Bjorn was watching the area from his favorite perch atop a rock near the cave entrance. He was getting ready to go on his daily walk to the swamp for water and to hunt a few more small prey. However, something about today seemed off and his instincts told him he needed to be here. The smell of the death and decay from the troll made it difficult for him to pick out any other scents in the air. So he had to rely on his vision for the most part.
That was, until he tasted a familiar magic in the air, nearly bleached by the taste of death. The lizard stood up, looking for any signs of the shadow wolves nearby. The taste was faint, but he wasn’t sure if that was because it was being overpowered by the corpse or if they were far away.
“We need to get out of sight,” Bjorn stated as he hurriedly stood up and ran to the cave mouth.
“Yeah. It’ll be bad if they corner us here,” Failsafe agreed.
Inside, Freja was standing with the assistance of her wind hands. She could walk but needed to hold onto them as a sort of floating crutch. Her recovery had been going smoothly, but she wouldn’t be ready to leave until tomorrow. He squawked to get her attention then hunkered down in the cave near the entrance. He pressed himself against the wall so he couldn’t be spotted from the outside.
His hope was that the strong musk of the troll in the cave would dissuade any shadow wolf from investigating. Freja seemed to notice his tense body language and also got down, positioning herself in a space that would allow her to see out without being seen. The cave still had the fire going, which should help make the space less appetizing for any beast.
Between the musk, the smoke and the rotten body, Bjorn and Failsafe were completely blind to any changes in taste or smell. It didn’t take long, however, before they saw a wolf peek out from the grasslands. Freja gasped when she saw two more follow behind the first, then three, then four. The numbers kept growing until eight wolves were visible.
Bjorn finally saw why they were able to sneak up on him so easily before. The effect of their magic looked odd to Bjorn’s perceptions, but grass just shifted silently out of their way. The shadows seemed to twist around them, curving unnaturally in the air and hiding them in a way that made them almost appear translucent. It was a trick of the shadow magic manipulation they were known and feared for.
“Shadow wolves?” Freja questioned, then covered her mouth.
A ninth wolf stepped out of the grassland, this one far too large to be hidden by the tall grass or the shadows. Instead of having the grayish translucence of the other wolves, this one had an almost shiny and metallic fur. The other wolves seemed to be submissive to this wolf, which was nearly twice the size. The pack ran up to the troll carcass, scaring away the vultures and claiming their prize.
After the large wolf took a sizeable piece of meat from the dead troll, the others ripped into the remains of the fallen beast. It seemed to be less of a challenge for them to rip and tear than the vultures. Lucky for Bjorn and Freja they hadn’t seemed to notice or care for the cave, although Freja went several shades lighter as the color drained from her face.
“Any idea what that big one is?” Bjorn asked mentally.
“I have no idea but we’re dead if it sees us,” Failsafe responded in a whisper, despite speaking directly into Bjorn’s mind.
“I figured as much,” Bjorn thought back.
As the wolves ate their fill some started looking around the area. Bjorn pulled himself a few more feet back from the mouth of the cave. One of the wolves walked up to the cave and sniffed around the entrance. Either the smell of the troll’s musk or the fire or a combination of both caused the wolf to back up and continue its meandering elsewhere. Bjorn sighed in relief from a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.
A tense few hours passed as the wolves hung around. It wasn’t until the larger wolf finally decided to return to the forest that the others began dragging the corpse away, most likely to wherever their den was located to feed their young. Even after the wolves had vanished from sight no one moved. Bjorn and Freja felt exhausted after being on alert for so long, and there was no way to fully know if the threat had passed.
“That was a steel wolf and a druid's familiar.” Freja broke the silence but only barely above a whisper. “What is it doing this far into the country? We have to get out of here, Bjorn, are you okay?” She used the wall to stand up. “I’m sure druid soldiers are behind the attacks on my fathe… Ulfar’s lands. The troll was a diversion… or happenstance. The war is far to the east, how did they get here?” She thought for a minute. “Sabotage, they want to disrupt the farmers and supplies?” She thought about it for a second, struggling with the decision to tell someone or just leave. “It doesn’t matter, he told me never to return so we’re going to do just that.”
“War?” Bjorn thought.
“It is the first I’m hearing about it too,” Failsafe responded. “But as it would seem this country is at war with whatever druids are. Freja mentioned her sister died. Do you think that’s related to the war?”
“It doesn’t matter for now,” Bjorn said as he stood up. “Freja is right, we gotta get out of here; if they come back or their master finds out we killed a few of their pets we’re wolf food.”
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“She’s still injured. I’m not sure how far we can get if she is limping. Let's say they find us, then what? She can’t run and she won't be able to create more potions. We can’t use Poison Puff or the gas may kill her, so we’ll be reduced to bites and poison scratch. I doubt we’ll be able to take out eight shadow wolves and a steel wolf half the size of a horse like that.”
“So what do you suggest?” Bjorn asked.
“We somehow convince her to finish her treatment,” Failsafe stated seriously. “She can’t have more than a day left at this rate, and she has enough water for the last few potions. She heals up and we stand a better chance, because I have big doubts that you’ll abandon her if she lags behind.”
