"What about Fenrir?!"
Velren shouted over the howling wind, his voice was barely audible as the trees blurred past them. His hands gripped Sköll's fur tightly, and his body was pressed low against the white wolf's back as they sped through the forest.
"We sensed multiple attackers!"
Sköll called back, flattening his ears against his head.
"Fenrir'll handle the majority! I'm going after the ones that split off!"
Velren's heart pounded. Attackers? The convoy was supposed to be heavily guarded—who would be reckless enough to target it?
Sköll's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Listen to me carefully, kid! If we run into someone, you hide. Got it? Stay out of sight—but not too far away. Keep close enough to see what's going on."
Velren opened his mouth to argue, but Sköll's tone grew sharper.
"And if—on the off chance—I get into a pinch, you go find Fenrir. Understand? He can guide himself to me faster if you lead him."
"What? Are you crazy?!"
Velren's stomach twisted.
"I'm not gonna just leave you all alone!"
Sköll snorted.
"Don't be an idiot! This isn't about playing hero. You'll help me more by finding Fenrir if things go south. Got it?"
Velren swallowed hard.
'Why does this suddenly feel way more serious?'
He nodded, though uncertainty flickered in his eyes.
"I—I'll try."
"Good," Sköll said, never slowing his pace.
"Just keep your head clear, kid. We've got this."
***
After what felt like an endless stretch of running, Sköll finally came to a stop. His breathing was steady despite the pace, and his gaze was locked on something deeper within the forest.
"Velren," the white wolf spoke, glancing over his shoulder,
"Find somewhere safe and stay close. Not too far, but make sure you're out of sight."
Velren nodded without argument, sliding off Sköll's back. His dashed toward a dense thicket nearby. He crouched low behind the thick brush, holding his breath. Pushing aside a few leaves, he peeked through the foliage.
Sköll, wasting no time, leaped onto a sturdy branch overhead. His pale fur blended with the filtered evening light above, making him a ghostly silhouette among the leaves.
Moments later, the faint crunch of footsteps reached Velren's ears. His heart was pounded as three figures emerged from the trees. Scarred leather armor, mismatched weapons, and an aura of practiced brutality marked them as... mercenaries—a hired blades with no loyalty beyond coin.
"Looks like the plan's already started," one of them, a stocky man with a jagged scar running across his cheek, muttered while stretching his arms. His axe was rested lazily on his shoulder.
"Yeah," another one of them, thinner with a crooked nose, chuckled.
"Means we just sit back and relax."
"Idiot," the third one snapped—a tall man with sharp eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword.
"Stay on guard. This is the Sylmare Forest. You never know what might be lurkin' in here."
Velren tightened his grip on a branch, swallowing nervously. That guy's not wrong...
Just above them, concealed by the canopy, the white silhouette shifted—like a predator eyeing its prey. Sköll's muscles coiled, his breath was both calm and measured as he waited. Wait... wait a little more...
And then—
A flash of white shot down from the trees. The tall man's warning shout died in his throat as Sköll's fangs sank into his shoulder, dragging him backward with terrifying force. The man's blade clattered uselessly to the ground.
"Shit! It's a wolf—!" Scar-cheek swung his axe, but Sköll twisted midair, narrowly avoiding the strike. His paw lashed out, causing his claws to slashed across the man's chest. Scar-cheek stumbled back, and blood was blooming through his torn leather.
"Help him, damn it!"
Crooked-nose lunged with his dagger aimed for Sköll's flank—but too slow. With a growl, the wolf kicked off the wounded man, flipping toward Crooked-nose. His jaws clamped down on the mercenary's arm, snapping a bone under the force. The man's scream echoed through the trees.
Velren winced but couldn't tear his eyes away. His wolf companion was... fast. It was like watching a blur of white and claws—it was precise, efficient, and lethal.
As the fight raged on, Velren's gaze drifted beyond them—and his breath caught. Not far off, another group emerged from the shadows. Three more mercenaries. But what made his blood run cold was the sight of one of them that was carrying a figure.
A little girl. Dressed in fine garments, her royal attire was now dirtied and torn. Strands of golden hair spilled over the man's arm as she remained motionless.
'Shit... Is this a kidnapping?!' Velren's mind raced.
He glanced back toward Sköll, wanting to call out—but the white wolf was locked in fierce combat, he had his paws full with the remaining mercenaries. Yelling now would only risk revealing his position—and further burden Sköll with protecting him.
'Sorry, Sköll...'
Without another thought, Velren sprang from his hiding spot. The branches clawed at his clothes as he slipped through the trees, fixing his eyes on the kidnappers' retreating forms.
He had to do something.