(Jormund POV)

Initially this all seemed like a bit of an adventure. After four days of bad food, unknown dangers, and cryptic messages written in goblin corpses, I’d rather head back to the village.

In those four days, the only sign of our quarry has been the clearing, and that wasn’t very encouraging. Since then, everything has been going downhill, except us as we slowly climb towards the mountains.

And now it’s raining, everything is wet, we are running low on food, the other hunters blame me for our low reserves, the brush keeps getting denser and tougher, and we passed the last climbable tree this morning.

I am starting to think that we missed the wolfkin tribe altogether. Perhaps we’re getting close to the edge of the world: the closer we get to the peaks the bigger they seem, and there’s no way we’re getting over them.

"Jormund! You’re falling behind! Again!"

Oh yes. And Forgu keeps saying that if I can’t keep up with the rest of the hunters he’ll just leave me here. How could I forget that entry on the list.

I could really use some time to rest. I think we all could, but Forgu’s understandably worried.

Looking to distract myself, I scoop up a few stones from the ground and keep an eye out for targets to practice my throwing on.

There isn’t much of anything around here though, the only creature we’ve seen today was some sort of lizard. Even that was pretty small, although it did have wings. Perhaps we’re still making too much noise in this unfamiliar terrain.

Despairing of a more interesting target, I take aim at a large pile of rocks. At least it’s an easy target, with a bit of luck I might even hit it.

The first throw flies wide, as does the second. Apparently luck is not with me, today.

Forgu looks surprised when the first stone hits the shrubbery with a thud. After he spots me throwing the second his expression turns to irritation.

"Jormund, will you knock it off! You’ll give away our position to anything in earshot!"

Anger rises within me. Can’t I do anything without being reprimanded?

I whip the last of my stones towards the rock formation in fit of pique, and am rewarded with a solid crack as it glances off the top of the pile.

Suddenly, the pile starts shaking. Slowly, the stoney mass begins to rise from the ground. My former target opens three eyes and glares at our party.

Ah. It appears I’ve fucked up.

(Unknown POV)

The pups returned early, today, reporting that they heard an Ardron roaring at something. While dangerous, normally the beasts are docile unless they get to close to one another, and there’s no others in the area. Hearing one bellow is unusual, given that nothing and nobody is stupid enough to get close.

The Alpha sent my bloodkin-pack out to scout for the cause. What agitated it and where’s it heading? Surely the goblins can’t have been stupid enough to return already?

Its previous resting spot is quickly reached, and from there it’s trivial to find the beast itself. The creature’s unique stink of earth, salt, and mulch lights up the nose something special. Ardron spend most of their lives sleeping or eating, and almost nothing else.

And eat it has, leaving a well-chewed wake through, well, everything…

I signal that I’ll keep an eye on the beast, watching lest it turn on us or head for the village. In the meantime my two blood-joined, Trai and Mokra, look for clues of what disturbed it. Perhaps they’ll find something in the mangled earth of its passing, although it’ll take a better nose than mine to discern any subtle scents at this proximity to the beast.

Finding anything behind an Ardron is almost impossible, and this one is one of the largest I’ve seen. It’s easily twenty-five paces long and perhaps seven paces wide, with a body covered in craggy grey armor and six mammoth legs to support it. As always, Ardron remind me of how fragile we are, alone. In a pack, though, we can be stronger that any lone beast.

Then, through the scrub:

"Mokra, Shintra, over here! I have found something!"

I back away from the massive creature, never turning tail, and once hidden back in the brush I lope away. Circling the edge of the devastation, I approach and take a look at Trai’s find.

"What’s left?"

"Not much. A group came through, at a guess five or maybe six of them. They don’t smell like goblins, but I don’t recognise the scent. Not elves, maybe humans. The best I can do is that they came from the forest, or at least through it. I picked up the trail westward of here."

"We should try and hunt them down."

"And why should we do that? That was not the Alpha’s command."

"They came from the forest. Nothing good ever comes from the forest. They’re likely a danger, or perhaps some new goblin trick."

"We should at least reconnoitre them. Perhaps we may divine their intentions from actions, rather than from Mokra’s suspicions."

"Then we shall hunt."

We follow the trail at an easy, distance-devouring lope, slowing occasionally to check the tracks. Then, Trai stops to study the track in more detail.