“And if they come back tonight?” Bjorn asked.
Bjorn could feel Failsafe roll his non-existent eyes out of his sockets with that strawman excuse.
“It isn’t perfect but here we can funnel the wolves.” Failsafe said. “Out there they can come from anywhere and it's going to be night in a few hours. This cave has only one way in and out. So we get Freja to stand at the far end of the cave and let poison puff go and hope it’s enough to drive them away again.”
Bjorn sighed. “Okay, you convinced me. But now we need to convince our master.”
***
Freja was in the middle of using her newly summoned Wind Hands to collect her belongings when Bjorn barreled into the fray. He started undoing everything the magical hands had packed, pulling out the alchemy equipment and making distressed sounds to stop her. Freja’s frustration mounted as she tried to work around him. Her control over the wind magic had improved, allowing her to move the hands quickly and precisely, but it didn’t matter if Bjorn kept unpacking what she packed.
“Bjorn stop, bad boy. We need to go,” Freja said, her panic rising. “Those wolves come back, we’re dead.”
She willed her Wind Hands to continue packing, but every item they placed into the bag, Bjorn would snatch and set back down. Her frustration ignited into a burning anger. Despite the pain in her leg, she limped over to him, her heart pounding. It was infuriating. Each step sending a bolt of pain up her leg.
She towered over the familiar, heart pounding, the urge to lash out boiling inside her. Why won’t he listen? The thought struck her, a dark impulse to make him listen. She wanted to scream at him, to force him into submission. Her muscles tensed, and for a fleeting moment, she imagined striking him, the way her father used to lash out when he needed control, when words weren’t enough. When she had failed him.
The idea was a cruel trick of her mind, the remnant of the genes she was cursed to bear. It was her father’s voice. His heavy hand. The way he used to control through violence. It wasn't a stranger to any wendigo, might makes right. That is the way of the wendigo, how they are raised and what they are taught. She was always reminded that those who were strong had every right to dominate those who were weaker. He was stronger, so it was his right to control her. It was a sickening reminder of who she was trying not to be. Now, here she was, in the same position of power over Bjorn, falling into the same poisonous mindset.
Then she thought by that same logic, wasn’t Bjorn actually stronger then her? He was her superior, yet all he did was save her. He stood by her side and protected her when leaving was the better choice. Even now, he wasn’t attacking her—he was trying to protect her, though she couldn’t understand why. That was the problem, she couldn’t understand it. She was jaded by her family and now she was thinking like the very people that cast her out.
A shudder ran through her. Freja swallowed down the rage, forcing herself to choke on the bitter taste of it. The impulse to strike, to control through violence, disgusted her. She hated that it was even there, festering beneath the surface like a dark parasite. She wasn’t him. She wouldn’t become him.
Taking a shaky breath, Freja forced herself to kneel down in front of Bjorn, wincing as the pain in her leg flared again. It was her retribution for her dark thoughts and a price she was more than willing to pay for her familiar. She locked eyes with him and wanted to understand why he was doing this. Why, when every instinct told her to run, did he seem so determined to stay? What was he trying to tell her and how could she convince him?
“I know you can understand me. Stop. Just stop,” Her voice cracked, and the flood of emotion she’d been holding back surged forward. Tears stung her eyes, and before she could stop herself, she was sobbing. She wiped her face with her shaking hand. “She was the strongest, kindest person I knew. Helga. She didn’t survive… she couldn’t even survive the war with those tree fucking bastards. So what chance do I have? The druids killed her, and if we stay here, they’ll kill me too. I don’t want to die. We need to go. You understand?”
The words just flowed out, she wasn’t angry and she didn’t even realize it until she spoke. She was afraid, no, terrified to see the people that took her sister from her. She collapsed onto the floor, pressing her forehead into her palm. Helga’s death was still raw, a wound that hadn’t healed, and the fear of facing the same enemies who had killed her sister was overwhelming. The wolves they’d seen—one of them had to be a druid’s familiar. Freja knew it. The fear had been gnawing at her since that moment, and now, in the face of Bjorn’s refusal to leave, the weight of it all crushed her.
Bjorn nosed through her alchemy bag again, and when she finally looked up, he had dropped one of her herbal potions at her feet. Freja blinked, trying to understand.
“We don’t have time for that,” she snapped, her voice sharper than intended. “I can walk.”
The pain in her leg flared up again, and caused her to moan in pain through clenched teeth. Just standing had aggravated the injury, and despite her stubbornness, she knew she wasn’t in any shape to run, let alone fight if they had to escape. She forced herself to take a deep breath, then another, until her heart rate slowed. Freja looked at Bjorn, then down at the potion he’d brought her. He was right. She wasn’t ready.
Reluctantly, picking up the potion. “Twelve hours,” she said, her voice steadier now. “I’ll take this, and in twelve hours, I’ll be able to walk, maybe even run. I’ll brew a lesser health potion too. It’ll take tighter tolerances, but I can do it,” she added, more to herself than to Bjorn. “Once it’s ready, will you let me pack so we can go?” Bjorn made a small noise of affirmation. Freja nodded, wiping the last of her tears. “Then let's get to work.”