“Let it be known that I tried.

I tried to escape the village. I tried to put as much distance between myself and those I know and love.

Let the mark of death end with me, in a space of isolation far from any innocents. Let the beast roam this area without hapless prey to sustain it.

If you find my corpse, flee! If you can run for two days and nights, do so.

That was how far I fled. That was how far I got, before the black shuck got me.”

Frost read the note with a thoughtful expression. It wasn’t everyday one finds a scene so strange with a foreboding warning attached. He scarcely knew what it could mean, but it had to be genuine given the state of the dead man he found it on.

The body had been rotting for days. Frost could smell the fungus reclaiming the flesh just below the skin. A human male, near aged to mid-life. He had neither the body for a warrior, nor anything overtly physical, which was part of Frost’s surprise when he stumbled upon it. Softer humans never came into the thick of the wilds unless it was on one of their roads. His supplies were minimal. No weapons or rations to last him any sort of extended rest. It truly seemed like the man came into the forest to keep walking until he died.

Truly a great mystery for Frost. Despite the note’s warnings that he should run from this place, he wanted to know more about the corpse. This was the most interesting thing he had seen since crossing into the lands of the North.

He stripped the corpse. Dead was dead, and even if he were alive Frost would not care to see the man nude. There was something beyond just rot permeating the man’s body, something that reeked of entropy and curses. His upper half was strewn with black bruises that covered vast sections of skin. Frost ran his thumb along the largest bruise and was chilled by it. When he touched anything —once living, forever dead, it didn’t matter— he could always feel the faint radiance of Spirits. As a Wechuge he was particularly attuned to the ghosts of the First Life, but these bruises felt like nothing. Even rocks and bones emanated something, but this blackened flesh felt like cloth or any crafted material. Its connection to the Spirits had been severed. Frost’s initial intrigue faded to concern when his hand brushed along a series of divot-like marks at the center of the bruise. It felt like the kind of imprint teeth might make.

Frost straightened himself, unable to take his eyes off the dead man. How had he met this fate?

There were no prints nearby, save for the ones the man himself must have made. That was strange, not just because it meant whatever killed him left no trace, but also that Frost himself was the first to inspect this corpse. Not even scavenging predators had bothered with such an intact meal?

This mystery couldn’t be abandoned. Frost had been without stimulation for so long, left only with his thoughts and the rhythm of his steps, that even the cursed nature of this scene couldn’t deter him.

How best to follow up on it? The man had walked for two days and nights, but from which direction? Frost had been walking west and seen no signs of the Civilized for days, so the community the man belonged to must be further along. Frost would have to keep more attent than he had been if he were to trace this fellow’s origins.

He turned to set out. The corpse offered him nothing more.

Then he paused.

He didn’t know what humans did with their dead.

After becoming so intimate with the corpse it did feel wrong to just leave it as is. If the note was to be believed, this man had done the noble thing of sacrificing himself to protect others. He deserved something.

If he were one of Frost’s people, the man would be wrapped in the hide of an animal befitting his nature, then be carried into the tundra by two Speakers of the tribe. They would wait for dusk, when the aurora appears. The nut of a pine would be placed in the dead’s mouth and they would be buried in snow. Sometimes the site would be marked with a cairn of stones, but only at the request of the immediate family.

Frost had no pine nuts and he hadn’t seen snow in a month. He scratched his furry ears in anxious frustration with himself. He would remain rooted here until he thought of something to honor this man’s death.

Didn’t…didn’t the Civilized offer carrion of the dead to a bird of some-sort? That sounded right. More right than anything else he could recall.

So Frost took one of the man’s fingers. The small one on his left hand. It was still slightly pink and untouched by the black bruises. After rolling it between his own fingers, and committing to the idea, Frost stowed it in one of his vest pockets.

~-~-~

It wasn’t difficult finding the town called Tep’Ouri. Canvassing the wilds for two days and nights brought Frost to a hunter’s trail that had been treaded by heavy human boots. Following that discovery, it was just a matter of cheerfully following it back to its source. It was a gray afternoon when Frost arrived to the fishing village built around a saltwater lagoon. The rumble of ocean waves tickled Frost’s ears as much as the taste of brine did his tongue. The first thing he did was walk right through the center of town to the lagoon’s edge to stare at the water. His tribe mostly stayed inland when they migrated. There was a place on the Bolder Coast that they would settle in the spring to catch the spawning salmon, but that was only for a few weeks at the longest. Staying any longer brought the ire of the dwarves that actually owned the land.

The water of the lagoon was blackened by clouds of black fluid just below the surface. It was most concentrated at the center in a shifting ball of shadows. A black pupil in the center of a saltwater eye. Frost gravitated to this spectacle. He assumed that this was the work of whatever darkness had taken the man in the woods, but touching the water’s surface revealed that the Spirits within were at peace. Distressed or angry Spirits would be a sign the water was corrupted, but as far as Frost could tell this was natural.

Not believing this assessment, Frost shoved his hand in to the water, splashing it around trying to capture the black clouds.

“It’s…uh, it’s ink.” A dull voice called out to Frost.

Frost pivoted where he squatted. He had drawn the attention of those around him. To his left was an aged dock attended by fishers of Human and Fae descent. The closest of these workers was an elf with pupiless eyes the color of a midnight sky. He was a willowy sort, possessing a body that could easily be mistaken for a sapling in winter. A pair of waterlogged cages hung from a rope slung over his shoulder. What droplets fell from these cages left black spots on the ground.

“…From the tefheke in the water.” The elf added when Frost neither altered his blank expression, nor removed his hand from the water.

