《Wild Hunt》 Chapter One: Kings’ Recollections The day had broken frigid and gray, and a chill wind rolled down off the Tiger''s Fangs formation. Hirc trudged slowly down the Kings¡¯ Road, wrapped up in his time-worn traveling gear. Before him, the fertile Theigh valley stretched out with its farms and orchards¡ªand some twenty miles further, his destination: the capital city of Nahrstrom. Glancing back along the way he had come, Hirc heard the city of Orgun begin to come alive, the sounds of the market a murmur in his ears. If, on a clear day, he was to stand atop the city walls, he would see Nahrstrom as a faint smear on the horizon. His bones creaked with exhaustion and cold. It had only been five days since he departed the capital, and yet he longed wearily for the comfort of home. Never should have left, he thought despondently as he clutched at a tarnished silver locket that hung around his neck. His heart skipped a beat when he flicked the cover open, and a lump formed in his throat. The pictures dredged up a wave of pain and haunting memories of his lost loves¡ªtheir visages forever remembered in the locket, evoking both joy and a deep sorrow. An elegantly dressed she-goat, her regal posture and delicate features reflecting a sense of grace and dignity. The strokes of the artist''s brush fell far short of properly expressing her noble yet mischievous spirit, but it was all he had. The second painting portrayed a smaller, younger she-goat adorned in a vibrant yellow dress with ribbons intricately woven into her mane. Cradling the pendant, Hirc¡¯s eyes became drawn as he once more saw the innocence and playfulness in his daughter¡¯s expression. Imala¡­ Kaya¡­ He remembered when his wife and daughter had sat for the portraits before the war¡­ His paw started trembling as he dolefully caressed the locket, and his vision misted over softly. Eventually, Hirc released his breath while pulling the straps of his pack tighter. It would take at least ten hours to reach the city gates from there, and that was only if the weather held out. Taking another deep breath, he stepped off, his hooves clopping lightly against the well-worn slabs of the Kings¡¯ Road. If you knew where to look, you could spot the sigil of the king who had first laid down the stone¡ªat least, until the Jaws got around to erasing them; they seemed determined to destroy Karanor''s history and replace it with one more to their liking. Spruce trees rose tall, lining the road in clumps¡ªthough far more numerous were the stumps of those that the League had cut down for firewood during the war. Hirc cast off those thoughts with a violent jerk of his head; he needed to keep a clear mind. The road was clearly visible, despite the foot of fresh snow that hadn¡¯t been there when he¡¯d last passed through, but many a mammal had taken a nasty fall on such ice-slicked stone. He held on through the level stretch of the road for several miles, crossed a wide flat of ice berries, and dropped down into a shallow depression once called Blumau''s Spring. The area had been dry for over a century, but he had heard tales of when it had served as a watering hole for the caravans coming up from Vornstrom. Hirc sighed loudly. Imala and he had been saving up for a proper wagon like a Vardo¡ªnot some lighter cart meant for moving goods a short way, but one suited to a traveling merchant. He kicked at a clump of snow; that dream had died along with all else he cared for. "Deiken, take every last one of those fanged bastards," he spat bitterly. Over the following two hours, the farmlands on either side of the road gradually gave way to woodlands with large stands of old-growth trees; he knew he was coming upon the ?tztal. A steady rise in the land became apparent, and in the distance, he could see a large hill with a conical top, slightly flattened at the summit. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. "Xwaad¨²u," he muttered quietly as he started to climb. The road here was steep, about the steepest a wagon could handle. After half an hour''s plodding, Hirc crested the hill, stopped, and released a great sigh; he¡¯d come to what¡¯d once been the bustling inn of Xwaad¨²u had stood there for nearly five hundred years, welcoming traders from across the Cradle. Its red roof and blue doors made it recognizable from miles away. Now, all that was left were the remains of its great hall, its massive timbers blackened by flame, its stone floor littered with slate from the collapsed roof. An eerie silence hung heavily, broken only by the far-off cawing of crows and the occasional gust of wind rustling through the ruins. His heart sank as he surveyed the scene, feeling a profound melancholy and nostalgia for the inn''s former glory. Many times, he had stopped there before the war, often