Hungry, tired, and battered, Krey stood on his last reserves of will. Before him, the great wolf's mouth steamed in the cold air, saliva dripping from its fangs. It was as starved as he was.
He stood his ground, waiting. Sword pointed toward the beast, he prepared for a piercing thrust. The blade was dull, its edge nicked and worn, with only a few sharp points along its length.
The wolf bared its fangs, dug its paws into the earth, and plunged forward. At the same moment, Krey threw his weight behind a desperate lunge. The both of the sword tips caught, piercing the wolf's thick hide. As Krey tried to pull the wooden sword free, the wolf leaped back—yanking only the dull steel sword from the wound.
Teeth clenched, Krey tightened his grip on the remaining handle.
He prepared to strike again, but the wolf had other plans. It retreated step by step into the dense forest, melting into the shadows until it vanished completely.
"It's toying with me", Krey realized.
Anxiety tightened his chest. He held the sword diligently, knowing the moment his guard dropped, the assault would come. His situation was worsened by the weighted bracelet on his wrist, a beautiful but burdensome heirloom. It dragged his arm down, and his shoulder screamed with a deep, aching fatigue.
A shift in the air behind him—the only warning. Krey spun as the wolf lunged from the shadows. He abandoned his thrust, twisting his body into a horizontal slash. The blade connected with the wolf's snout, slicing across its nostril. The beast recoiled with a snarl.
But the momentum, weighted down, betrayed him. Krey stumbled, balance lost, and fell hard onto the grass. The sword slipped from his tired, numb fingers.
His eyes widened in panic. Scrambling toward the blade, he stretched—his fingertips brushed the hilt. It was just beyond his grasp. Then, searing pain erupted in his forearm as the wolf's jaws closed around it.
"Aurgh!"
The fangs sank deeper, shredding muscle. Blood soaked his sleeve.
"Get off of me!" Krey screamed,
Raining weak blows on the wolf's head with his free hand. They were useless. Each punch only made the wolf clamp down harder, until he felt pressure grating against the bone of his forearm.
Agony blinded him. Through blurred vision, he looked up—and saw it. The hilt of the wooden sword, still buried in the wolf's side from his first strike. With a final surge of will, his adrenaline flaring anew, he reached up and grasped it. He pushed, driving the crude weapon deeper.
It became a battle of endurance. The wolf's grip on his arm slowly loosened. As the wooden sword submerged to its hilt, the wolf finally released him, stumbling back.
Gasping, Krey snatched the steel sword from the ground and forced himself to stand. His arm bore four deep punctures, blood streaming to the ground. He raised the sword high for an overhead slash.
Simultaneously, they charged—like a fisherman reeling in his line and a fish striking the bait.
A pool of blood spread, darkening the soil. But it was Krey's. He wasn't fast enough. The wolf's momentum drove him back against a tree, its teeth sinking in his chest. Krey's sword fell from his hand. The light in his eyes began to fade, the world dimming.
As he accepted the end, a gentle sensation touched the crown of his head. A voice, clear and commanding, spoke within his mind.
"Not yet. Do not give up just yet."
Power, hot and fierce, coursed through his veins. Obeying the voice, Krey gritted his teeth. He grabbed the wolf's upper and lower jaws with his bloody hands and, with a roar born of newfound strength, pried them apart.
The wolf thrashed, biting down on his hand. Ignoring the fresh pain, Krey raised his fist and began to pummel the beast's head—once, twice, his knuckles tearing on bone and tooth. He clenched his fist a final time and delivered a blow that echoed through the clearing. The wolf was thrown sideways, crashing to the earth.
As it fell, its snapping jaws caught his hand. Searing pain, then numbness. The battered wolf leaped back, two of Krey's fingers clutched in its mouth. It fixed him with a final, glaring look before disappearing into the forest's embrace.
Krey collapsed to his knees. Before the cracked, pale moon stood a young man on the very edge of life and death. As he gasped, something was lifted from his head.
He looked up. A woman stood there, holding a slip of parchment. She examined it with mild surprise.
"I can't believe this thing came in handy." she mused.
