Femi jerked awake, his pulse hammering as his eyes snapped open to the glare of twin stars overhead. He sucked in a sharp breath, the scent of woodsmoke thick in the freezing air. Slowly, he pushed himself up from the snow-packed ground, his muscles stiff from the cold. Debris clung to his fur, crusted leaves, dirt, and the remnants of last night's feast ground into it. He brushed himself off with quick, irritated swipes, his gaze sweeping the camp.
Around him, the Krags moved with surprising efficiency despite their ragged appearance. They hauled firewood, reinforced tents, and scrubbed charred remnants from cookware. Others herded the captured traders and women into wooden pens, their bonds still tight. The sight made Femi's jaw tighten. He twisted his wrists, testing the ropes.
"I don tire for this rope." The knots held firm. "Rubbish."
His stomach growled, protesting its emptiness. He sniffed the air "food" but before he could search for it, a shadow fell over him.
Varga.
She loomed above, knuckles resting on the hilt of her knife. Without a word, she flicked the blade out and severed his bonds. The ropes slithered away, leaving his wrists stinging as blood rushed back. Femi massaged them, the memory of yesterday's altercation flashing through his mind.
She didn't speak. Just turned and strode toward a pit, expecting him to follow.
"This girl is dangerous," he muttered under his breath.
Femi scrambled up, his joints protesting. "I need to find a better place to sleep later. I refuse to suffer this back pain." He cracked his spine, tail stiffening as he did.
Varga stood beside a pit crammed with blades, axes, and spears, their edges catching the pale morning light.
"Pick one," she said.
His gaze locked onto an axe near the back, its curved head and worn haft a mirror of the one he'd lost. His fingers closed around it before he could think. The weight felt right.
"One," Varga repeated.
He didn't let go. Instead, his free hand snatched a dagger from the pile, a sleek thing with grooved wood for grip. "Two."
For a heartbeat, he braced for her to wrench them away. But she only studied him, her expression unreadable. Then she turned and walked off, leaving him no choice but to follow.
They walked towards a tent, were a one-eyed Krag was hunched over a work bench tinkering with some tools. The warrior grinned, his scar splitting his face like a second mouth, and tossed a leather belt at Femi's feet.
"Wear it," Varga ordered.
Femi crouched to examine it. Sturdy. A small pouch. And "nice" a sheath for the dagger, plus loops to secure his axe.
"Thank you very much, sir," he said to the green-skinned Krag.
The warrior only grunted.
Varga dragged him toward the camp's entrance, where the hunting party stood ready. Areius loomed at the front, Goruk and Talon flanking him, while twenty-odd Krags shifted with restless energy. Weapons glinted in the weak sunlight.
"Pairs!" Areius barked, his voice cutting through the icy air. "Listen well, we sweep west toward the Blackroot bogs. Varga's team takes the high ridge, Goruk's group follows the creekbed. Keep horns ready. Two short blasts mean prey sighted; one long means trouble." He paced like he was going to war. "We want the striped elk, but anything with meat walks home with us today. No empty hands. No excuses."
Varga stepped forward and shoved Femi between the shoulder blades, sending him stumbling toward the treeline. "The rat runs with me. We'll check the old burns, elk love those new shoots." Her fingers tapped the quiver filled with arrows at her belt.
Areius dismissed them with a wave. "As I said yesterday, he's with you."
"So you want to kill me in that bush, abi?"
Femi's grip tightened on the axe. The weapon suddenly felt heavy.
A spear-carrying Krag let out a wet chuckle, his milky eye rolling toward Femi. "Good luck, rat. Last hunter that went with Varga didn't come back. We're still looking for his bones." He spat in the snow between Femi's feet.
Femi didn't like that at all.
Around them, hunters adjusted gear with practiced efficiency. One tested bowstrings while another smeared rancid fat on arrowheads. A pair tied bundles of dried leaves to their belts, likely to mask their scent. Femi noticed none carried a axe like him; just skinning knives, short spears, and recurve bows made from horn and sinew.
Varga grabbed a handful of ash from the firepit and smeared it across Femi's forehead. "Quit your trembling," she muttered. "Elk can smell fear like rot on meat." Her own face was already streaked with charcoal.
The other pairs fanned out, their footsteps crunching on frostbitten leaves as they vanished into the trees. Femi lingered a half-step behind, fingers flexing around the axe haft. The weight of it should've been comforting. It wasn't.
