. The girl did not move, only shook the knife, and spoke the same words again

“Fan ar shiúl ...”

Only this time, it wasn’t the loud howl from before. It was more of a wail.

Her anguish was met with a sarcastic snicker, as he once more relaxed his posture and then stretched himself to his full height. Afterore beginning to circle around the girl.

She followed his movement with her entire body, keeping herself in front of the little one at all times. Definitely from the same pack, possibly siblings.

Every time the were-dog fell back into his attacking posture, the girl flinched.

Bastard was playing with her.

* * *

Scar, as Ciaráh called him, relaxed his posture again, took a step forward, then stopped.

He looked at her, and shrugged, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

As soon as he opened them, he pounced on the two.

His mouth opened wide spitting saliva, his right arm wound up for a large swing.

Did he intend to bite them, or slash them with axe?

Ciaráh flinched, then stumbled backwards, trying to gain some distance, possibly to correct her stance again. Her brother did not expect this and couldn’t get out of the way in time, and so she tripped over him.

The axe neatly missed her head, taking only a few hairs from her scalp.

Scar’s eyes opened wide with surprise.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

* * *

From the safety of the tree, he continued to observe the spectacle.

His anger grew with every passing moment, with every feint and with every snicker and bark.

His heartbeat quickened and his senses focused.

His limbs were filling with strength.

He had to do something soon, or the adrenaline rush would start to work against him.

Then, the moment to act arrived.

* * *

Ciaráh managed to avoid the decapitation attempt, pushed herself off the ground and thrust the knife, her entire bodyweight behind it, straight into the exposed flank of the attacker, burying the knife deep into Scars’ abdomen and shoving him away.

Without inspecting the damage she had done, she spun around, grabbed her brother by his wrist and, pulling him off the ground, and started running again.

* * *

The two small children sprinted in his direction. The girl had managed to wound her pursuer, who was thrashing on the ground, whining, yelping and growling.

The were-dog rolled onto his hands, looked at the knife sticking out of his side before howling angrily.

His eyes narrowed in hate, fixated on the fleeing siblings. He ripped the knife out of his side and started after them.

* * *

Ciaráh did not dare turn around. She needed to get away as fast as possibly.

Only a few steps away and she felt a weight press down on her back, pushing her to the ground.

She twisted her body and looked into the crazed eyes of Scar, as he started pummeling at her with fists and claws.

Any thoughts of escape fled her mind and she barely managed to raise her arms to protect her neck and face.

Scar’s claws were ripping apart clothes and skin and drew blood.

Her arms felt like they were burning.

Then the attack stopped.

Her arms still throbbed with acute pain, as she opened her eyes and saw her little brother, biting the arm of Scar, holding on, clenching his jaws with all his might.

Scar howled in pain and anger. Shaking his arm violently, trying to shake of the little pub, before punching him repeatedly.

The cub’s bite loosened, and with one more powerful jolt, her brother flew, before violently crashing against a tree.

He didn’t get up again.

Scar looked at the deep bite marks on his arm, and growled.

His eyes fixated on Ciaráh again.

All hope was leaving her.

Her arms felt heavy, and she couldn’t even raise them to protect herself anymore.

Having been pinned down, with no means of escape, her arms bleeding and her little brother not moving, she didn’t have the energy no the will to even attempt any resistance.

But, with a loud crack Scar was gone again, the weight pinning her down suddenly lifted.

Ciaráh pushed her back from the ground. with the bit of force her battered and bleeding arms could muster, to look into the direction Scar was thrown towards.

* * *

As the girl was pushed down, he dashed out of his hiding spot, straight towards the were-dog that was pummeling his victim.

The wooden stick at his side, both hands gripping tightly, he swung while twisting his hip, transferring as much weight into the swing as he could.

The stick cut through the air and struck the beast’s snout dead center, lifting it up a few centimeters, before the wood creaked and broke, the upper part flying off into the distance.

His target rolled backwards, but came to a sudden stop, as he hit an exposed root.

It shook its head and tried to look up, only to be greeted by a knee to the face.

Again it was launched off the ground, but this time it managed to catch its fall and roll.

Standing up quickly, it turned its gaze at the newest pest that had dared to disturb its fun.

* * *

Ciaráh had never seen nor heard of the creature that had saved her and now stood between her and the Nerwnn hound.

It stood taller than any male in the village, with no visible fur on its arms and hands.

She couldn’t see the face, only the back of its head and shoulder length hair.

Its right hand was gripping a broken piece of a tree branch, the knuckles turning white.

The hound stood up quickly, staggered and looked slightly dazed.

He was bleeding from the snout, out of his mouth and the knife wound on his abdomen.

Scar drew his dagger swiftly and held it before him, growling at the new interloper.

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