As the overcast sun dawned, the lone wanderer chose to set camp for the morn. These past seven days, a snowstorm had wreaked havoc on the land, and snow reached the shin, and felled trees of eerie size obstructed the path around every corner.

The cold had plunged to unheard depths that made even the undead's rotten skin prickle. Reith settled for the depression screened by a canopy of logs that reached him in height.

He gathered the twigs and branches that looked suitable and cast to kindle the campfire. With the gale howling from beyond the wooden wall, Reith huddled and burrowed further inside the woollen cloak.

It was beyond his wisdom how the chill could affect a corpse-like body such as his. If he barely endured, how could the humans he had encountered expect to survive? In hindsight, he should've demanded the pyromancer to leave these secrets. Just his confidence in withstanding this freezing muck worsened by every sunrise.

Comfortable as best one could get, he brought out the pouch fastened to his hips, loosened the rope, and fished out a leather book courtesy of his recent acquaintance. He unwrapped the oilcloth and unclasped the latch that held it close, and continued the story of warrior Rick and his entourage. It was almost magic how such a tiny work of ink and pen would prove to be Reith's salvation. In the sharp winter, all by his lonesome in the dark, little motivation existed but the dread of freezing to death. The book was his only friend, one who judged not, told stories, and would hear to his troubles without raising his voice or sword. The diary was honest, and Reith learnt more of the world than he ever would from a dying tongue.

"The battle of the Iron March. Not only are they antiquated, but they are terrible at names," Reith mumbled and shook his head comically. Talking to himself was one of the bad habits he'd struck upon as of late, though it had served to alleviate the stress of recent events and the attempting to justify everything. But even Reith who bore pride as flexible and combat-hardened failed to produce any results and concluded that he should surrender to what the end of the path would present him. That would surely be better than freezing here, he mused.

Somewhere off in the woods a wolf howled. Reith paused and lifted his head to the dark, roaring sky. Life. All the creatures he had skirted so far were skeletons or recent ice sculptures. He carefully returned the journal before dashing across the white ocean in a mad passion, curious to no end. Any obstruction that emerged was quickly circumvented by activating .

A wolf wrapped in the colours of night lay fluffed and silent in the crimson snow, with a tint of frost already slithered around the gaping wound on its neck. Though it was difficult to make out, the wolf easily topped a metre. Nearby a similar but oversized wolf latched around the throat of a thing. Tall, it was, and slim with the complexion of the deep winter forest. The branched body oozed with sap from wounds of teeth and claws. It sleekly sailed to the still animal on limbs silent as a thief with a complete disregard for the wrath of the flailing wolf. Slender wooden fingers reached for the carcass.

Reith appeared behind the wood-man, seized any nicks and the neck of the wolf, and marshalled all his strength into launching the monster against the closest tree. Splinters scattered and the collision deafened the wailing gusts a mere moment, followed by the once colossal tree dropping. To his chagrin, the wood-man rose impervious to any hurt, his attack seemingly less powerful than the much smaller wolf fighting under his grasp.

"A shame, really... That would be quite the story to tell my colleagues," Reith said. The wolf fled his grasp as he poised himself to combat this behemoth. Tougher than snakes or humans, he surmised. activated, and Reith emerged in front of its faceless head, promptly to retreat as soon as the wooden finger closed in. Fast, faster than anything he'd ever encountered! He touched his hollow chest. His sudden breathing became shallow, even though he needed it not.

He retreated a step but shortly stopped at the sound of growling. Behind him the wolf guarded its kin, head lowered and teeth snarled, with glaring red eyes that promised menace. Not a speck of fear perceived. Yes, he couldn't, wouldn't, cringe when a much weaker opponent could stand defiantly against the faceless grim reaper. How low had his warrior spirit plummeted?

A deep breath, and activated. If melee was out of the question, then ranged would be the response. As he reappeared on a branch of a tree in the proximity, the wood-man thrust himself swiftly toward that very point. With a quick lash of , he departed to another tree within the vicinity and watched the monster crash the branch to smithereens. Three additional fire-whips and relocations and it turned into a bonfire.

Reith checked his magyk reserves; this time around it had decreased noticeably, yet oceans apart from a worrisome level. Abashed, was he too, that he had even considered bolting with his tail between his legs against this foe that proved easy to defeat.

Then, moments before the wood-man collapsed, it produced a high, thin cry comparable to that of an animal in anguish. Reith covered his ears in agony as the intensity scaled, the wolf behind howling in misery. Then the world reverted to utter tranquillity, arms of light clawing its way through the overcast sky. The enraged winds picked up, and Reith shifted his attention from the burning wreck to the slumped wolf.

"No! Don't you die on me now!"

Reith crouched next to the bitch and monitored after a pulse. Without an idea of her biology, it proved difficult. That was another thing to contemplate about in the future. There, albeit weakening by the second.

Reith scouted the vicinity for anything practical, but there was nothing of interest beyond firewood. He cursed. That was when he discerned the faint remains of magyk in the dead hound. Yes, perhaps the acquisition of another ability could save her. "Sorry, little fellow, you tried your hardest to protect him for nought."

He repositioned her on a bed of snow as gentle as he managed, then locked his fangs into the dead wolf. For once, this was without any sense of desire but with a single purpose. The foreign energy remained dormant as the evocative female's voice emerged.

The snow shuffled in a scurry as Reith flung his fist into the ground. Based on the inherent feelings that accompanied a new skill, he determined it the most useless out of them all. Stealth wouldn't save the wolf.

Defeated, he hunkered down next to the beast and caressed its neck. Fluffy and warm, it reminded him of his Shepherd back in the real world.

"Warm," Reith reiterated. Then the most ludicrous idea developed in his mind, one so abstract that Reith questioned to whom it truly belonged. From his pouch he retrieved a serrated dagger designed for flaying game, but likely just as useful for undead dissecting. It wasn't without hesitation, but he steeled his resolve and delivered a broad cut on his wrist.

Dark-blue blood trickled down the arm and into the mouth of the wolf, seemingly without an end in sight. Teeth decorated in a cloudy blue, an odd combination of sap and blood, soon equalled the blue eyes that slowly morphed from red. By the time Reith began to feel light-headed, the wolf trembled like an earthquake, then hack as though she was dying.

Although surprised, Reith discharged any extraneous thoughts and funnelled his attention on the revived wolf.

"Girl, can you understand me? Are you well?"

She glanced at him, snarled then shuffled herself to the exsanguinated carcass. The wind abated, and soon Reith caught the rustle of leaves a distance apart but advancing fast. By the time he realised they were in danger, the wolf had drowsed off next to her mate, or pup. Reith flung both around each shoulder and followed the direction he presumed was where he'd last seen the stone tower.

When Reith stole a glance behind him, multiple silhouettes emerged behind the wall of darkness, from all sides, around the burning remains. Then he pledged never to confront a wood-man ever again.