The gust of wind picks up. The snow, which had been falling only rarely, has now almost filled the entirety of Nia and Wanwan's field of vision, almost turning into a fully formed blizzard. The temperature has dropped to the point where even Wanwan no longer wants to loll his tongue.
All of his and Nia's focus is on the standoff between the Old Chief and Sol. His bandages are almost all covered with blood. His wounds are not only a massive disadvantage, but now also a hindrance.
Nia can see how Sol's breath has been ragged for a while now. He got faster in a short amount of time, yes. He also got visibly stronger and is now able to almost reflexively react to the Old Chief, but the depth and breadth of experience between them is just too wide, like a vast chasm. The problem is, Nia cannot see the other side of that chasm, even though Sol has shown massive improvements in a short time.
She has to do something. She has to.
She clenches her right hand hard.
Inside Wanwan's head, that is also what he has been thinking for the entirety of the fight between Sol and the Old Chief. A Garm's instinct is a dangerous thing. The only reason why he and his littermates are not hostile toward the Old Chief is only because of one thing. The Old Chief was not the Old Chief; it was Ol' Crazy who saved them and nursed them back until they were healthy.
This person is not only dangerous; he is also currently playing with Sol's life like it was nothing. And the thing that has Wanwan's vigilance amped up to its limit is this: he does not know when this will end.
He looks towards Nia, her right hand clutching her chest. There is no other emotion that Wanwan can detect except for her worry toward Sol's well-being.
It's weird how both of them can get attached to him so quickly, seeing how they just met less than a week ago. And it started with a conflict, nonetheless.
Wanwan's days were quaint before he met Sol and Nia. His and his littermates' duty was to make sure that they survived through the day, and nothing else.
They did not come from the warmer, flatter lands with an abundance of trees. In fact, the Snow White Garms came from the higher part of the Frozen Mountain, a place where not even the Nhiven are allowed to tread. It is a snowy, craggy field, far colder than the cavern where they met Sol and Nia, and far, far colder than the river's edge where they are currently standing.
His days, from the moment he opened both of his eyes, far earlier than his littermates, were filled with hunting snow coneys, stake owls, and the elks that were unlucky enough to tread upon his nest. If he was not doing the hunting, then he was the one tasked by his mother to stand guard, and keep his littermates safe. He was a protector from birth. He was tasked to do so.
They, the Snow White Garms, are not naturally nesting creatures; they are nomads, always looking for places in which they can avoid the blizzard, and by avoiding the blizzard, they are also avoiding the one that controls it. The Rimelord.
The Rimelord, Zyneios, is a creature without mercy. Unlike the other beasts of the Stake that perhaps hurt or kill in order to ascertain survival, Zyneios has no need to do so. It is immortal; it cannot die by any natural means. It has no need to predate, as it will never be struck with bouts of hunger. It has no need to kill and hurt, yet it still does. It does so because it desires to do so.
With the coming of power also comes a desire to use it, just like how shadow will always be there to accompany light.
It is a thing that Wanwan's mother dubbed the Crest of the entirety of the Frozen Mountain.
"The Rime Raven awakened its darkest desires within its ice-rimmed feathers the moment magick set in its veins. It shed its raven feathers and became a crystalline messenger of cold and death." Wanwan does not understand what any of it means, but it must pertain to the Rimelord, at the very least.
It is something that stands in its own class, separate from the guardians of the mountain. If the Nhiven are the guardians of the middle-high parts of the Stake, and his mother is the guardian of the even higher parts, near the peak; Zyneios is the one that they have to look out for. The Guardian Beasts of the Stake are guarding this mountain from its own apex, lest the raven go berserk.
The Rimelord is a fickle creature. Its patience is as brittle as a layer of frost upon a leaf, easily broken with a mere touch of the dawn's morning dew. It will indiscriminately freeze anything that it lays its eyes upon, through the means of summoning a blizzard, or through the means of its breath, its claws, or its wings and feathers.