“And those are?” Frost asked, still not moving.

The elf made a small exasperated sigh. He drew close to Frost and held up one of the cages. A black creature of slime and tentacles lay within, undulating like bubbling mud. Frost reached out to the cage and one of the black tentacles met him, coiling around his middle finger. The touch of the inky slime that coated it burned like boiling water and Frost withdrew his hand. Those watching from afar chuckled.

The elf rolled his midnight eyes. He retracted the cage. “So you’re clearly not from around here. What are you after?”

Frost stood to his full height, which was such that he shadowed the elf.

“A mystery drew me here.”

Those around them continued with their daily tasks, but always kept attention on Frost. By contrast, the elf solicited no attention, not even when he spoke. Frost had a strong urge to slap the man to make sure he was real.

The elf reacquainted his shoulder with the damp rope. He visibly did not know what to make of Frost.

“The people here are a bit strung-out at the moment, especially at the sight of one as…wolfy as yourself. You best…”

The elf began to gesture to the town entrance, but paused, and considered a different path. “Could you wait for me at that building there? That’s our tavern. Minra will take care of you until I can pass along my catch.”

Frost was intrigued that the elf was speaking so plainly to him. While he feared little of the Civilized, there was always the worry that they would misunderstand him before he even spoke. To that end, he would do as asked, and be patient doing it. This was not just a chance to advance his mystery, but to interact with someone outside his race as well.

~-~-~

The elf called himself Lagoon Eyes. At least, that was what everyone else called him. “Lag for short,” he insisted. He wasn’t an elf as Frost understood it, but something called an Elden Fae. Frost knew the term, but had never put a face to it. Lag was not keen on sharing details of what being Elden Fae meant, only that he was young for being two hundred and twelve, and he had to work twice as hard as any of the other fishers in the village.

“You don’t seem less capable than them. Perhaps a bit leaner.” Frost frowned. The hostess of the tavern, Minra, had brought him a cup of mead on Lag’s coin.

“Thanks for that.” Lag was more willing to speak now that he was removed from his work, but his flat tone never vanished. It was like he was speaking from far away even when he was sitting in front of Frost. “—But anyone with hands can do what we do. What I’m referring to is this.”

He rolled back his sleeve to reveal splotchy rashes that ran down his arm. Each appeared slightly damp.

“The ink of the tefheke is toxic to the touch. You felt it yourself. Most fishers here build an immunity, but not me. Elden can’t immunize to anything of Domhanda. We’re not from here.”

“Then it sounds like you’re a fool for doing it.” Frost said bluntly.

The statement made Lag gag on his mead. “You absolutely have me there. I am a fool, but I’m a fool with no coin to my name and tefheke fishing is the steadiest profit you’ll find in Tep’Ouri. The lagoon is a nursery for the juveniles, that’s what I bring in. Once you wash them they’re actually quite edible, and the ink can be used for all sorts of crap, depending on how much you distill it.”

Lag downed the contents of his mug and wiped his chin. Frost mimicked the gesture. Mead tasted unlike other beverages Frost had drank, and the feeling it gave upon resting in his belly disquieted him. Lag watched the residual liquid dribble off of Frost’s chin fur. The tavern wasn’t large. The bottom floor was a tight corridor of booths with barrels for tables. As evening drew nearer, the establishment filled with more fishers. They were mostly human, looking like any human Frost had ever met. The elves amongst them were not like Lag. They had orange skin marked with fractal tattoos. The songs they sang gave off a wild feeling that reminded Frost of home.

“So…uh…what are you?” Lag asked. The question was on the tip of his mind and any other that looked upon Frost.

Frost thumped his chest and recited his decided-upon introduction. “I’m an Amarok Wecher from the eastlands. A warrior and explorer born to the tribe of Wildoaths. I seek the lands to the farthest west.”

“You’re walking to Athshin?” Lag arched his brow. They both looked to the world map framed above the bar. Athshin was an orange expanse of blank land compared to the more detailed depictions of Mercin and Fae’Riam.

“An amarok wecher…No. I can’t say I’ve met one of you, nor do I think anyone else here can say the same. What do you want in Athshin?”

Frost answered honestly. The mead was boiling in his belly, causing him to wince in discomfort. “I’m not sure yet, but it’s a great adventure to get there. I want to…I want to know more than my own lands. I want to know myself. A great adventure seemed the answer to both problems. My journey has been lonely so far, but now I have come to here and experienced much! I have seen waters that are dark in the daylight, and made a friend of an elden fae! I have not regret this detour so far.”

“Detour…right.” Lag squinted at Frost. He thoughtfully circled the rim of his mug with his thumb. “That detour being the mystery you mentioned?”

Frost reached to produce the dead man’s finger, then thought better of it. Another question took him. “You said people here might be afraid of me?”

“I’m the only one talking to you, aren’t I?” Lag stated matter-of-factly. “That’s fine. I’m an outsider here as well. Elden aren’t known for doing demeaning rural work, or being orphans.”

He called for another round. Minra was willing to come near Frost so long as Lag offered a decent tip. She was the only villager who showed true concern at Frost’s presence. While they waited, Lag drummed his fingers on his chair. “This town has had problems since the start of the season. A black shuck was found by one of our hunters. You know what that is?”

“Tell me.” Frost demanded. Black Shuck was what the dead man named as his cause of death.

