Uther grabbed his knife and scrambled to his feet as the screams rang out. He glanced across the room and saw that Aresis’ cot was empty. As Uther approached the entryway, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The closer he got to the door, the louder the sounds in the street became. Adrenaline began pumping through his veins, dulling the pain. He reached the front door and pulled it open, not sure what to expect.

The village was in chaos. Dozens of tall, grey wolves were in the streets, locked in combat with any villager who was foolish enough to open their door. Some wolves had even climbed on top of the buildings and began digging though the roof. Others scrabbled at the doors to the houses, barking ravenously.

And there, standing in the middle of the street on its hind legs, stood the cave bear, Volgen. Uther’s eyes widened. Though the bear’s white fur was still stained red from Uther and Aresis’ wounds, he seemed to be in no pain. When Uther peered more closely, he saw that the wounds dripped with some kind of thick, black liquid. Volgen whipped his head around to face Uther and snarled, jaws dripping with that same dark ichor. His eyes, which had been a bright blue, were now completely black. Then the bear dropped to all fours and charged at Uther, jaws wide. In his haste to back up, Uther stumbled. As he lost his balance and ben to fall, a hand grabbed the scruff of his shirt and a gruff voice yelled: “Get inside, boy!”

A moment later, he was inside the house and the door was slammed after him. It was Aresis. His right hand grasped his staff while he braced the door with his left shoulder. A moment later, the door shuddered under the impact of the bear, shaking the man and sending cracks down the length of the door.

“Cursed bear,” Aresis growled, setting his shoulder against the door once more. He looked down at Uther and gestured him to his feet. “Help me!”

“What’s he doing here?” Uther asked, scrambling to his feet and bracing himself against the door alongside Aresis. Again, the door withstood the bear’s assault. But the cracks were widening

“Following me,” Aresis replied.

“But didn’t you kill it?” Uther asked.

“Evidently not,” Aresis said, between gritted teeth.

Though they braced against another attack, it did not come. At the same time, the sounds outside began to change. Where before there was screaming, now there were deep-throated warrior calls mingled with yelps of pain from the wolves. Aresis drew his sword and nodded at Uther to open the door. Volgen had backed up a little from the door and peered down the street, where Garreth and Thamuk were. They marched down the street, leading a wall of warriors, each armed with a long spear. The wolves were being driven back. Volgen saw Aresis and growled, but seemed reluctant to engage once he saw the old man’s sword. The bear wagged his head this way and that, caught between two threats. Finally, Volgen gave a short short call, turned tail, and ran out of the village into the blackness of the night. The other wolves soon followed suit, leaving behind their dead and wounded.

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Aresis leaned against the wall, and sheathed his weapon. The warriors showed no mercy, quickly rounding up and killing the remaining wolves. As Uther watched, he was struck by a thought. What of the wyrms? It was nearly morning, and Syrath would be taking care of them. Uther snatched a torch and ran toward the cave where the creatures were kept. The others in the village would be able to care for any wounded villagers. Long before he arrived, he could see the carnage.

The fence keeping the wyrms in the cave had been broken down, and many of the animals were motionless on the ground, already half-covered in snow. But as Uther got close to the cave, his heart dropped into his stomach.

“Syrath!”

He ran to the body crumpled in front of the remains of the gate and dropped to his knees beside her. Her left hand still grasped the broken haft of a spear, and she was surrounded by five dead wolves. Her body was covered in grievous bites and scratches from the wolves. Uther gaped as he looked at her right arm. It looked like it had almost been chewed off, though the wound was closed with a makeshift tourniquet. The wyrm, Jephis, lay curled at her feet, two of her legs still in splints from Nathrae. Uther cradled Syrath’s head and felt her neck for a pulse. There it was! Weak and irregular, but undeniably present. Uther fumbled for his necklace and set it alight. The warmth from the fire revived Syrath and she began to breathe audibly. Her eyes fluttered open and her gaze fixed on his face. “Uther?”

“I’m here,” he assured her, grasping her hand. “Hold still.”

“Is the village alright?” Syrath demanded, clutching at Uther with her good hand.

He nodded. “The warriors drove the wolves off.”

“That pack is unnatural,” Syrath rasped. “That demon bear led the wolves out of the night just as I arrived here. The bear nearly took off my arm before running toward the village.” Her eyes flicked left and right. “These five stayed behind to finish me off.” She smiled weakly. “But a Solari doesn’t die so easily.”

“Save your strength,” Uther urged her. “Let me bring you to Nathrae. She can heal you.”

“No. This will be my resting place.” She smiled faintly. “And I will join my ancestors in Aeindarhu’s Hall.”

Her began to close and her breathing grew more labored. As she breathed her last, glowing snow began to fall, signalling daybreak. The Sun failed to rise yet again, and Syrath was gone.