Sylvie turned on her side. The movement caused her to gasp, but she pushed through the trickling feeling of pain. Other noises caused her to move. The starkest of these was the slow scrape of the hunter, who had fallen across from her. Blood was dripping down his chin as he sat up.

She was struck by fear. No human could have survived that fall. Sylvie tried to push herself back against the glowing green ice. Iske growled a low and deep sound that hummed into the ice, curling his aching body in front of her. The yellowed fangs flashed in the dim light.

Then the man groaned pitifully. The noise ruptured like an earthquake from his split, bleeding lips. The dazed, glassy look in his eye told Sylvie he was not doing well. When Sylvie pulled herself onto her hands and crawled over, her limbs shaking with every movement, Iske snorted in disbelief.

“Let him die.”

Sylvie bit her bottom lip and removed the hunter’s hood despite Iske's insistence. His hair was shaved short on one side. The color reminded her of the night sky in that she gazed at it and saw hints of blue, and other times it was black. Blood spattered over a scarred cheek. His left eye was missing, a thick scar keeping the eyelid closed, but the other gazed at her uncertainly. Tears brimmed at the edge of it, heavy and threatening to fall.

“I won’t hurt you.” Sylvie’s breath was a shudder. Her heart fluttered like pine needles in a snowstorm as she carefully pressed her gloved hand to the bleeding wound against his head. He sunk into her as if he didn’t even have the strength to hold himself steady. Sylvie was unused to the weight, looking at Iske as she nearly tipped over. She leaned him down against the bag she still had.

“Oh no. You got yourself into this one, little sister.” The dire wolf said. He sat heavily on the ice, his lips curled back in what was an amused snarl.

Sylvie was just thankful Alye’s moment of magic had caught them, even if the wolf was now mocking her plight.

“Alye?” Sylvie called, the frightening fall surging back into memory. She looked for her friend, finding her perched on a stone with one wing tucked in. Sylvie wiped at the tears sliding down her own cheeks with a muffled sob of relief.

“Is it bad?” Sylvie extended her arm, letting Alye hop onto it.

“My wing is very sore. I do not think I will be able to fly for a while. But you are alive and safe, little sister.” Alye puffed up proudly, her vibrant breast feathers tipped with red flaring.

Sylvie stroked her head with a finger. The hunter was still leaning against her legs. She set Alye back next to her as she set to work, the falcon settling in next to her leg to stay warm against the icy floor. She wound the thin strip of bandage around his temple, staunching the slight blood. His gray eye fluttered as he looked at her.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“He tried to kill us.” Iske lay down against the ice, his fur standing on end. His ears were pinned back, rows of his frightening teeth bared. Sylvie shot him a look. He did act like a petulant toddler for being older than her sometimes.

“And he’s hurt.” She whispered. It was all Sylvie felt she needed to say.

“Who are..you talking to?” The hunter’s voice was rough-hewn like an axe splitting a pine, stuck in his throat with malaise.

“… No one.” Sylvie took him in, tipping her flask to his lips. He lapped at it for as long as she let him, but she capped it after a few moments. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to get much of a fire to melt down here, and her pot had been in the tent. She was missing the bulk of her supplies after this mishap.

“I cannot carry both of you.” Iske huffed, flattening his ears to his head.

“I can walk,” Sylvie said. She stood despite the ache in her legs and body. Iske slid over, rubbing his head under her hand.

“I am not riding the wolf. It will eat me.” The hunter groaned. “I do not know how YOU were riding the wolf. I thought for sure I saw a mirage in the snow when I realized you tumbled off of him.”

“He won’t hurt you. Iske isn’t wild, and he has a Spirit. I can’t support you out of here, so you need to listen to me and play by my rules. Do you understand? Otherwise, you are going to die here.”

The hunter grit his teeth. The drive for life won out as he hung his head. The sting of her tone reminded him of a mother chastising a child.

“Fine.” He hauled himself into Iske’s saddle. His shoulders tense and his body unsteady; he had to lean against the saddle to stay firm. Sylvie froze, her arms hanging in the air uselessly for a moment, surprised he had moved without help.

“Don’t touch the reins,” Sylvie instructed. Should something happen and he did pass out, she used the last bit of her rope to tie him to the saddle. It wasn’t long enough to carry them to the surface anyhow, which seemed as out of reach as the stars at this point.

“You have reins on a wolf.” The hunter stared at her too long, his gaze was digging into her. Trying to find some sense to be made of the small woman in the rough, off-white parka. She stared back at him with wide hazel-brown eyes.

“Sometimes, he lets me lead.” She said after thinking for a long moment. She scratched between Iske’s ears. With a huff, the dire wolf walked beside her. Though he didn’t walk as fast as he did with Sylvie in the saddle, his ears pinned back in protest.

“What is your name?” Sylvie glanced toward the hunter as she began to pack up what supplies she had taken out from the knapsack.

“Aizik.” He shifted his weight in the saddle. It was a smaller saddle, meant for the much smaller woman, and wasn’t that pleasant to ride on for his size despite the well-crafted leather it was shaped from and the blanket underneath against the wolf’s fur. Sylvie gave him even less room by tying the supplies to the back.

“Can you not carry that too? There’s not a lot of space.” Aizik eyed her.

“No. If you complain, I’ll make you walk, and I’ll ride. I don’t know if there is a way out of here.”

“You didn’t introduce yourself either, wolf woman,” Aizik grunted, unsure if he could walk. Maybe she was using it as an empty threat.

“You can call me Sylvie. Now, will we keep arguing and freeze to death at the bottom of an ice cavern, or will we go?”

“Go, then.” Aizik grinned. Though his voice was hoarse, there was a hint of humor in his tone. Though he hadn’t prayed in a long time, he took a moment to be grateful that he hadn’t hit Sylvie or killed her wolf in the blind hunger that had driven him. Even now, it gnawed at his senses less standing with her. It was like feeling warmth again.