“It’s a cursed wolf. This…awful monster that comes out of the night. I never saw it myself, and I thank my life for that, but others weren’t as lucky. The last person to look upon the black shuck is marked as its next victim. And where they fall the beast claims as its new hunting ground. A hunter saw it in the woods and thought it a trick of his mind. He carried the curse back and was slain in his bed. From there the wolf moved from victim to victim. We spent two weeks shutting in after sundown, and six people still died. I mean, I slept with a bag over my head just to be certain I wouldn’t open my eyes to it. I think the last to see it was Minra’s uncle.”

“It was.” Minra answered with a slight tremble in her voice. She had just delivered their mead and lingered to listen to their conversation. “He was more like a father than an uncle. Raised me and my brother as his own. He glimpsed the blightwolf from between the curtains as it roamed the streets. I was with him when it happened. We both turned pale as snow knowing he would be next. He wouldn’t let the curse sustain with him. Come morning he left into the woods and never looked back. Only waited till I was awake to tell me this tavern was left to me. I hope he made it far. I hope I never hear the awful heaving of that monster again.”

“Oh! I found his body.” Frost said quite plainly.

The atmosphere around them shifted. The songs stopped and attention pinned to Frost like briars. In a way, Frost was glad for it. He always felt emboldened when eyes were on him. Minra stepped away from Frost, shuddering as she did. Lag bit his finger and looked to the others in a panic.

“You didn’t see the beast did ya?” One of the human fishers asked, his tone serious and full of terror.

“No. There was nothing like a wolf near his body, save for myself. His corpse was actually the reason I came here.” Frost attempted to continue the conversation, blind to the atmosphere he had created.

“Was it night when you found him?” Another voice interrupted Frost. “Sometimes you can see it and not know.”

“No. It was quite bright out when I found him. I was too focused on the corpse anyway. The clothes took effort to remove.” Frost drank from the mead. It made his cheeks warm and his head light.

“You…desecrated my uncle’s corpse?” Minra stammered.

Before Frost could answer another voice shouted. “It’s almost dark out. If he brought it back without knowing…”

“I can’t face another night of that beast. Not after things were getting back to normal!”

“It’s not safe keeping him here. Get him into the woods. Fast as his kind can run.”

The voices became a conjoined whine to Frost. The crowd of naked faces blurred into mush. He wanted to assuage their fears, but his word weren’t coming out quite right. He remembered trying to stand, and that going poorly. The last clear sentence he heard was Lag shouting: “By the Divines…You’ve only had two drinks!”

~-~-~

Frost awoke in a bed of leaves. He rousted slowly, almost painfully. He felt stiff without feeling sore. A foul taste in his mouth wouldn’t vanish no matter how much he spit. Trees and foliage surrounded him with no immediate sign of the village of Tep’Ouri, a fact that troubled Frost. He still smelt brine, so he couldn’t be far.

Standing made his head rush unpleasantly. He fell against a tree and collapsed to a sitting position. Not willing to be defeated by this lingering stupor, he stood again, and fell once more. On the fourth attempt, he managed to keep his balance on wobbling legs. He worked his limbs in a way to chase this feeling from his body. From the west, he heard the approach of something on two legs.

“Oh. You’re still here.” Lagoon Eyes came into view. He looked like how Frost felt.

“What happened? I don’t remember much other than a haze.” Frost was comforted by Lag’s arrival. It meant he hadn’t dreamed the village.

“For starters, you’re a lightweight.” Lag said this like he had known it for years and it still baffled him.

“I don’t know what that means, but I’m sorry.” Frost had difficulty keeping his eyes open very long. The sun seemed much brighter.

Lag massaged the bridge of his nose. “Sorry won’t be enough for what comes next. We forced you out of the village last night, that’s why you’re out here. It wasn’t far enough though. The black shuck came back. It killed someone and their hound. Now the village is cursed all over again.”

Frost soured. That was indeed cause for such a tense mood. The news brought back one hazy memory towards the end of last night: After he had settled on where he would sleep he heard something pacing around him. Something heavy and heaving breaths like it was in pain. Frost was tired and sick by that point, so he never opened his eyes to investigate it.

“I can’t have brought it.” Frost said quietly. “If I had, it would have attacked me, right?”

“Part of why I was surprised you were still here. The other part being that you might have fled after how roughly you were treated.”

“Rough treatment does not bother me.” Frost calmly shook his head. “They were protecting themselves. I’m sure, even in the state I was, I would have understood that.”

Lag made a thoughtful grunt. “I think you may face more than ‘rough treatment’ if you go into town again. Coincidence or no, some are convinced you brought the black shuck back to us.”

From the upper branches of the trees that surrounded them a blue jay dove down as swift as a hawk after prey. Moments before striking the ground it careened upwards and landed on Frost’s shoulder. It pecked at his vest expectantly. When Frost reached for the jay it snapped at him. Tiny talons kneaded into his shoulder as it made aggravated chirps. Frost could feel something from the jay. It was not quite a spiritual essence, but something just as ethereal. Lagoon Eyes scowled at the bird. He crossed his arms and contemplated it.

“A blue corvid is the angel of the Death Goddess. Could be a bad omen.”

“Or…” Frost reached into his vest pocket. “It could be here to take what I have preserved.”

He presented the severed finger to the jay. It pecked a few morsels of flesh from it, then took the entire finger in its beak. Frost looked deep into the jay’s eyes and saw nothing. He had hoped for some spark of intellect, but this creature was mindless as any of its kin. The jay flew away in a flutter of wings, taking the finger with it.

Lag blanched from the scene. Gradually, his entire face buried into his open palm. “Was that from Minra’s Uncle?”

Frost nodded. He was looking up, trying to trace where the bird had flown. ‘That was good, right? That was what was supposed to happen?”

