Steel-like fangs move toward him as fast as arrows. His reflexes don't betray him this time; if anything, he feels faster. He redirects the attack, and it misses them both entirely. Cold air peels past his cheek.
His dagger chips. This beast is heavy. The shock runs through his wrist.
Sol strains his eyes again. The thing eludes his vision and slips under the tunnel's darkness.
He may not see it, but he can hear it. All of his senses are aflame, neurons sparking hard just to keep up with the beast.
This is not a wolf; it's heavier, bigger. Another Garm? he thinks, and the thought stops a split second later when he sees a ruby glint in the darkness again.
He rolls sideways, moving Nia out of the way. The thing whooshes past him, breaking several stalagmites in one sweep.
The tunnel begins to shake; more impacts like that could bury them all. Sol keeps Nia in his peripheral vision while he focuses on the gleaming ruby eyes that dart through the dark.
It's another Garm. It's gotta be.
Sol shifts forward, barely dodging another dash from the shadows. He slashes once and only nicks some fur.
It's white.
It's the Snow White Garm that we encountered? No. This one feels… smaller?
Another swift charge comes from his blind spot. He manages to roll, barely; his left shoulder gets nicked, and blood starts to flow. Heat spreads under his tunic, sharp and wet.
"Sol!" Nia shouts from behind him. Her position should still be safe as long as she doesn't step into the open area.
"Stay there!" Sol tries to make sure his dagger will hold for at least one or two more attacks; he has nothing else. He eyes a fallen stalagmite on the cavern floor. It might work, it might not. He just has to try.
"It's afraid!"
It's… afraid? Sol forces his focus back to the movement. The thing darts all over, to the ceiling, along the walls, but it always keeps to the shade. Not once has it shown itself, except when attacking, and even then only for a split second.
The Garm's breath fogs and vanishes in brief flares.
There has to be something. Sol barely evades one more hit and counters with his dagger at the last moment. He manages to slash the Garm, but he doesn't know where. A thin line of pale fur drifts down.
The Garm disappears into the darkness once more, and Sol is just about to catch his breath when it slams into his right side. The hit is clean; his consciousness wavers for a moment, but he picks himself up before his face hits the cavern floor.
He rolls to the side as the Garm pounces on him with all its weight. And now, only now, Sol can see the thing he's been fighting.
The jaw is open right in front of him, teeth as sharp as blades. Its breath smells faintly sour, like bad meat.
It's white, bigger than a wolf, much bigger. But this one is smaller than the Garm that saved him from the Nhiven, almost half that one's size.
Even at half the size of the larger Garm, this thing is still bigger than a direwolf. Its fangs are sharper, and Sol uses everything he has to make sure those fangs don't reach him. His dagger rings against tooth and slips.
"...!!!"
SNAP!! The jaw snaps shut at the left side of his head. The dagger slip was a stroke of luck.
Sol kicks it in the stomach twice; the thing yelps and retreats swiftly into the darkness. And in this moment Sol realizes something: it isn't attacking out of malice or hatred. It's attacking out of necessity.
"Sol…" Nia's soft voice distracts him a little. Sol knows what she is trying to say. It is pointless to hurt this beast.
It's already hurting.
"I know. It feels like it's trying to lure us away from a spot in the cavern." Sol focuses on the two gleaming, ruby-like eyes.
Every time it attacks, every time it dashes or lunges at him, every time it finishes, the Garm goes back to the same spot. Sol knows that place. His last foray here was a couple of moons back, but he still remembers the layout.
It's an alcove that leads to a groundwater source, a small lake inside the cavern. The younglings sometimes used it to refill their waterskins. If Sol is right, that place is now a nest for the Garms. He never actually learned where Garms live or how they hunt; he always thought they were like wolves, moving in packs and sleeping in the forest at the mountain's foot.
Maybe he was wrong.
The Garm looks at him intently. Sol feels his dagger will only take one more hit. He has to make it count.