delivering spices or taking a consignment of other goods to Orgun and beyond. He had met Imala here, had proposed here¡­ He sighed and pushed the memory away. Ahead of him, the entryway yawned like an open mouth. Once more steadying his nerves, he stepped into the darkness beyond the doorway, the resounding echo of his hooves filling the air as he occasionally kicked away remnants of charred wood and cracked tiles. The acrid odor of ash choked the air, causing his nose to scrunch up. Nevertheless, he ignored the smell and trudged across the floor. The once-grand entrance hall lay in ruins; looters had not been kind to the brass fittings; nor had time been to the intricate carvings, now only barely visible on the wooden columns. Soot and cobwebs coated every surface, reinforcing the uncanny atmosphere of abandonment¡ªand so did the dense wafts of mildew and old smoke that stung at Hirc¡¯s nostrils and eyes. Dim light filtered through the shattered windows, providing little solace as he ventured further into the gloom. The sound of his hoofsteps echoed ominously, creating an otherworldly symphony with each step. Occasionally, a loose flagstone would shift beneath his weight, causing him to pause momentarily before continuing his exploration. All around him, blackened timber and charred debris scattered across the floor, serving as a haunting reminder of what had been¡ªnow only the remnants of a long-forgotten fire. Despite the desolation, he pressed on, driven by an intense curiosity, his every pace a testament to his determination. Hirc leaned against a sturdier part of the bar, allowing his fingers to trace the ornate engravings that adorned its surface. Memories flooded his mind as he recalled the nights spent there, sharing stories and laughter with fellow travelers. The bar had been a place of camaraderie, where strangers become friends over a shared drink. The innkeeper, a massive elk named Korran Ghara, whose family had run the inn for centuries, had always been ready with a quick witticism or refill. But now, the bar stood as a lonesome testament to the inn''s prior valor. The shelves that had once held an array of spirits and liquors were now reduced to shards and splinters. Hirc''s heart ached at the sight, mourning the loss of a cherished gathering place. We lost so much¡ªand for what? Silently, he placed a single coin on the bar. "To you, and may your purse be full and your cup never run dry," he whispered, offering the traditional traveler¡¯s toast before pushing away from the counter. As he continued his exploration, Hirc''s gaze fell upon the remnants of the inn''s hearth. It had once been the heart of the inn, providing warmth and comfort to weary travelers on many cold winter nights. Old Otenn would stand by the fire, fiddle in paw, and croon out old ballads or, if he was well into his cups, bawdy songs that would make the ladies blush. Now, it lay cold and lifeless, stones filmed in soot from the inferno that had consumed the building. Lit by the Jaws when Korran couldn''t provision them. He had heard the stories; they had tied him and his family to the pillars and burned the inn down around them. Unable to bear the weight of his memories any longer, Hirc made his way to the back of the building, where the sleeping quarters had once stood. The rooms, similarly destroyed, had once been a refuge for tired souls seeking respite from their journeys. Hirc''s mind wandered to the nights he had spent there, lying beside Imala, their bodies intertwined as they whispered promises of forever. The loss was immeasurable, the destruction irreparable. The inn had been more than just a building; it had been a symbol of hope and connection, a beacon in a world consumed by chaos. With a heavy heart, Hirc turned to leave, his hoofsteps reverberating through the empty halls. And as he returned to the fading sunlight, he wondered if anyone would ever rebuild. But he doubted it. There would be no rebuilding, no revival¡ªwhat would be the point? What is the point? Chapter Two: Portents of Anger
As Hirc continued on his journey toward Nahrstrom, The Xwaad¨²u fading behind him, his eyes strained to make out the distant walls of the city on the horizon. Despite his relentless pace, the capital remained nothing more than a tiny dot of color, barely visible even as the hours slipped away. Frustration and disappointment washed over Hirc when he carefully studied his map and realized that he had severely underestimated the ground he had covered. The revelation hit him hard, but he refused to let it deter him. Determined to reach Nahrstrom as quickly as possible, he resolved to push on without taking any breaks. With sheer determination driving him, he estimated that if he maintained this relentless pace, he would arrive at the city by the morning.