“It was, more or less, but I can’t help but wonder if…The black shuck’s territory is bound to its last victim. Maybe you taking a piece of the body brought the territory with it?”

For that Frost had no answer, but he became very still. The thought that he could be responsible for who the black shuck had killed disquieted him. To the Amarok, all death is a natural death. If something lives, then it also must die, and it makes no difference if that death comes at the exhaustion of ones lifespan, or from edge of another’s axe. The Civilized preferred an idea of death where circumstance impacts your afterlife, but Frost doubted the beings that lay beyond mortals could be so fair.

No, what bothered Frost about this was that someone died on accident, and his interference was the impetus for it. He had come to this town for a mystery, and now he would stay for virtue.

“Take me back to the lagoon. Tonight I shall be the one the black shuck confronts.” He stated in a tone as firm as granite.

~-~-~

“Why did you tell me to stay?” Frost asked Lagoon Eyes. “When we first met. You began to tell me to leave, but reconsidered.”

They were waiting outside the largest of the dockhouses, where the leader of Tep’Ouri resided. He was what the North called a Peer. If a community had no lord or other such nobility residing within it they elected an authority among them to be their representative in matters of politics. Currently, the Peer was resolving other matters before he would hear Frost’s case.

“I think it was impulse.” Lag performed a modest shrug. “You’re not the only one curious about the world beyond his own. I’ll admit it: my life is dull. I’m an orphan and an indentured servant who’s day consists of plucking acidic octopi from a black lagoon. You were…an opportunity for distraction.”

“You should come with me,” Frost offered earnestly, “ after I slay the black shuck. Join my journey into the West.”

Lag shook his head with force enough to make his body tremble. “No thanks. I wanted a distraction, not a…alteration.”

“You could become so much more than this!” Frost insisted. His enthusiasm made Lag take a step back. Frost found himself easily invested in the lives of others, especially when he perceived a difference he might make. “Join my pack and grow with me.”

“I said no!” Lag barked in a tone that intended to end the notion.

Frost was never one to accept defeat. He rallied himself for another bout of begging, but suddenly the doors to the dockhouse flung open. The Peer of Tep’Ouri kept his lips parted, displaying his tall white teeth. His long brown hair was unkempt from a lifetime of sea winds and he showed no sign that it bothered him. He wore a long, hooded cloak made from the skin of a seal that was left open to expose that he wore nothing beneath it to cover his chest. Like the other fisher elves in town, he was tanned like leather and marked with tattoos. As someone who typically traveled in just a leather vest, Frost approved.

The Peer of Tep’Ouri was chosen because his family built the boats and docks that facilitated the chief trade of the village. His house was beyond the lagoon and kept the fishing vessels that went out to sea. To Frost, a leader was the eldest of a community. Not the strongest or wealthiest, but the one that had survived the longest. All Amaroks hope to live so long their wisdom is valued by the youth. It was this perception that made it difficult for Frost to respect the Peer, who wasn’t even near midlife for his kind.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“So you are a wecher.” The Peer lit an elkhorn pipe and exhaled smoke through his teeth. “My father dealt with two of your kind once. The smooth ones that take to water.”

“Those are the Keoonik.” Frost answered. He had to sit on a wooden chest, because the armchair opposite the Peer’s desk wouldn’t account for his size. The smell of the sea was most pungent in the dockhouse. Everything around them seemed waterlogged, including the sea charts spread across the Peer’s desk. “I can’t imagine them coming this far west. What did you mean when you said your father ‘dealt’ with them?”

The Peer looked out a window adjacent to this desk. The glass had shattered long and gave a clear view to the lagoon. “I was just a boy, so I don’t know all the details, but it hangs in my memory. They skipped into town much like you did and became obsessed with the lagoon. I guess they had heard stories about tefheke and wanted to hunt an adult.”

He thumbed to a framed sketch by the window. It showed a team of fishers near the shore in a canoe. Above them the clouds rolled heavy and gray like boulders while beneath them the sea churned with trails of black. Out of the surf broke a black orb the width of their canoe featuring a single unreadable eye. It was lashing at the boat with white-suckered tentacles. The fishers seemed to be making no attempt to fight it, instead fleeing for shore.

“Tefheke get big once they leave the lagoon.” The Peer gnashed his teeth on the end of his pipe. “They’re so deadly that we call all ships to shore when their spawning season comes. Their meat also gets worse with age and the ink is better collected from the juveniles. My father explained all this to the…‘keoonik’ you said?…but they didn’t seem bothered. Spawning season was a few months away, so my father made them a deal: if they helped with the fishing trade he’d let them stay in town until the adult tefheke returned.”

“Why did they need permission to stay?” Frost asked suddenly.

The Peer pulled out his pipe and exhaled smoke through an incredulous sigh. When Frost turned to Lag for hope of an answer the man stiffened up and mocked obsessive interest with one of the charts on the desk. Frost hated their silence, and hated himself for hating it.

“I’m not naive.” Frost said through his teeth. “You were ignorant to what they were and afraid. I had hoped for a different reason.”

Lag darted his eyes between The Peer and Frost. The Peer’s eyes reflected mounting respect for Frost and the early foundation of an apology. Frost would not let him voice it. He did not want to dwell on this dour moment.

“Were the keoonik successful?”

The Peer’s answer was preceded by several seconds of penitent head-shaking.

