Fenrin grinned as he and his men crept through the forest. The thrill of stalking his prey was exhilarating—even if it would be a meager victory. Nik, his scout, reported the village that was their mark was only large enough for maybe two hundred people.
It didn't matter. It wasn't the size of the village that made Fenrin the Wolf attack, it was that they were in his expanding territory. He and his men had been pushing north for weeks, burning and pillaging everything in their path.
Let Lyra and her petty princling play politics in the south, the wilds of the north were his.
"Fenrin," Tyrik, his second, sidled up to his leader and whispered, "Nik reports a large hunting party was just sent out. Any fighters they have are now split up."
The wolfish smile that earned Ferin his epitaph grew. "Too easy."
His raiding party split as well, preparing a surprise pincer attack. As they crept around their prey Fenrin frowned. Why were there so many women in the group? If it weren't for the traps, bags, and bows the group carried, he would have doubted it was a hunting party.
It didn't matter, they'd all die soon anyway.
Fenrin scanned the trees, spotting his carefully hidden men. The archers had their bows drawn, waiting for his order. His mouth opened but he was beat by a gurgling scream. One of his bowmen fell from his perch, an arrow lodged in his throat. All eyes turned to the supposedly hapless hunters. A woman with auburn hair was nocking her second arrow, her fellow villagers revealing their readied weapon as well and firing into the trees. Fenrin roared as he and his five swordsmen leapt at the group.
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The 'hunting party' dropped their sacks and removed swords from them. Three were cut down in the act, felled by Fenrin and his men's ferocity. But rather than the swift and bloody victory Fenrin expected, the battle raged on.
The villagers danced though the assault. They moved quickly, striking with their weapons and their fists with surprising grace. Fenrin was locked in combat with a large man who just would not die. The many glancing blows he managed to land on his opponent did nothing and bloodstained the man fought on. Fenrin parried swiftly, lunging for the man's heart. The villager tried to sidestep and the blade slithered through his ribs, puncturing a lung.
With his last gurgling breath, the man grabbed Fenrin's sword arm with grim determination. Fenrin shouted in pain as his shoulder dislocated forcing him to drop his sword as pain shot through his chest. His opponent fell forward and Fenrin had to dodge the body, barely making it out of the way in time. An arrow suddenly pierced his thigh and Fenrin fell to one knee, his grey eyes flashing around the battlefield as he hissed in pain.
The auburn haired woman was shouting, quickly moving her bow from his direction to Tyrik who was fighting to get to his leader, face grim as he tried to cut a path through the villagers. The woman’s arrow grazed Tyrik’s arm as he noticed her in the nick of time and jerked back. His timely dodge was wasted when another villager behind him spun with a kick that connected hard to the back of Tyrik’s skull with a crack. Fenrin watched his second's eyes roll up in the sockets before he fell to the floor.
Fenrin the Wolf roared and tried to stand but a pair of hands grappled him from behind. Before he could get to the dagger in his boot and cause more bloodshed, a blunt force hit him and the world grew dark.