"It seems someone has reached the trail before us. Here, Mokra, what do you smell?"

"Hmm, one moment… Yes. I can smell the group that we were tracking, definitely not elves. There’s something else, though, you were right. It’s familiar, but I can’t quite place it.

No, wait. It’s the smell of old leather… and goblins!"

The fur on my neck rises as I learn there might be goblins close by.

"Where did they go?"

"Only one, I think. It followed the other group. Whether they were together I can’t tell."

Our journey resumed, our pace begins to quicken. The hunt is joined in earnest, a glorious parade of hunger and deadly intent. There is only one thing on our minds:

Vengeance.

(Another unknown POV)

I should have gone to the grasslands! Grandfather gave wrong advice! I never trusted that old man, sneaky and mean. Perhaps he sold me out to the guards, and even now they’re following me. Perhaps I’m just bait for the wolfkin.

Nevermind. I won’t go back. Can’t go back. The hunters would skin me alive and turn me into leather! Or worse! Or worst, even.

Was that a twig, snapping behind me? Perhaps the wolfkin have found me! No, it’s just my mind playing tricks on me. Either way, I quicken my pace.

On one side, rocks and stones to break my bones. On the other, nothing but hard places. The sun has dipped behind the mountains, but if I hurry I might reach the camp of whoever made this trail. Perhaps.

I really hope that noise was just my imagination.

The aching cold follows the shadow of the mountains. I haven’t felt this chill since before the hollow, when we spent our days digging and our nights under the stars. Everyone was cold and hungry, but I remember grandfather would always end the day with a story. Sneaky old man, but he could spin a tale like golden silk. I still remember the one about the centaur and the goblin almost word for word, and how we laughed ‘til we cried. It all seems so very far away, the gloom and the food and the company and the safety of numbers.

I wish I wasn’t so alone, out here in the dark.

I remember, later that night, once the anklebiters were asleep, he told another story.

A story with a moral, to teach us all that you can’t outsmart everything. It was a story about they who hunt in the dark, who sense you without eyes, who run like the wind and howl at the moon and laugh in the face of death. The hunters who walk upright. The wolfkin.

No one was foolish enough to laugh at the story, back then. Now they grin and cackle to hide their fear, ever since the Headman started taking fangs. They all want to be the next fang-taker, foolish hunter ambitions. So, Grandfather doesn’t tell that story any more.

I wish I didn’t remember it so well. The fangs and the speed and the blood. It sticks in the dark corners of my mind like bitter tree-sap.

I have to keep walking. I must be almost there. I must be.

That was a sound. A real sound. I wasn’t imagining it! There was a sound and I heard it and I’m being followed and I’m probably going to die!

Behind me, three shadows. They move using both arms and legs, crossing the uneven terrain without sound or effort. I’ve never seen that form before, but I know it in the icy chill of my bones.

Their eyes reflect starlight and burn with hunger.

I listen to my instincts. I turn and run.

(Jormund POV)

A silent yawn breaks my concentration, rupturing from me like the river’s spring melt. I rub my eyes and try to regain my focus. Forgu decided that, what with my foolishness this morning, the first watch was mine to suffer.

I’ve always thought that the most vital part of the hunt was the chase, when it all comes down to speed and instinct, and you either catch the prey or lose it forever. Forgu believes differently, however, as he spent much time expounding to me. He made it very clear that the most important part of hunting is patience.

A shame, because I don’t seem to have any.

I toss a few more sticks on the fire. At least it’s stopped raining.

Almost time to wake Ralnt. I’m grateful that he keeps volunteering for second watch. I don’t know how he manages; splitting sleep always leaves me drained.

I approach him, but he rolls over before I get close and reaches for his spear.

"Quiet. Something is coming. I can feel it."

Long seconds, staring into the darkness. I managed to ruin my night vision when I added fuel to the fire, and I can discern no threat. Then, a sound, something running. I turn and see a goblin sprinting towards me.

Shit! Not only are we probably about to be torn limb from limb by angry goblins, but Forgu will blame me for letting us be ambushed!

I raise my arms and make ready with my axe, keeping my throat safely protected. Rather than approach within range, however, the goblin dances around me, and runs past to... hide behind Ralnt? Ralnt, who is staring at something behind me.

He’s looking up. So, something very large.

I turn to find three angry wolfkin towering over me.