“No. The day came when our ships reported tefheke coming to shore. As every fisher was brought in, the keoonik waded out. They had these blades they gripped between the knuckles. Kind of looked like a fish’s tail-fin and an axehead. I just don’t…The ink would eat their fur before either got anywhere close enough to use that! What were they thinking? We all watched from the shore until one of them finally limped out of the surf. He looked like…”

The Peer shuddered. He bolted out of his seat and paced. The frustration of his memories causing him to puff smoke until it clouded the room. “He actually managed to sever one of the adult’s tentacles. It was still writhing as he held it over his head. I guess he wanted us to be impressed, but the village was horrified more than anything. My father went to bring him inside, but the keoonik dropped dead before anyone reached him. He whispered something to my father, and it was decades until he told me what it was.”

The Peer dropped into his seat and looked hard at both Frost and Lag. “’That was enough.’”

The Peer examined Frost’s reaction. It was difficult because Frost had none. It would take a moment for him to process the story. Gradually, the Peer’s expression shifted to one of genuine sorrow, as if he had been the one to kill the keoonik. “Help me understand that memory. Why did they want that? What did it accomplish?”

Frost rubbed his knees anxiously. His enthusiasm from the morning had been buried by the tone of this conversation. “Keoonik are not Amarok. We are both Wechers, but our customs differ. The Amarok believe in a time to be exuberant, and a time to be wise. The old wolf nurtures the young wolf, and the young wolf guards the old wolf. The Keoonik believe in wisdom after death. They have storytellers that channel the ghosts of ancestors to council the living. It is a great honor to be called from the Sunless Border. To that end, all Keoonik attempt lives of diversity and interest, with endings to match them.”

“Fighting a tefheke was their great adventure.” Lag offered. The elf had fallen in with scenery until he spoke. Both the Peer and Frost snapped attention to him. In fact, it was the first time Frost had seen anyone of Tep’Ouri acknowledge Lag’s presence as an individual.

“Yes!” Frost exclaimed. He jabbed Lag hard enough to nearly unseat the elden. “They wanted an excitement none of their kind have faced before. My journey west is much the same…except I don’t intend to die at the end of my great adventure. I’m going to live for many years and do many more things.”

Frost didn’t know why, but the Peer started laughing. It was the kind of laughter that built slowly to a tension popping exclamation. Despite this, he didn’t say anything more. For a time he wouldn’t look at either of his guests. He was silent and thoughtful in a manner opposite to his appearance. These bouts of silence confused and aggravated Frost. He wanted to proceed with the discussion of him killing the black shuck. Adjacent to him, Lag’s deep eyes were fixed to the Peer’s slightest changes in expression.

Realizing he was drawing this out, the Peer broke his contemplation. “That does answer my question. You come here, a wecher with the desire to fight some beast…It just reminded me. Made me worried. My father always regretted that he didn’t stop those two. They were good people.”

“Your father was a good person, too. He took me in.” Lag picked at the statement like one would a scab. His voice was calm and there was no uncertainty to what he said.

The Peer removed his pipe and twisted it between his fingers. Below the dockhouse the tide was coming in, causing the old boards to creek. Suddenly, the Peer pointed the pipe at Frost. “So what do you want of us?”

“I want to help.” Frost said plainly. He looked to Lag. “Was that not clear?”

“And after?”

“I’ll move on. I have no intent to settle here.” Frost scowled at the Peer. “Why do we need to debate this? I am strong. I am capable. I am willing to help…so let me.”

The Peer went to the shattered window and emptied his pipe through it. A small crowd had gathered not too far from the dockhouse.

“You understand they’re afraid of you. We reclaimed peace and you brought back the nightmare, accident as it was. But…we have no way of ending the nightmare ourselves, save for the same inefficient method that we tried before. Some of those frightened people want me to send you away while we wait for a ranger, one of our own, to come solve this problem.”

The Peer slammed his pipe on the desk with the intensity of a thunderbolt strike. He gave Frost a hard look, his decision solid behind his green eyes. “—That could take a week or more. I’m not losing any more of these people. If you are strong and capable, then I’ll accept your aid on one condition: Don’t. Die.”

~-~-~

A slight flaw to Frost’s plan was that he had no weapon of his own. That was his intent when he began this adventure. He would leave his tribe with only his clothes, and sustain himself with what he found on foreign soil. Some weeks ago he had found a rusted rusted knife buried hilt-deep into a tree. It had served him in hunting for a while, but the edge had grown so dull that he eventually cast it aside.

“Can I use that?” Frost pointed to an axe-like tool pinned to the outer wall of the dockhouse.

The Peer’s lip curled in confusion. “That’s my grandfather’s adze.”

“It’s sharp.” Frost didn’t lower his finger.

“I keep it that way.” The Peer pulled the adze off the wall. It resembled an axe, or a mattock, but with a blade that extended much farther. The handle was made of palm wood and had the name “Tainui” carved into it.

“It’s a tool, not a weapon. Used for digging and carving.” The Peer said as he regarded the adze in his hands.

“It’s sharp.” Frost repeated.

Acquiescing, the Peer shoved the adze into Frost’s chest. Frost felt the weight of the weapon. He truly did not care that it was a tool. Amarok made few lethal weapons of their own and relied on scavenging for the bulk of their armory. Human communities in Anchorrome, especially small farms or lumber mills, were vulnerable to cold weather and cold hearts. Frost wasn’t very old when he first took a lumber axe from the blue hands of a frozen human.

Frost did not just claim the adze, but a gaff pole as well. It was when he next requested for one of the oars to their fishing boats that Lag finally asked if he had a plan for slaying the black shuck.

“Doesn’t it bleed?” Frost asked. He wasn’t joking, he genuinely wanted to know. “If it bleeds, then it has a limit. I intend to find that limit.”

Lagoon Eyes didn’t know how to respond. Frost’s straightforwardness continued to catch him off-guard.

