13. Alone

Dorothy had tried to use Gordon's unstrung bow as a crutch, but the wood was too pliable and she ended up slipping all over again.

Then she scrabbled around and eventually found a branch thick enough and straight enough to bear her wait without breaking.

But by the time she'd found a proper rhythm with her now awkward and painful gait, the sun was disappearing into the horizon, leaving the world around her in a hazy, chilly gloom.

Dorothy shivered, struggling over to the safety of a broad tree trunk and setting down her things. She checked her pack, swearing at herself, when she realized she'd forgot to bring anything that might help her start a fire.

She'd left all of her gear for woodcraft and survival in the other sack. It was going to be a very long, cold, and dark night.

Taking out the blanket, she wrapped herself tight and prayed to the Eleven Elders she wasn't going freeze to death. She began to feel uncomfortably warm now she tucked the cloak and cover around her, which was a promising sign at least. Good thing she hadn't been this thoughtless in winter or she would be well and truly dead.

"Stupid woman," she muttered to herself. "Gob, fetch me a candle. Gob, fetch me a torch. Gob, light me a fire," she rattled off in self mockery.

She was bone tired, so she closed her eyes and tried to sleep. But her thoughts, angry and regretful, kept coming back to her shouting at the goblin in the kitchen.

She'd been harsh to Gob, but she couldn't see any other way to get rid of him. She'd already tried to be soft, and he'd latched onto her and not wanted to let go. It was best for him that she finally did get rid of him, even if the little monster didn't understand it for a while.

Dorothy wondered then if she'd ever see the scrawny goblin again. Or if he'd get gobbled up by his kin because he had nowhere else to go.

Maybe one day she'd come back to her home and he'd still be waiting there, keeping himself alive on a hearty diet of owls.

It was hardly Dorothy's fault anyhow.

Maybe she could have reached some sort of arrangement with the goblin, offering him shelter in exchange for food, if Great Chief Taruk hadn't gotten involved.

Surely a goblin like that had better things to do than harass an old woman for taking in a stray.

She would have thought starting a war with the manlings would keep him busy enough. But instead he'd been wasting his time coming to threaten an old woman and demand a goblin that would've already been dead and eaten if she'd not intervened.

She thought about that kind soldier she'd met, Harold, and how the towering goblin was likely going to hack him and his men to pieces.

What a terrible thing was war.

The Midderlands was huge, and the goblins didn't take up much room living in the wild as they did. Surely there was plenty of room for Taruk's tribe without there needing to be a slaughter.

A keen howling sounded out then, worrying close, and cold crept down Dorothy's back despite many layers. The wolf that answered the call was far closer still. As was the third.

Dorothy's blood froze. Her heart began to thump. She was torn between reaching for a weapon, just in case, and between staying as still as she possibly could.

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Long moments passed. She waited, keeping quiet as can be.

The scrabbling of paws in the distance made her chest tighten.

Snuffing sounded out to her right.

All around her came the sounds of wolves, from the darkness of shadowed trees.

Dorothy's heart thundered. She tried to pull one hand loose from her cloak and blankets, reaching into her pack and grasping the cold handle of her iron pan.

The wolf pack was travelling around her, and she didn't want to attract undue attention, but she also needed to be able to defend herself.

The snuffing grew closer.

Gently pulling out the pan, something had been caught inside, which then rattled around, causing Dorothy to panic and strike a tree trunk, sounding out with a hollow thunk.

The wolves growled in answer.

***

Dorothy stood with her back to the stolid trunk, pan in one hand, bow in the other.

The night had grown black, and her breaths had grown ragged. She stood atop her bundled blankets, lashing out with the pan and bow every now and then while wolves, three or four by the sounds of all the growling, snarled and snapped at her.

She could faintly see their eyes in the darkness, shining with moonlight, or their great fangs glistening with drool.

Like as not, she grimly understood, there was no fighting them off. Even holding them at bay had been tiring, and they could have lunged in and took her to the ground if they'd really wanted. The wolves were just waiting for her to get tired so they could take her for even easier prey.

Dorothy didn't even bring a knife, despite her admonishing herself for forgetting the last time, so she couldn't even cut her own throat.

It was gonna be a long and messy way to leave the waking life, being gnawed and chewed to death to the chorus of hungry wolves.

A wolf snapped forward then, snarling and growling, setting great jaws around the bow.

Scared of losing one of her weapons, Dorothy held tight, but then the wolf pulled back with strong haunches, setting her off balance, sending her stumbling forward, where her shoes were tangled in the blanket and she tumbled over, tangled in a bundle of fabric.

Dorothy's dread panic left her frozen and overwhelmed. She couldn't do anything other than wait for the first bite to sink into her skin.

Teeth came in on her shoulder, muffled by her heavy cloak.

The wolf bit down harder, and forefangs nipped into her skin.

Then a jaw closed around her ankle, the pain bright and vivid and sharp like lightning, puncturing deep through her skin and scraping up against bone.

Agony fueling her, she scrabbled forward, held back by the wolves, and then desperately threw herself over.

Swinging out, the iron pan struck resoundingly now it crashed into a wolf's head.

Then a strange snarling answered that, followed by an awful yelping scream.

Desperate growling followed, amid panicked snapping. An awful chorus of wolves yowling in pain and fear began amid the rending of fresh and the patter of blood.

Dorothy had struggled up, nearly bowled over as a wolf tumbled past, tangled up with a smaller foe.

Dorothy was already lashing out with anger at the wolf, gladdened when she realized the beast was snarling and snatching at a goblin.

The great wolf thrashed and snapped, while the goblin chewed and scratched and Dorothy hammered it over the head with her pan. It eventually ceased, and two more wolves howled their grief while they set set off running into the darkness.

"Careful," Gob reprimanded, helping her to her feet. "Not good fall. Hurting. Yes? Yes!"

The words sounded familiar, and she wondered if they'd had this same conversation in the kitchen. But her ears began to ring at a crystalline pitch and the world, already dark, grew darker still.