Rúna scrutinized her reflection in the polished ice. The small version of her true form was not so different than a human's, which made it much easier to learn that form than that of an animal. The muscles and bones, the nerves and sinews, these were the same. And yet, as she knelt here and looked into the frozen stream, she couldn't help but feel unprepared. She ran fingers over her skin, no longer sheet white, but light brown. The sun would turn it even darker if she spent time beneath its rays in this form. Her hair was ash grey, barely different from her true form's. It was her eyes that unnerved her the most. No longer were they bright onyx from corner to corner, instead gold rings around small dark pupils. She had little experience with human eyes, so she stuck with the familiar coloration of a wolf's.

Her time with Terese was spent in beast form, but it was an education all the same. The woman had been nothing but kind, though even with her assailants vanquished, Terese's nightmares were intense. Some did not even have the kindness to wait until the human was asleep. Whatever agonies Terese had endured, they had left indelible marks on her soul.

It wasn't right.

Since the battle, Rúna had been far more vigilant than their first meeting. She never wanted Terese to feel afraid again. And so she made certain to patrol the terrain, leaving great claw gouges in the bark of trees and other sign indicating a great predator. Hopefully, the primal fear of being devoured would dissuade the hunters after Terese.

She rose from the riverside. Terese would miss her if she lingered much longer. She'd just missed singing enough to take a break from her wolf form. Howling was not the same. She wished she could carry a proper conversation with Terese, maybe soothe some nightmares with more than a presence alone, but she had yet to think of a way to do so short of revealing that she could shift shapes. She didn't mind the idea of Terese knowing, but it was a secret that needed to be kept when beyond Stormhenge and the safety of numbers.

Rúna pulled in a deep breath, savoring the ache of the cold in her lungs. Her wounds didn't even bother her on a deep breath anymore. Terese had cleaned them and bandaged them well. It had been weeks and they were all but gone, remaining only as fresh scars. She was fortunate that the hide of a winter wolf was so thick, an armor worthy of the warrior contained in it. Swords were ill-suited for combating Ash Kordh's dangerous predators.

She shifted gracefully back into the form of a wolf and padded back to the ruined cabin. The birds that had not flown south for the winter sang under a clear sky, a sign that there hadn't been a disturbance in her absence. She made certain to announce her arrival with a huff at the doorway before squeezing in. She'd been able to push the wall back out after the battle, but it still made her cautious.

Terese sat inside by the fire, secure enough in the warmth to take off her gloves. She was working away on mending a rip to the sleeve of her outer shirt, since the weather was decent at the moment. Her brow furrowed in concentration, her stitches far neater than Rúna's had ever been. Still, there was not an air of peace in the cabin—Terese seemed lost in dark thoughts.

Rúna took a seat beside her, bumping the human with her nose.

Terese looked up with a wan smile. "Welcome back," she said, weaving her fingers through Rúna's thick fur. "I've almost finished with the shirt."

Rúna huffed and laid down.

The human sighed, but said nothing of it as she returned to her work. At least, not for a long moment. Here beneath the bright light of the sun, Terese was little better than she was under the dark of night. The lines of worry carved into her face seemed even deeper than they had before. A half hour passed without words before Terese finally whispered, "You would have hated me." Her fingers quivered slightly on the stitch.

It was a comment that Rúna didn't understand. How could a creature so vulnerable and caring ever be worthy of hatred? Terese had tended to the giant's wounds so gently that Rúna had barely felt a sting. Every time they met again, it was to affection. The giant cocked her head to one side and whined.

"I was not always this way," Terese said. "I was cruel, arrogant, ambitious—as much so as my father, a man whose hubris and ravenous hunger for power plunged an entire kingdom into civil war." She took a deep breath. "I do not deserve you."

Rúna studied her ward intently. Terese seemed pained by those admissions, guilt drowning that old self.

"You are not made for the world of men, angel," Terese said softly. "Nor for those who made it what it is. When the hunters return, you should run. Back to your pack, back to what can love you as you deserve."

Rúna wished she could change shape and tell Terese that she was wrong. The human was careworn and fearful, but there was still beauty in her. It was worth defending. She settled for placing her nose against the human's arm to offer a silent comfort.