~-~-~

Night was a long way away. Frost waited by the lagoon. He watched the black clouds in the surf coalesce into shapes like real clouds. It was a fascinating display that Frost lost two hours to observing. Lagoon Eyes had to tap him on the head twice just to break his concentration. The elden had brought an elderly human woman with him. Was she human? At certain angles, she appeared elven, especially when he squinted.

The woman squinted back. She had the look of a someone who had endured every element and bowed to none of them. Frost was immediate in hunching his posture to show respect. The woman batted Lag to spur some agreed upon introduction.

“This is Lady Lewers, the oldest person in town. She wishes to speak to you.”

“Greetings elder, my name is Frost.” Frost extended his hand forward, palm facing downward with his fingers curved. Another sign of respect from his culture.

To his delight, the old woman tapped his knuckles, the reciprocating gesture.

“It was my husband who was made the second victim of the black shuck. Peter could never sleep without a lap around the village first. He said the wind coming off the sea smelled better at night. He saw the beast, and it followed him home. It shattered our door and dragged him out to the beach. He begged me to stay behind so it wouldn’t mark me next.”

“I imagine there was little you could do.” Frost said.

“Oh don’t I know that!” Lady Lewers snapped. She was carrying a basket topped with a cloth embroidered with the shapes of different leaves.She snatched this cloth to dab her eyes with. Frost noticed that Lag had taken several steps back. “I’m not used to feeling helpless like that. I can’t fight that monster like I imagine you can, but I can give you the full belly you’ll need to work at your peak.”

She offered him the basket. Frost took it gingerly, not wanting to upset her further. Inside was a sizable bowl of gray meat tossed with greens and white seeds. Frost ignored the provided utensils and tucked into the meal with his hands. The meat had an odd texture. Like it had been dried, then re-hydrated. Despite its thickness it offered little resistance.

“What is this?” Frost asked, seeds and brown sauce clinging to his lips.

“Tefheke Poke.” The woman answered, visibly put off by his voracious display. “I requested Lagoon Eyes bring me a fresh one. The tefheke must be washed and dried of all its ink before it is safe to ingest—”

She would have gone into greater detail, but it was obvious Frost cared little for the preparation, only that it tasted good.

“You could chew with your mouth closed.” Lag advised.

“Why?” Frost asked with his mouth full.

Once again, Lag was stumped for an answer.

Frost thanked Lady Lewers for the meal with the additional promise that he would slay the black shuck. He wanted to ask how she knew to respond to his gesture earlier, but she left without further conversation.

~-~-~

The moment the skies darkened Frost sprang to his feet. He did not know where the shuck would appear from, but he would not let it mark another before he confronted it. The villagers bound themselves in their homes, locking doors and blocking windows to avoid any chance of seeing the beast. Lag bid Frost a temperate wish of luck before shutting the door on the seaside shack he slept in.

It took hours for night to truly come. Frost paced the length of the village alone. Sometimes his ears would twitch towards one of the houses and he would look over in time to see curtains being pulled shut. He made his way back to the lagoon. Walking along the shore, Frost allowed the tide to consume his feet. The cold water awakened a homesickness he had not confronted since leaving. The horizon over the ocean was a melding of obsidian glass waves embracing a star speckled sky. Somewhere across all that water was the land he had decided as his destination: Athshin.

There was nothing special about Athshin, nothing that truly captured Frost’s interest, but it was at the farthest edge of Domhanda. The absolute opposite of the world he had known. He had been told that Athshin was hot, the hottest of any continent in Domhanda, and that, as someone used to the cold lands of the east, he should avoid it. Frost was certain it was that kind of talk that spurred him farther on this journey. He had to experience hot when all he had known was cold. He had to know he could handle change.

As he neared the lagoon a strange feeling arrested his body. His skin was tightening, pulling to a well of tension centered on his chest. He could remember this feeling before, when he was very small and whimpering at strange shapes in the dark of night. It was the sensation of irrational fear.

Frost fought through it. Denied its existence. He could not even claim why he suddenly felt this way. The village was calm, dark as it was. The waters of the lagoon were as calm and still as polished slate, yet looking in its direction flared the fear back to life tenfold. Frost growled low to himself. He hated being dominated by this sensation. He glared past the lagoon, where the seaside foliage gradually escalated to the forest he had come from. Darkness bled from the trees, coalescing into clouds of shadows that seeped into the village.

That is what Frost saw, at least. He rubbed his eyes to be certain this was not some trick of the dark.

From these pooling shadows a monster emerged. It took the shape of a feral wolf but was larger by half. Black as the shadows it stepped from, but moving in such a jerking way that the eye was drawn to it. Its back was afflicted by bristling hairs as long as a dagger, and seemingly as sharp, beneath which the flesh was wracked with knots that could never be undone. With each step to its entrance to the village the wolf heaved breaths through its too wide mouth.

Frost held his breath and immediately shut his eyes. He had only glimpsed it. Perhaps that wasn’t enough to draw its mark. Despite his day’s anticipation for this confrontation, he had been utterly stunned by the creature’s arrival. He needed time to think of a plan of attack. Blindly, he reached for the adze hanging from his side.

He heard the beast pass him. It left a wake of disturbed air that made Frost’s many, many hairs stand on end. Its breathing burrowed into his mind like no sound ever had. Against his will Frost kept his body as still as stone.

A sudden sharp sound made Frost jump. Claws raking knotted wood. The black shuck was pawing at someone’s home, and the only house close enough belonged to Lagoon Eyes.