Hirc trudged along, his mind consumed by a relentless and deepening cycle of despair. The purposelessness of his trek was a heavy weight in his mind, and it drained the very essence from his being. Each step felt like an uphill battle, his movements growing weaker with each passing moment. The vibrant world that once surrounded him now seemed devoid of life, mirroring the desolation he felt within. The once warm and comforting sunrays felt cold and distant. Previously a source of joy, the chirping of birds served to remind him of his solitude. His thoughts swirled with questions, echoing in the caverns of his mind.
What difference did it make if he arrived in the morning, the afternoon, or never?
The weight of unanswered questions bore down on him, threatening to crush his will. He barely even noticed when he stepped off of the Kings¡¯ Road and onto a little-used trail that ran alongside it. The path there was poorly maintained, overgrown by thickets of scrubs and snow bracken, the branches still covered in a glaze of ice.
Stumbling on a loose stone, he nearly lost his balance. And when he raised his head, he felt his blood go cold in his veins.
The dark shadow loomed over him, casting an ominous presence and seeming to swallow up all sound. Its form was indiscernible¡ªa shapeless mass that defied the surrounding light. The conical mound stood tall, reaching two hundred feet above the valley floor. Intertwining vines and creeping plants adorned the surface and concealed the carefully fitted blocks of stone beneath. Rising out from the top was a single faceted body of obsidian. Hirc, feeling a chill run down his spine, recognized them as the infamous Anger Stones. The purpose and origin of the ancient structure were an enigma.
He looked about in the fading light. It will take time to backtrack, he thought, the path looped out for several miles before returning to the Kings¡¯ Road. His options weren¡¯t good, and he didn''t feel that navigating this path in the dark would be the most prudent thing.
"Mother''s tits¡­" he muttered under his breath, feeling the biting icy-wind whip against him. He tightened his jacket, realizing that he had no choice but to make camp here for the night and resume his journey at sunrise. It was the safer option; there would be little he could do should he injure himself in the dark. As he walked slowly around the mound, his eyes were drawn to an opening that seemed to be darker than darkness itself, concealed by overgrown creepers and bracken. Pushing aside the viny curtain, Hirc stepped inside, seeking refuge from the howling gale.
The inner chamber, also conical, featured small window slits near the apex which allowed feeble rays of light to pierce through. A dozen stone slabs, each carved into a likeness of a door lined the perimeter, while hundreds of stylized faces of both predator and prey embellished the walls, all contorted into various expressions of rage. It was these that had given the ruins their name. As he explored further, Hirc noticed notches meticulously etched into the stone floor, forming a circular depression at the center. Yet, whatever had once resided within this space had long vanished.
Getting to work, he swiftly built a modest fire in the center of the space and began preparing a small meal. His belly protested its emptiness audibly; he had eaten nothing since breakfast. With a groan, he rummaged through his bag and retrieved his meager supplies: a small pouch of tea and an assortment of bread, cheese, and dried fruit. It wasn''t much of a supper, but it was far better than sleeping on an empty stomach. His every movement cast ominous shadows by the flickering firelight.
Pulling out his locket, he flipped it open and stared into their faces. He traced the images gently with his fingers, feeling the emptiness settle within him again.