She was beautiful, with a pale umber complexion and long, ashen-white hair that fell like a waterfall. She wore a long dress beneath an elaborate cloak of black and purple, a broad pointed hat atop her head. Her hands were sheathed in exquisite black lace gloves, and her eyes held the deep, starry purple of a night sky.
Looking down at Krey, she opened a bag strung at her waist. She retrieved two small sticks, took his maimed hand, and fitted the wood where his ring and smallest finger had been. They reshaped themselves, taking on the form of his lost digits, though they retained the smooth, polished appearance of dark wood.
She then walked away, searching the clearing. She bent behind a tree and returned holding a trembling rabbit by its ears.
"What are you—no, who are you?" Krey rasped, his voice strained.
"...Don't talk, dear." she replied softly.
Placing a gloved hand on his chest, she began to chant in a low, incomprehensible language. A strange, weaving sensation spread through Krey's body. He felt every torn fiber of his muscle knitting back together, like thread mending a ripped shirt.
The rabbit in her other hand began to shriek. Wounds opened across its tiny body, mirroring Krey's vanished injuries. Soon, its cries ceased.
"My name is Nixsen, a wandering witch. Now, pick up your sword and dig a grave."
"A witch?" Krey coughed, bewildered. "Why dig a grave for a rabbit? Wouldn't it be better to cook it?"
The witch looked at him, her wide eyes reflecting genuine intrigue. "How curious. I suppose we can do that."
She extended the rabbit. As Krey tried to stand to take it, his legs buckled. Overwhelming, ineluctable fatigue crushed him back to the ground.
"Come on then, take it." Nixsen said.
Gritting his teeth, Krey forced himself up, hand braced on his knee. His face twitched as the weights pulled at his weary limbs. Not wanting this elegant stranger to see his weakness, he snatched the rabbit and asked her to gather wood for a fire.
Soon, a bundle of sticks was assembled.
"Can you light it?" Krey asked.
Nixsen offered a gentle smile. She raised a finger, a single ember glowing at its tip, and flicked it onto the kindling. Flames blossomed.
Krey skewered the rabbit, held it over the fire, and carefully peeled away the charred skin to expose the meat. He cooked it until it was done, then split it in half, offering a portion to Nixsen. She accepted gracefully.
The meat was bland, utterly unseasoned, but it satiated a deep, clawing hunger. As he ate, Krey studied her.
"So, what are you doing here in Graswald?"
Swallowing the last of her share, she replied, "I am visiting an old friend."
"Do you have a place to stay?"
"No, dear. Why do you ask?"
A weak smile touched Krey's lips. He stood again, more steadily this time. "Well, you can stay the night at my place, then. I owe you for healing me."
A flicker of nervousness crossed Nixsen's face. After a moment's hesitation, she sighed.
"Very well. Lead the way."
Wiping his hands, Krey retrieved his sword and cleared a path. They exited the forest under the cracked moon, its light softening the path ahead. A gentle breeze followed them to the outskirts of the domain. Then, Krey's home came into view.
"Umm… you live here?" Nixsen asked, her tone carefully neutral.
Before them stood a shabby shed, its roof holed, its door a mere wooden plank leaning against the entryway. Krey moved the plank aside.
"After you." he said, leading a way in.
Nixsen entered cautiously.
"Are you sure this place is safe?"
"Of course. I promise it is. I never break a promise."
Inside, the space was surprisingly, starkly neat. In the corner sat an elderly man, eyes closed. Krey pulled the forgotten berries from his pocket and placed them in the man's lap.
"This is my mentor. He taught me how to survive here."
Nixsen bowed respectfully and produced a bright apple from her bag, offering it to the old man.
As she settled, Krey's curiosity returned. "What did you do to me back there? With the paper?"
"Hm? Oh, the talisman? It was a simple charm to bolster one's strength. It had been gathering dust in my bag for ages."
"...I see. Thank you for that."
"No need for thanks. I merely happened to be passing by."
Krey unfurled a threadbare sheet, laying it in the cleanest corner for Nixsen. She sat down gingerly, arranging her cloak around her. Krey moved the wooden plank back across the doorway before finding his own spot on the hard floor.
"Sleep well." Nixsen said softly, her voice already thick with impending sleep.
"Goodnight." Krey whispered.
Outside, the darkness began to soften. Dawn was approaching.