Frost forced his left eye open. The beast was behind him, growling low at the seaside shack Lag called home. Was Lag awake? Would he investigate the disturbance? Frost wouldn’t allow that. Emitting a growl of his own, Frost equipped the adze and pivoted to the monster.

It took a moment for the black shuck to know he was there. Frost was close enough to see that the beast’s eyelids were fused shut to its brow. It was indeed investigating Lag’s home. Frost was under no illusion that the Shuck couldn’t shatter the eroded wood with ease, but it paced around the building with a hungry intensity.

When it became aware of Frost it froze. Both their growls stopped. When the black shuck was still like this it blended into the night air. It actually hurt to focus on, like Frost was making himself cross-eyed burning his eyes into it as he did.

The beast turned slowly, and as it did something horrific occurred. Its forehead opened, revealing a single crimson eye, throbbing and contracted, and drawn unblinkingly to Frost. The wolf limbered its legs and shook its massive body as it stared down Frost. Its wide mouth hung slack, letting white drool form puddles at its feet. Frost stood his ground, weapon bared and heart racing.

Their first clash was messy. Frost took the whole weight of the beast and was knocked flat on his back. All he managed for damage was a fistful of the wolf’s fur. The slobbering jaws of the black shuck gnashed and snarled at his throat, kept back by a single strong arm. With a wild swipe Frost sunk the edge of the adze into the beast’s right haunch. He yanked down, peeling the hide and forcing a retreat from the Shuck. Frost got to his feet quickly. The monster wouldn’t be licking its wound long.

That initial contest told Frost that he had underestimated the black shuck’s strength. He had wrestled wolves before, but the Shuck was backed by power akin to a grown bear. He would have to adjust himself to match it.

And so Frost shifted. A trait unique to his people, shifting allowed a wechuge to embrace the traits of their animal past, often increasing one’s size and ability. Most Amaroks could not shift. It took training and attunement to modify even a single section of the body. Frost was capable of a full transformation. It was said that this form invoked the shape of the original wechuge, when they were freshly made by the Spirits from flora, fauna, and weather.

The next clash with the beast was more even. He took the weight of the beast gladly and buried the adze into its back for good measure. The black shuck gave the tiniest yelp of pain, which swelled Frost with confidence to continue his assault. He beat it back with the oar until the oar splintered. The Shuck’s red eye never wavered in its focus on Frost. Black veins pulsated and fed into the pupil, making it larger and more hateful. The beast bounded, leaping high and crashing into him like a meteor. In spite of his shifted strength, Frost was pinned once more. With both hands he kept the creature’s jaw away from him, forcing it open and suffering its rank breath and spit falling upon his face.

This struggle lasted only seconds, for the black shuck froze again. The beast was still enough that Frost wagered he could stick his fist down its throat and it wouldn’t even gag. Frost recognized this behavior. Someone was looking at the black shuck. The beast relinquished Frost, and turned to face the shack at the edge of the lagoon.

In a panic, Frost recovered his footing and followed the Shuck’s gaze. The door to the shack was cracked only a hair length, but the pale face of Lagoon Eyes was still visible.

“Shut the door!” Frost bellowed.

Lag obeyed, but it was a small protection. As Frost had predicted, the black shuck shattered the door with a single charge. Snarling with the intensity of thirty wolves, it dragged Lag from his home by his ankle. The elf was screaming. His hands flurried to throw any piece of discarded wood at the monster.

Frost’s body wasn’t listening to him. He was locked up with terror at what he was seeing. Lag needed him and he was doing nothing.

It was only when he saw blood on the shuck’s fangs that his fear snapped and he could finally move. He crashed into the wolf, burying the adze into it once more. The wolf bucked under his weight, casting Frost off with the adze still in its back. It snapped its attention from the easy meal of Lag, to the threat of Frost.

Frost’s breaths were becoming labored. He spoke to the wolf as the equal it was. “That’s right. Fight me. I can take it…I know I can.”

Something welled inside Frost. It soaked across his body, washing away his fear and pain. His vision gained a reddish tint. Power and energy was coming off his flesh like wisping steam.

He had known this power before. The Anguyakti: the two wolves becoming one. The old wolf nurtures the young wolf. The young wolf protects the old wolf. When they become one, they are a force capable of making the earth tremble.

And tremble the earth Frost did. His body quaked with the power, rattling the smooth stones at his feet and disturbing the water of the lagoon. The spiritual energy coalescing around Frost must have made his body appear on fire. Frost took a single step, and the power stabilized, cloaking him like a second skin. The last time Frost had invoked this power it nearly killed him, but it also gave him the strength to rescue his father from an avalanche.

The world appears different to an Anguyakti. One can see the spiritual energy of all things. It was like seeing double, where the second shape was often colored and enhanced by one’s life energy. Frost raised his eyes. The black shuck’s spirit was three times the size of its physical form. Hanging in its mouth was not flesh, but a sinew of spiritual energy ripped from Lagoon Eyes. That was how the black shuck fed. It didn’t consume one’s body, it consumed their life essence. As the Shuck devoured the essence in its jaw, a section of Lag’s leg became blackened like the body of Minra’s father.

Frost flexed, flaring the energy of the Anguyakti outward, becoming a beacon irresistible to the ravenous wolf. Frost took in the size of the creature’s spirit, then opened his arms to welcome the confrontation. The village of Tep’Ouri held its breath.