I would give anything¡­
A strained sigh escaped his lips, and he replaced the locket, setting off to clean up. Later, as he lay curled in his jacket, the warmth from the fire keeping the cold at bay, he tried to push away the will-rasping thoughts. Such things would drive him mad. Instead, he wondered what Kaya would be like now. She would be seven, playing tag with the other lambs in the back alleys or skipping rope in the park. Or maybe helping Imala with the inventory in the market stall¡­. He could imagine his girl at work, teaching their daughter the skills she would need to be a tidy merchant, one day. Further into that evening in the V?rd?, he could see Kaya sleeping in her little trundle bed while Imala knitted blankets, as they talked quietly of their next journey to Viltr, or maybe Azagor, or even farther north. So many options¡­ all unrealized¡­
The night songs of owls filled the night''s hollow spaces as Hirc slid exhaustedly into a terrible slumber, his heart beating sluggishly.
Hirc found himself in a dim space, lit only by pale light. Through the high windows, the moon painted the cluttered room with a sheen of frost. He scanned his surroundings, curious at the unrecognizable silhouettes, some tantalizingly familiar. As he walked, the moonlight shifted, casting a single beam onto a brilliantly white pool at the center of the room. His eyes were drawn to a table, now illuminated¡ªupon which a book lay open, gleaming like newly fallen snow. He remembered getting this book for Imala to celebrate Kaya''s birth.
He reached out to take it, then jerked back in surprise. In the middle of the page there was a frightening visage¡ªa colossal wolf with burning eyes, whose head wore a crown of fangs. Hirc looked up at the room, then back to the evil tome.
He was in Imala''s room. Their room, of course! Where had he thought he was? Even as the realization came to him, as the silhouettes took on the familiar shapes of their bed, the little trundle bed for Kayla and a few other pieces of furniture¡ªthere was a cautious scraping noise at the door. He strained for the unexpected sound. Diagonal stripes of moonlight made the wall seem to lean crazily. The scraping came again.
"¡­Hirc¡­?"
The voice was whisper-quiet, as though the speaker did not wish to be heard, but he recognized it instantly.
"Imala?!" He leapt to his hooves and crossed over to the door in a few steps. Desperately, he fumbled with the shadowy latch, his paws shaking so hard it took him several tries to work it free. "Imala?" he breathed out in a tremor. "I have been waiting for you for so long!"
But there was no answer. Even as he worked the bolt from its slot, he was filled with a sudden sense of unease. He stopped with the door half-unbarred, standing on his hoof tips to peer down through a crack between the boards.
"Imala?"
A figure stood before the door in the hallway, splashed with the yellow light of the gourd-shaped lamps hanging from the walls. Her face was shadowed, but there was no mistaking the green dress, her slight build, the subtle scent of her perfume that tickled his nostrils¡ªyellow-tinted in the lamp glow. Why wouldn''t she answer; was she hurt? If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
"Are you all right?" Hirc asked, swinging the door inward. The small, bowed figure did not move. "Where have you been?¡± At that, he thought he heard Imala say something and so he bent forward. "What?"
The words that rose up to him were full of air, painfully harsh. "¡­Hirc¡­ needed¡­" was all he understood; the dry voice seemed to labor in speech. Then the face tilted up, and the hood fell back. Her fur had burnt away, flesh scorched black, eyes empty pits. Her teeth gleamed bright in a grotesque smile as she stepped forward, the sound of dried flesh splitting and creaking with every motion. Even as Hirc staggered away, a scream of terror lodged in his throat, he watched on. She held up a small bundle, and it caused his blood to freeze when he saw the charcoaled skin inside. The fire had charred Kaya''s body so badly that nothing was identifiable.
As he struggled to respond, a thin red line spread across the front of the black, leathery ball; an instant later, a mouth yawned open, a split grin of pink meat.
"¡­ Isn''t¡­ she¡­ beauti¡­ful¡­" it said, each word a rustling gasp. "You weren''t¡­ we¡­ needed you. Coward."