Sol crouches and shifts slowly to the Garm's left. The beast's eyes follow him. Sol can feel an attack coming very, very soon.
His wounded shoulder throbs in time with each pulse of his heart.
He holds his dagger in his right hand. If the Garm pounces, he will drop to the ground and stab it in the stomach, hoping the blade will give him one last-ditch chance to survive. But before the attack comes, he realizes:
The yelping has stopped.
Sol breathes slowly. The Garm growls low. The growl is ragged at the end.
This is it, the moment of truth. Sol's eyes water; he forces them not to blink so he won't miss any movement. The pain starts to bother him.
His breath ghosts in short, careful clouds. His eyes start to waver. Sweat drips from his forehead.
And then, something changes.
The Garm stops growling. It steps out toward the light, eyes still trained on Sol as if its life depends on it.
Sol can see it clearly now, helped by the sun at the tunnel's mouth. This Garm's lips, tongue, and nose are not red; they are very pale, almost discolored to blue.
Nia steps forward from behind larger stalagmites.
"No, Nia, wait." Sol tries to stop her, but he still has to focus on the Garm, which has stopped and is just standing there, waiting.
Nia walks slowly toward it. "It's okay, Sol, trust me."
She gets closer and closer, one step at a time. Sol starts toward her to protect her, but Nia shoos him back with her left hand, signaling it's going to be okay, that he can stay there. He doesn't want to, so he crouches and prepares to lunge at the Great Wolf if it tries anything.
Nia stops a good three or four steps in front of the Garm. It looks at her with worried eyes. Sol confirms his earlier realization: this thing is in great pain.
Nia crouches and offers her right hand to the Garm. It follows the hand, sniffing loudly, still a bit distrustful.
"It's okay. I'm sorry if we hurt you. Can I get closer?"
The Garm just looks at her, vigilant. Sol holds his breath.
And then the Garm lowers its head, opening a chance for Nia to touch its muzzle slowly.
"There, there. You're going to be fine, I promise." Nia steps forward a little and touches the muzzle. A touch as soft as first snow, and light begins to glow from the point of contact, a whitish hue, almost green and gold at the edges. The light gathers near her hand, then spreads into a dozen small white, gold, and light-greenish fireflies that circle the Garm.
The Garm startles, but Nia's touch calms it almost immediately. The fireflies land on the Garm and slip inside, searching for the place where it hurts. The Great Wolf's skin puckers lightly where the fireflies pass.
Like a miracle, Sol's slashes on the Garm's body, weak as they were, have still left wounds. Those wounds absorb the fireflies and close themselves, as if nothing happened.
Other fireflies slip into its stomach, making it yelp with surprise.
"Haha, it's surprising, isn't it? I promise it won't hurt." Nia moves closer to the Garm, near enough to caress the whole head with both hands. Sol still can't relax. The Garm's head is twice Nia's, and if it decided to open its jaws wide, he knows it would be too late.
Sol walks forward slowly, dagger still ready in his hand.
The Garm drops low to the ground, surrendering itself to Nia. Color returns to its lips, snout, and tongue as the natural pink surges back. Its breathing steadies.
"You've been poisoned. Thankfully it wasn't too late," Nia says softly. The Garm pants. It no longer growls or stays vigilant.
Yelping. Sol realizes something.
"Wait, Nia, there were multiple of them. I heard them yelping somewhere nearby."
"Is that so?" Nia looks at the resting Garm.
Sol moves closer. The Garm no longer poses danger to them, but the sheer size and strength it has shown, even while poisoned, still warrant care.
"Doggy, can you lead us to your pack?"
The Garm looks at her and blinks. It stands, turns around, walks toward the inner alcove, and waits there in silence. The draft flows more strongly from that direction.
"Sol?" Nia looks at him with eyes full of expectation.
Sol sighs, still very careful, deliberates for a quick second before nodding.
"I don't think we have any other option."
Sol takes a step forward.
"Lead the way, doggy."