That kind of temper, combined with the absolute might of a Crest, creates a terrible creature that acts not only as a warning, but also as a form of equalizer to all the other parts of the land. That terrible raven is the reason why there are no other powerful creatures that come and invade Frozen Mountain's domain.
His mother also told him once that the Rimelord was carved from The Eternal Ice, long ago, just like them; they are just made from different parts of the same ice. Who made them, why, using what method, no one knows. What Wanwan knows is that the creature is the reason why their kind was almost completely gone.
Wanwan looks at the battle once again. Sol is pushing the Old Chief back with his own brand of pressure, alternating and feinting with some kicks and palm attacks, but Wanwan knows that the Old Chief is just testing him. The entire fight is a question for which there is no correct answer. No matter what Sol does, he will lose.
One does not fight against a natural disaster. Just as his mother told him before, to go and avoid the blizzard while she went back up the mountain to make sure the Nhiven would not pursue the exodus of her offspring, Sol is also supposed to stand and try to receive as little punishment as he can, and perhaps, when his opponent is satisfied, if his opponent is satisfied, he will let Sol go. Just as how the blizzard might show you mercy if you humbled yourself and stayed inside the cave where no snow could touch you, instead of braving it without proper conditions and preparation.
Wanwan sighs. A massive kick hits Sol right in his broken ribs, and that same kick propels him backward about ten meters before he recovers his position instantly, seemingly ignoring his pain completely.
Nothing can ignore pain. Sol is drowning in pain right now, just like Wanwan's cousins, the Lowland Garms, they who are cursed to wallow in pain and live with their incapability to survive alone, etched in the very essence of their being.
Some of the Snow White Garms went down the mountain hundreds of years ago, avoiding the threat of the Eternal Blizzard, and through some process of adaptation became his Lowland cousins; their cowardice robbed them of their pure snow white coats and bestowed upon them jet black fur that fits their cowardly nature, so that they would be able to strike easily from the dark.
No more are they allowed to use their sword-like fangs and dagger-like claws; they must now content themselves with their smaller weapons. No more are they allowed to tower over other animals with their superior physical size; they must now contend for survival just like the other denizens of the Lowlands. And even if their eye color is still similar, their capabilities pertaining to sight are worlds apart. They are still quick and are able to effectively hunt as packs, of course. But alone? Their prey will tear them apart if they were to show the slightest opening.
That is why they have to go in packs, unlike Wanwan's kind that fulfills all their needs alone, not needing any pack to survive. Yet a Snow White Garm is still a wolf. And within a pack, a wolf will finally be able to fulfill their fullest potential.
Sol and Nia. Two strangers that, by chance, stumbled onto the Garm pups' respite, were the furthest thing that a Garm could ask for in terms of assistance, yet they did provide help. Without asking for anything in return, Nia used any magical capabilities that she had inside her tiny, frail body to heal him, and even went so far as to risk her own well-being to shine the light upon his littermates.
Sol, however, was different.
Sol smelled like his mother. That is why Wanwan was willing to let go of the aggression at their first meeting, afraid that Sol was actually someone his mother sent to save them from the poison that was ravaging their insides.
And something else that Wanwan just cannot explain, but Sol feels... familiar to him. He does not know how, or why.
Wanwan nuzzles Nia's left arm. Nia crouches down and looks toward him with a calming smile. It is an effort to make Wanwan feel better, but he knows that Nia's heart is clouded.
"He will be okay, Wanwan." The Garm can see that Nia's left hand that ruffles his fur is shaking, and the shake is not from the cold. "Sol will be alright."
A futile effort of lifting her own spirit.
"Wan..." Wanwan whines, and his eyes move toward Sol and the Old Chief's fight once again. Both attacks are met with equal force from their opposition, sending a massive shockwave through the falling snows.
Wanwan's tail stops moving. If there's any chance, any opening no matter how slight, for him to jump in and assist Sol.
He will do it.
A massive crack is heard.
Sol manages to land a direct hit to his opponent's face.
Through luck or through skill, it is no longer important. What's important is the fact that the impact sends the Old Chief flying back, and he lands headfirst on the Longrass-filled meadow.