Varga shot him a look that said "keep up". He swallowed hard and hurried after her. The dagger at his belt bumped against his thigh with every step, his tail and round ears twitching nervously.
"What bad life choices led me here?"
The forest swallowed them whole.
One moment, sunlight dappled the snow; the next, the canopy choked out the sky. The air thickened with the scent of damp bark and frozen earth. Femi's pulse hammered in his throat. Every snapped twig, every rustle in the underbrush set his nerves on edge.
Varga moved like a shadow, her strides silent. Femi scrambled to match her, his foreclaws crushing the snow, his breath too loud in his own ears. The trees leaned in, their gnarled branches clawing at his arms as he pushed through.
---
After trudging through the snow-laden woods for several minutes, Varga turned and fixed Femi with an appraising look. The ratling's nose twitched as he scanned the trees for threats. He saw nothing, but that didn't mean danger wasn't lurking.
"You're no forest rat,the way you are shaking like a newly born calf," Varga said, her breath misting in the frigid air. "I'll have to start your training now, then. Follow me, and stay quiet."
"Training?" Femi's ears flicked backward. Why would she train me? He Wondered.
"You'll get used to the White Wilds or die trying," Varga replied, her voice gravelly.
Femi frowned. "Why are you training me?" He couldn't think of a single good reason.
Varga snorted. "What's the point of feeding you if you die before you're useful?"
Femi considered that. It made a grim kind of sense. He exhaled, his breath a white puff. "At least she didn't drag me out here to kill me in the bush."
"Thanks in advance for the lesson, then,"he muttered.
Varga grunted and strode ahead, her long legs carving effortless strides through the snow. Femi scrambled after her, picking his way around twigs and soft patches. He crouched low, crept over fallen logs, and moved as silently as he could, until he realized the core of his problem.
His legs were too damn short.
While Varga walked with casual ease, Femi had to jog. Where she stepped over obstacles, he had to leap. And leaping made noise. His paws crunched faintly in the snow, betraying every frantic step. He pushed harder, determined not to fall behind, but silence and speed were impossible together.
Deeper into the woods, a cloud of insects descended. A buzzing black swarm enveloped them, mostly Femi. Varga's cloak, leather pants, and chest wrap shielded her. Femi had only his fur. And for some reason, the mosquitoes favored him.
He swatted wildly, but the bites stung through his fur. His flailing slowed him further. "Even here, mosquitoes? You'd follow me to another world!" He slapped at his arms, rolled in the snow, and bared his teeth. "How are you lot even alive in this cold? Are you on steroids?"
When he lurched upright, Varga was staring at him like he'd lost his mind.
"Have you lost your mind, rat? What are you doing?" Her tone suggested she was humoring a lunatic.
"Can't you see I'm fighting a losing battle here?" Femi retorted, still batting at the swarm.
Varga smacked the back of his head, then dug into her belt pouch and thrust a handful of crushed leaves at him.
"This is insect bane," she said, thrusting them at him. Femi sniffed the leaves and sneezed violently as the bitter scent assaulted his nose.
"The smell drives bugs away. Rub it on yourself."
Femi didn't hesitate. He scrubbed the leaves over his fur until the stench clung to him. The swarm dissipated almost instantly.
"Ha! Run, you blood-thieves! You're lucky I don't have mosquito raid with me!" He shook a fist at the retreating insects before grinning at Varga.
"Thank you, ma! You saved my life, I might've died of malaria!"
Varga rolled her eyes. "You talk too much for a ratling." She turned and marched off before he could retort.
Femi doubted any ratling in this world was like him. At least none as unlucky, he thought, trotting after her.
The unfamiliar woods prickled his instincts. Every shadow between snow-heavy branches seemed to hide something poised to drop onto him. He could practically see some monstrous bush-baby lurking above, ready to pounce and he doubted insect bane would scare off a predator.
Peering upward, he nearly slammed into Varga when she halted abruptly. She crouched, examining the snow.
"Come here, rat. Look," she murmured.
Femi scurried over and knelt beside her. A set of deep, wide tracks marred the snow, vaguely familiar, but far too large.
"Are those… dog tracks?" he asked.
"Dire wolves,"Varga corrected, her gaze scanning the trees. "And they're fresh."
Femi's fur bristled. "Dire what?!"