Hirc bleated until the blood pounded in his ears, for the burned thing spoke, beyond a doubt, with the voice of Imala. Suddenly, the windows blew inward in a cascade of broken shards as flaming torches sailed into the room; the drapes and bedding caught alight; the fire licked up the walls. Hirc backed up, feeling the heat of the flames beat at him.
The book burst into flames, and for an instant, the blaze flared up, taking on the shape of a giant wolf. It turned its burning gaze onto Hirc, its glance piercing him like a steel blade, and Hirc felt the primal terror of a prey being stalked by a predator¡ªthe thrill of the hunt, and the inevitable end. The Wolf appeared to howl silently, then vanished in a pillar of white fire. Those flames spread across the ceiling, engulfing the rafters in a blinding inferno. With an unnatural speed, the fires proliferated, and burning wood soon began to fall around him.
"Hirc¡­" Imala suddenly appeared before him, crowned in flame. He watched helplessly as she clutched Kaya to her breast¡ªwatched as fire whipped at her clothes, setting her alight, her lips mouthed silent cries of anguish. The pyre that had engulfed Imala flickered and, for a brief instant, took the form of a leopardess before exploding in a firestorm that devoured him.
Hirc screamed again and fell backward into the darkness.
He jerked awake, gasping for breath as he thrashed about. He was surrounded by a blackness so profound that was it not for the faint embers of his campfire, he would have thought himself struck blind.
¡°A nightmare,¡± he panted, shaking as his voice broke, ¡°just a nightmare¡­¡±
¡°Who enters our lodge?¡± a voice rang out like brittle bones echoing in the gloom. Hirc jerked around, searching for the source of the voice. The air was suddenly filled with venomous whispers that tore at his mind like barbed hooks.
¡°Who ventures to disturb our hunt, our glorious charge? They will steal from us! The thief will take our quarry. They will defile the sanctity of the game¡­¡±
As the mournful voices wailed, Hirc felt paws clutch at him, talons as cold and dry as bone, or as wet and pulpous as rotting flesh. He struggled, thrashing and bleating, but he could not shake off their grip.
A flame of lambent light suddenly broke into being, illuminating the skull of a stag with massive antlers sheathed in gold and precious stones. A pale fire burned in its empty sockets as it turned to regard Hirc with an almost hungry intensity.
¡°Who are you, goat?¡± the skull suddenly spoke, and he felt the malevolent weight of the stag¡¯s thoughts behind it. ¡°To dare violate these sacred halls, you are a hardened soul.¡±
¡°I know now who you are¡ªmate of Imala: a craven, a meddler. You have seen things you should not have seen, little goat¡ªtrifled with things beyond you. You know far too much. I shall hunt you, devour your soul, and make you a bloodthirster¡¯s trophy.¡± A skeletal hoof reached out towards Hirc and his blood ran cold. And then, there was a greater darkness, a shadow of a wolf, and deep in that shadow, two red fires bloomed, eyes that must have gazed from the very blaze of Deiken himself.
¡°Mydrax,¡± the wolf said. It had the sound of ashes and earth, of smoke and flame. ¡°He is not yours.¡± The eyes flared, full of curiosity and glee. ¡°We shall take this one, usurper.¡±
Hirc felt the stag''s hold slipping away, Mydrax¡¯s power withering before the dark hunger. He noticed¨C all at once¨C that the night was slowly giving way; that a muted greenish light was growing around him, revealing a spectral host out of his worst night terrors. Shades pale and terrifying, shadows dark and bestial lined the walls, while at the far end hulked a monstrous three-headed thing that pawed impatiently at the floor, its trio of maws snapping fiercely.
¡°Welcome,¡± the wolf said. ¡°This is the Lodge of Raenir. Here, beyond the Darkest Gate¡­¡± His eyes fell inward, like crumbling embers, and the emptiness behind them burned colder than ice, hotter than any fire¡­ and darker than any shadow. ¡°What do you seek?¡±
"My¡ª my family!" Hirc bleated, and the shadow¡¯s laugh sent tremors through his very frame.