A breeze slipped through the cracks, carrying with it an unfamiliar smell. Rúna turned her head and inhaled sharply, drawing the scent in. Her predator's sense told her what it was before she could articulate it even to herself: people.

Maybe this time she could talk them out of fighting. They hadn't arrived, so they couldn't hurt Terese yet. If she was well-spoken enough, perhaps this could end without bloodshed.

Rúna flicked her ear and rose to her feet. It was the same gesture she made before hunting, and had done so enough that Terese could recognize it. She padded out into the snow, following the smell on the breeze. They were closer than she realized, voices carrying on the wind, speaking in the southern tongue. Her hopes of orcish visitors were dashed. All the same, she let her body flow into the human shape she had been practicing. It felt relatively smooth, though it was still odd to be so small and probably always would be. She shrugged her shield off her back just in case, but let Storm-Caller stay in its sheath at her side. She had always been better at defensive fighting than an initial assault, so she wasn't twitching to draw first. If worst came to worst, she could always shift shapes.

The two humans who approached looked quite a bit different than Terese. Their skin was dark, like rich loam, and their kinky hair was the color of pitch. The woman in the lead, clearly in her middle years with gimlet eyes and a definite frown, wore the spotted hide of a leopard over brigantine armor, both denoting her status as a warrior if Rúna were to guess. Certainly, the lethal head of the spear and the wicked curve of the sword she carried showed she was dangerous. The slightly younger man with her was attired for the weather as well and carried no weapon. His hand rested on a strange, red terracotta jar bound to his belt, covered in sigils inlaid in gold. Rúna knew little about the kingdoms of men, but she understood immediately that the jar was a thing of power, if only by the way he touched it so carefully.

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These would not be as easy to turn away as the last group, even if they were fewer. Not that Rúna really wanted to. Despite all the grim purpose in these strangers' movements, they were a picture of beauty: the woman's calm focus and measured ferocity as graceful as a cresting wave about to strike stone, the man's regal bearing and keen, inquisitive eyes. They were dangerous, very much so, but Rúna was so awestruck she forgot the cautious stealth that was probably warranted. She stopped in plain view of them, far enough back that she would at least have time to react if the woman hurled her spear.

"You're no orc. Who are you, wildling?" the woman asked, dark eyes wary. Her grasp of Orcish was decent, the syllables low and rough. "You don't look like one of the swamp-dwellers."

"You may call me Rúna," the giant said, leaving off her surname for the moment. "I am a wanderer and a poet."

"And a warrior," the man observed, still too tense to smile.

"We are looking for a woman," the woman said, shifting her grip on her spear.

"This is known," Rúna acknowledged. "Other hunters have passed this way. They did not return. A great beast stalks these woods."

"Yet you seem unafraid, Rúna," the woman said with a deeper frown.

Rúna smiled. "A lifetime in Ash Kordh teaches a warrior much of living beside great beasts." She kept her stance relaxed and balanced, her hand held away from her sword's hilt. "I am not your enemy unless you wish me to be. Why are you seeking this woman?"

"Terese Sagarra is wanted by Ghyslain Roche, Lord Protector of the Kingdom of Genev," the man said. "That is all that matters."

The giant considered that carefully. Ghyslain Roche wasn't a name she knew, nor was Terese's surname. "You are in Ash Kordh," she said. "Forgive me, but the desires of your lord are a world away."

"Wherever we can reach is still within his grasp," the woman said fiercely. "Have you seen this woman? She has hair that is mostly grey, blue eyes, and fair skin. She bears the marks of justice."

Rúna considered this carefully. She'd always been told not to lie, but these two could hurt Terese. She sighed before saying, "I have seen the woman you speak of." Her expression hardened. "The scars she carries are no sign of justice. They read only of cruelty.

The man glanced to his companion. "At least this is a lead, Thema." He stepped forward, hands out and away from his sides in a gesture of peace. "Where is Terese? We only want to speak with her and then return her to her home."

"I will take her as far as Ghurgha," Rúna said firmly. She didn't believe him, not after the comment about her scars. These were wicked people as surely as the men she'd ripped apart, beautiful or no. "She goes no further south unless she tells me that's what she wants."

