Bones-Shine-Sharpness was hungry, this was normal, most of the tribe were hungry. Sometimes they hunted and were less hungry for a while, but mostly they sucked the green crust off the cold stone.

It was enough to keep the tribe alive, it had been for generations, his father had sucked the rocks and chewed tunnels through them and his father before him as well. The tribe survived, hungry yes but alive.

The raids hadn't been going well, the pink skin two legs had taken over more of the echoing-silver-depths and the hall-that-wasn't in the last cycle. Bones-Shine-Sharpness had added two pink skin skulls to his wergild, the value carried in his blood which he would use to bribe All-Father Loki when at last death came for him, he hoped to gather enough value to be carried to a new land, one warm and filled with prey.

Bones-Shine-Sharpness was broken out of his revery, he always got like that when staring into the camp-flame, as one of the hunters jumped past him her wiry fur brushing against his. The musk of excitement filled the air and he sniffed it deeply until, below the dance and merriment, he found the fear.

This was why they did the ritual dance, invoking the power of Loki to protect them, pink skins had appeared in the hall-of-cold-shadows. They had never been there before, the pink skins kept towards the top of the stone-world, the bones of the ancestors sometimes sang of far-off places and a ceiling of blue which the pink skins ruled, they didn’t come down into the cold depths.

Bones-Shine-Sharpness didn’t know what to do, he was the last warrior of the tribe left, his brothers had died many cycles past. He had his pink skin sharp club with which he had won much value but his warband was made of nothing but hunters and brood-watchers, even knappers were armed now when once that would have been unthinkable!

They no longer had the numbers to do anything else, they had to fight, the pink skin meat would raise a whole generation without hunger and Bones-Shine-Sharpness knew pink skin wasn't aware as a warg, the pink skin only used eyes to see, warg used eyes sure but nose and ears just as much. In the darkness the pink skin could be brought down, one at a time, the tribe would have stew and the threat would be gone.

That’s what the leader had said at least.

Suddenly a new scent filled the air, sharp and acrid, it seemed to tear at the nose stinking like the offal-pit the tribe kept in a side cavern. Bones-Shine-Sharpness winced backwards staggering and clutching at his muzzle, that was what saved him.

A rush of burning water, grey green and hissing, surged past him like a thrown net, it settled around and across a pair of cavorting hunters. Bones-Shine-Sharpness stared in horror as they melted, their fur running and flesh boiling.

From behind was cracking and crashing sounds, and the musk of excitement and become the musk of fighting. Tearing himself away from the horrific sight he drew his pink skin sharp club and ran to the edge of the camp-home, it was pink skins! Dozens of pink skins using flying-sharps and sharp-clubs of their own to kill his tribe brothers!

Bones-Shine-Sharpness charged into battle, a flying-sharp stuck in his fur but got no deeper, he didn’t even bother to brush it away as he raised both arms and swung his sharp club at the first pink skin.

The pink skin managed to pull his shield up but Bones-Shine-Sharpness had the strength of a warrior warg and he knocked the pink-skin to his knees, pulling his arms back he went to strike again when he sensed someone coming… a stink of battle-fury of unseen-seer of…. Galdr.

Dancing backwards he avoided the lethal blow, twice in as many minutes, and saw a pink skin chieftain. Twice Bones-Shine-Sharpness’ height and wearing dense fur of black and brown, the pink skin chieftain had long red hair hanging free and only one hand!

Bones-Shine-Sharpness couldn’t understand that, how did a chieftain survive a weakness? Any tribe-brother who was maimed would be eaten immediately by the rest of the tribe. But this chieftain still led this raid and his one remaining hand had its own sharp club gleaming in it.

Leaping forwards sharp-club battered sharp-club as they struck, Bones-Shine-Sharpness called upon All-Father Loki with the ease of a reflex honed through years of raiding, a rush of venom covered his sharp-club and ran from its sides and edge.

He feinted forward and let the running venom flick into the air, the chieftain pink skin dodged it and Bones-Shine-Sharpness closed in that moment, throwing his hand to the side he feinted again pulling back and using his arm, longer than a pink skins, to aim for a joint.

He had practised this gambit so long that it was part of him now, the tribe had given him his deed-name for it, this was his shining sharpness. A single knick from his sharp-club would kill with the All-Fathers venom and his double feint guaranteed it.

Even the chieftain didn’t escape! The pink-skin stumbled away from his free arm, thinking he had thrown something, then stayed to close! This pink skin wasn't used to fighting wargs, but this warg was used to fighting pink skins.

The edge of his sharp-club slashed the pink skin chieftain in the left knee, carving along the edge of the limb. The wound was shallow of course, it only barely scrapped through the chieftains’ leathers, but that was all that was needed. In moments the All-Fathers venom would numb his limbs and then it would surge into his chest and still his very heart and throw his Sal into Hel’s domain.

This was what always happened, this was in fact why Bones-Shine-Sharpness had survived as long as he did, he had seen it a hundred times, his victims’ oaths and wails and cries for mercy as the venom coursed through their veins.

Which is why he recognised when something went wrong.

The chieftain wasn’t slowing down, by this point he should be limping, not storming towards Bones-Shine-Sharpness at a full sprint his sharp-club a blur in the air. The warg warrior was leaping backwards, dodging the blows, but he couldn’t keep this up… he’d never needed to! The all-fathers venom took care of that

The pink-skin chieftain still came forwards his sharp-club smashing into Bones-Shine-Sharpness’ armour and ripping it off piece by piece. He fought back, like a cornered warg, for his tribe! Even without the venom his sharp-club was just as good as the pink chieftains, he parried and riposted, he countered and dived, he used his long arms and wiry strength.

It wasn't working, the pink-skin chieftain wasn't getting tired? Bones-Shine-Sharpness’ chest was heaving with his every breathe, his tongue lolled out as he panted, his heart pumping desperately as his throat burned with fatigue. The chieftain wasn't even panting!

He had to do something! The tribe needed him, the last warrior!

Grabbing at his belt pouch Bones-Shine-Sharpness threw one at the chieftain, as he did so he pulled back at the string. The bag exploded as it opened coating the area in ground crazy-cap mushroom, another pouch was grabbed and hurled at the ground releasing a cloud of thick spores that he had gathered meticulously, filling the air and clogging the senses.

Ducking sideways Bones-Shine-Sharpness hurled himself as fast as his old bones could move, moving by memory in the spore-screen he rounded a hut and threw himself at the pink-skin chieftain. Even in the spores he saw the huge figure and buried his sharp-club in its side, entirely unsee, after a moment’s thought he pulled out his dagger and slammed it into the chieftains back.

No one could survive that! Even a galdr bolstered chieftain, his lungs split and his spine severed!

Bones-Shine-Sharpness was still smiling when the spore clod parted revealing a… warg! One of his hunters Ashes-Of-Fire! Why was he here! What happened!

Bones-Shine-Sharpness didn’t get a chance to move before a cold pain shot through his back, out of the corner of his eye he saw the pink-skin chieftain stood behind him, his sharp-club embedded in the warriors back.

Not a chieftain thought Bones-Shine-Sharpness as darkness filled his visions, like ink in a pool He’s a hunter

The last warrior fell, his brackish blue blood soaking the tribes dancing ground, as he died, he saw his tribe shattered and retreating, den-mothers and gatherers pulling the warband behind them as they ran, flying-sharps shot by the pink-skins and cutting them down.

As the chieftain-hunter approached Bones-Shine-Sharpness smiled, the tribe might die today but so would the pink skins, they hadn't fought the chief yet and the chief… the chief couldn’t die.