"And what, little goat, would you grant in return?" demanded the wolf.
Without hesitation, HIrc bleated, ¡°Everything!¡±
Instantly, a gleaming white pool appeared in the center of the hall. As he watched, a second shadow arose, and it bore¡­
Hirc gasped as he stared at Imala. She was the color of moonlight, but whole and healthy; she stood unmarred, and her arms clutched Kaya protectively to herself.
"They have been chosen," said the first wolf, and Hirc felt as if his heart were being squeezed in a giant vice.
"They have been chosen," the spectral host echoed.
"We have among us a mortal who would join the hunt," said the second wolf.
"By what right does the mortal declare his worth to join the hunt?" the host demanded.
"They are my family. I would give all that I am to save them," announced Hirc, his voice trembling.
"By Raenir''s will, the one who first catches the prey will be honored. If the goat succeeds¡ªhe, the first hunter, will reward him with the return of his mate and offspring. Thus commands the Wolf-Father; thus it will be." A spectral boar then stepped forward, holding a massive horn.
"The goat cannot hunt, for he has no hound,¡± proclaimed the boar, and the host muttered and hissed in agreement.
¡°I shall be his hound," said a voice with the sound of a shuddering mountain. Hirc looked toward sound to see a truly monstrous, bestial wolf step forward, far larger than even a rhino. His coat was the color of coal, and his eyes blazed with a ghostly flame.
"I, Rannur: son of Raenir, shall be this goat''s tracker. May the worthy find their prey."
¡°I, Skoll,¡± a deep voice boomed ¡°and I, Sahti,¡± said a pair of shadowy canines, before speaking in unison, "as wardens of the hunt, shall give the prey one hour before commencement." As they spoke, Imala and Kaya seemed to shimmer in the moonbeam that enveloped them in its pearlescent glow. Hirc tried to follow, but was checked by a massive paw that held him back. Peering upward, the lone mortal saw Rannur looking down at him with eyes of blazing hot coals.
"You must wait and give every fiber of your being for the hunt against my father this night, for he will not willingly let his prey escape." Hirc nodded silently; it felt as though time had slowed to an injured crawl. Suddenly, he was startled by the call of a hunting horn ringing out.
¡°It has begun!¡± shouted Rannur as he dragged Hirc out into the night. The night sky was awash with light and fire. The goat stumbled in awe as he witnessed the mesmerizing display of great curtains dancing gracefully across the night sky. Above them, a picture of ethereal beauty was painted by vibrant hues of green, purple, and blue.
¡°Come, goat, come. The hunt waits for no one.¡± And with that, Rannur ran, and Hirc ran alongside him, utterly overwhelmed with the urge to join the pack. He felt his fingers sharpen and his mouth filled with fangs. Chapter Three: Wild Hunt
"This must be what it feels like to be a predator on a hunt," as the sensations took hold. How long he had run, he did not know¡ªbut gradually, cooled by the rain and fatigued by the relentless pace, the sensation faded.
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Just a little more. So close¡­
Chapter Four: Karann’s Cold
It couldn''t have been real. He thought, but a part of him rejected that notion; it had been too visceral to have not been real.
If they let you. If you survive, the words sounded eerily similar to Mydrax. He suddenly had a vision of a skeletal hoof reaching out towards Vedu as Mydrax¡¯s grinning skull split open in mocking laughter. You couldn¡¯t protect your last child, what makes you think you will fare any better this time goat¡­
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I won''t let anyone take her from me, not now, not after everything else! He thought, fiercely refusing to let anyone else crush him down again.
Hirc¡­ Hirc! The voice cut through the haze. The goat slowly opened his eyes and glanced around. The fire had burned down to embers, and the cold had already seeped back into the cave. Quickly, he threw more wood on the fire.
"Hirc!" This time, the voice was unmistakable.