The wolf bounded to Frost. Its single eye had contracted to a needle’s width. Its claws raked across the beach with enough force to craft potholes. Frost locked his heels into place, he would not be moved by this monster again. The black shuck leapt, and Frost caught it by the throat. He felt bones shift under the force of his grip. Using the wolf’s momentum against it, he somersaulted it over him, slamming it unfavorably on its back. Next he equipped the fishing gaff, ripping into the wolf with the sharpened hook. When it tried to stand Frost forced it back down by breaking the pole across its face and impaling it with the splintered end. Frost pounced on his wounded foe. He felt incapable of error in this empowered state and was keen to slay the beast with his bare hands. The two left a blood wake of upturned earth and blood as they thrashed across the lagoon’s edge, both making such a cacophony of snarls that it was unlikely anyone in Tep’Ouri was still asleep.

Frost pinned the creature’s snout to the earth with a single hand while ripping free the adze with the other. It was time for the killing blow and…and…

Frost felt weak. The strength of the Anguyakti was fading faster than it came. The red aura surrounding him vanished. Worse still, he was unshifting against his will. Did he truly have that little control over it?

The black shuck’s strength was its own and, despite its wounds, it could still utilize it fully. It bucked hard. Hard enough to launch Frost into the adjacent lagoon. He crashed into the water with all buoyancy of a bag of rocks.

Darkness surrounded Frost. The strength he had reveled in was utterly gone and in its place was exhaustion he had never known. He was sinking into the frigid lagoon. The acidic ink burned his flesh and stung his eyes. Clammy tendrils coiled around his feet.

Desperately he flailed upwards. He had to live. He had to know.

He broke the surface with a gasp capable of filling ten lungs. He screamed from the pain of the waters. Though it hurt to open his eyes he forced himself to gauge the condition of the black shuck. The shuck was standing, but was very still. Its red eye was swiveling in all directions. People had exited their homes to see if Frost had been victorious, and now all of them were being marked by the Shuck. The sight made Frost’s heart stop, but it also spurred him to swim for shore.

After coughing up a ball of blood, the Shuck chose its target: Minra, the tavern owner. Manic for the meal it had been denied all night, the wolf made a hobbling run for the woman, who was too stunned with fear to flee.

As Frost made it to the shore he barked out a single word: “No!”

As Frost wrapped his fingers around the shaft of the adze left on the shore, he said it again: “No!”

As he ran, lungs burning, eyes stinging, muscles begging for reprieve, he shouted it with the fury of a storm: “No!”

He leapt, body briefly flaring with the aura of the Anguyakti once more. His bellow heard by all around: “None but me!”

He landed straddling the wolf as it was about to pounce on Minra. It looked upward, jaws open to fight him again. Frost sank the adze’s blade into the monster’s skull, just behind its red eye.

For the first time the black shuck was still not because someone was looking upon it, but because it was dead. With its collapse, Frost spilled to its side, and promptly passed out.

~-~-~

According to Lagoon Eyes, Frost slept for an entire day, awaking only to eat, but even then he was certain Frost was still asleep. He had been kept in the Peer’s dock house until he could walk. It was insisted that he rest longer, but Frost rejected that advice. Dawn was breaking and he had a destination to reach.

The villagers gave him supplies for the next leg of his journey. Well, some did. Others were still too afraid of him. Even though he was no threat to them, the sight of what he did, what he became in the passion of battle, terrified them. Evidently the Northern Continent had too many monsters that took the form of wolves. Their rejection stung almost as much as his aching wounds.

The Peer offered to sail Frost close to Athshin, but Frost rejected the offer. He preferred to feel the soil beneath his feet. There was one thing Frost desired in the village before leaving, and he sought it out as his last act there.

“Come with me.” Frost begged to Lagoon Eyes.

The elden was sat on a chest outside his destroyed home. It was the clearest day it had been since Frost arrived in Tep’Ouri. Even the ink clouds subsided enough that one could tell there was actually water in the lagoon.

Lag frowned as to why this was even still a question. “The answer is still no.”

“Why not?” Frost demanded.

Lag opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t correctly form. He gestured to all around him as his answer. “I don’t want to go?”

“But you hate it here.”

“I find it hard here.” Lag said firmly. “But I don’t hate it. It’s a small mundane life, but…I think I’m a small mundane person. Is that so wrong?”

Frost thought it was, but he didn’t say it. The look in Lag’s dark eyes said that he believed it enough to counter any claim Frost could make. Frost wouldn’t deny anyone their personal truth. He changed the conversation to the state of Lag’s home.

“I’m sorry I allowed the wolf to do this.”

“It’s my own fault, don’t drown yourself over it. I took a peak that night because I was worried the fight would spill into my house regardless.” He shrugged and kicked aside a broken piece of his door. “…I guess I was also worried for you. The Peer and Minra have both given me offers to stay with them until I can build a new one. I think I’ll pick Minra. The tavern’s closer to the lagoon.”

Frost looked to the tavern. “Perhaps we should have one last drink…”

“I’d pay a lot to see you slosh yourself again, but I think you have somewhere to be.” Lag nodded to the western horizon. “Your great adventure isn’t done yet.”

~-~-~

And so Frost put Tep’Ouri to his back and continued West. It was the first village he visited since beginning this journey. He had gone to answer a mystery and exited wiser about the North, its monsters, and its people. He also knew more about himself and what he could do when he tapped into strength that had always been there. He relished the chance to summon the Anguyakti again.

More than any of those things Frost walked with a grin because of his final sight upon leaving the village. Lagoon Eyes, the Peer, Minra, Lady Lewers, and a few others Frost admittedly did not know the name of, they all came to the village’s edge to wish him luck and farewell. Even if there were those that still suspected him of being evil beneath his fur, there were still those he had won over. They were less afraid of him and his kind and, perhaps, Frost was less afraid of them in turn.