"Your fealty is surprising, wildling," Thema said dryly. "Our quarry has done enough evil that I doubt she's worthy of it."

Rúna lifted her chin slightly, meeting the woman's gaze head-on. She had spent weeks with Terese. That wasn't much time, but struggling on the edge of survival bonded people together. Besides, whatever had happened in the past, Terese was vulnerable and hurting, entirely dependent on Rúna for survival. That helplessness stirred a powerful desire to protect. "I owe no one fealty. The protection I offer is the same I would give to any who came to me alone and dying."

The man cracked a smile at that. "Spoken as one would expect a native of Ash Kordh," he said. "We do not expect you to understand or honor our contract with our lord, but please believe us when we say that the woman you shelter is not what she appears. Firstly, her cruelties and misdeeds warrant punishment, as the people of Genev cry out for justice as their tormentor hides here in obscurity. Secondly, she poses you a danger. You may find her pursued by those less civil than we."

Rúna was not a creature inclined towards dishonesty. She frowned deeply, exposing her doubts in and caution fully to the light. This was something she would have to handle carefully. "I will convey your message to her," she said finally. "There is a set of three standing stones due west, with a sheltered space to rest and fresh water beneath the ice. I will find you there when a decision has been reached."

The warrior woman's dark eyes flashed and her lips pinched thin with frustration. "Who do—?"

Her companion put a firm hand on her shoulder. In the Eth tongue, complex and flowing, he said, "Be still, Thema. These are not our woods and if she can command the beast, this is not how and when I would fight her. Your bull-headedness has already cost us weeks and I would rather return to the south with Terese peaceably."

"Northerners are foreign to the concept," Thema said dryly in their shared tongue, ignorant of the fact that Rúna understood their speech. "They have no love for the crown heads of men or their servants."

"But they do respect manners, so let us be courteous and prepared, should courtesy not be sufficient."

Rúna didn't believe in lying, but she appreciated trickery and misdirection after a youth growing on stories of the craftiest of warriors. While she wanted to interject in their language, it would probably be for the best to keep that knowledge hidden behind her fangs and let them assume, in case they meant to deceive or entrap.

The young giant gave them a bow and retreated, though she did not turn her back to them until she was well out of reach. Once she broke from their view by entering the trees, she made a beeline for the cabin where Terese waited. There was going to be no good way to introduce herself without spooking the woman.

She was careful to obliterate her tracks behind her using a fallen branch and trusting in the constant flurries of snow falling from the creaking trees above.

By the time she made it to the cabin, she at least had a thought of what she was going to say. Rúna kept her hands well away from her sword as she approached the door to the ramshackle construction. Squeezing through the doorway constantly in the form of a great winter wolf had nudged a leaning wall slightly more to the side, but otherwise it was mostly intact. Smoke wafted up through the hole in the roof, the most important part of Terese's survival.

Rúna stepped into the doorway.

Terese looked up like a frightened doe, freezing in place. In the lines of her face, Rúna saw terror clearly.

"It's alright," Rúna said gently. "I'm a friend to Ixtaro."

Terese relaxed ever so slightly at the name she had given to Rúna's wolf form, a name no one but she and her lupine guardian ever heard. "Are you an angel?" she asked quietly, still pressed back against the wall.

"I am a guardian," the young giant said, offering Terese a small smile. "It seems wyrd has said that I will be yours."

The wan woman shook her head slightly. "Fate is never so kind," she whispered.

"It is now," Rúna promised. She continued seriously, "There are two people here to return you to the south. If you wish it, I will fight them for you."

Terese sagged, an invisible weight crushing her from above. "No," she said quietly. She tried to straighten up to a dignified posture, a remnant of an old self, but trembled instead. "I will hear what they have to say." She lifted her chin, looking into Rúna's golden eyes. "Do you have a name, angel?"

The question was met by that same soft smile. "Rúna."

"Please take me to them, Rúna," Terese rasped, voice roughened by fear and cold weather. "I have fled far enough."

Rúna held out her hand, helping the frail woman off the ground. The silver threads in Terese's hair seemed to lose some of their luster as the fear of pain overtook her. Without considering it, the young giant brushed some of her charge's hair from her face. "I will protect you with all that I am," she promised. "You hurt too much already."