"Come to me, now!" the words spoken softly had all the force of a command. Hirc scrabbled at the cave''s entrance, partially blocked by the snow, resembling a frozen mouth, hesitant to let him go. He worked, shifting, and breaking the hard-packed ice until he could worm his way free. Once outside, he directed his gaze to the night sky. The stars sparkled like diamonds against the dark canvas. The storm had passed, leaving behind a serene stillness. Hirc stepped out, cautiously. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine. The snow beneath Hirc''s hooves crunched softly as he trudged forward, muffled by the vast expanse of white.
"Come to me." The words vibrated in Hirc''s mind. "Hirc, look at me!" Hirc could not ignore that command; the power of those softly spoken words was too great. Hirc lifted his head and then, amidst the quiet, he saw her. A figure dressed in white, radiating a soft, ethereal glow. Goat, rabbit, wolf? He could not tell. Her features were fuzzy, muted by the glow. Her presence seemed to defy the laws of the Mother, captivating him with an otherworldly beauty. Hirc wanted to call out to her, but he was speechless. The apparition spoke with a gentle town that reminded him of Imala, but different.
The fate of the Child and your own, bound as one," the spectral figure commanded. A voice that could be none other than the Mother. "Take the child to the House of Agatha. There you will unfurl the key to your future." Hirc listened, then reached to touch the ghostly figure. The figure remained unmoved by Hirc''s efforts to reach it.
What chance? Hirc was confused. Yet before he could gather the strength to ask for an explanation, the figure began to fade. And when every trace of the apparition had passed from his sight, Hirc thought he saw for just an instant Imala standing there.
Take a deep breath, Hirc quickly made his way back to the cave, the specter''s words reverberating through his mind. He had been to the Cathedral of Agatha several times, but the place held no special significance to him, plus what was his second chance? A second chance at what? Too many questions and no answers. Reaching the cave, he quickly retrieved Vedu, who was sleeping soundly. Retracing his steps, he returned to the King''s Road.
You mean bribe, he thought disgustedly.
There are no coins. There is no gold. And no meat and bones in this body. Chapter Five: Cirice
Mother''s tits, I''ve not been hit that hard since¡­ since¡­ I''ve never been hit that hard. His attempt to regain his footing was interrupted by a heavy kick to the stomach that flipped him over on his back. A wave of nausea washed through him as he continued to roll onto one side and then vomited. His attacker''s derisive laughter mocked him. Snow crunched beneath the attacker''s paws as he closed for another kick. Hirc curled into a fetal passion as the blows repeated.
Unsteadily gaining his feet, Hirc spat at the ground and wiped vomitus from his lips with the back of his right paw. The lynx grinned hungrily, running her tongue over her teeth as she slid a half-step to the right and jabbed straight out at Hirc, her punch landing on the goat¡¯s nose. Hirc spun away the force of the blow, falling down hard on his rump. A bolt of pain shot up Hirc''s spine and exploded in his brain. He felt as if his pelvis had been shattered in the fall, and the pain in his midsection numbed all sensation from his legs.
Dear Traveler,
I trust you survived and recovered from your wounds if you are reading this. I regret I cannot send my regards in person, but I must attend to a pressing business. While I do not know the circumstances that led to your being in that ditch, I know you have the will to recover. No mammal could have survived all of that without a strong will.
I hope these coins will serve as a small gesture of support as you begin your journey towards rebuilding your life. It pains me that I cannot be there with you in person to offer my condolences and well wishes, but please know that I am thinking of you. Life can be unpredictable; sometimes, we find ourselves in situations beyond our control. However, I believe you possess remarkable resilience and determination to overcome any obstacles that come your way. Your strength is evident in the fact that you have managed to survive against all odds. I may not know the exact circumstances that led to your unfortunate situation, but I have faith in your ability to rise above it. You have already proven your indomitable spirit, and I am confident that you will persevere and create a new beginning for yourself.
Remember, you are not alone on this journey. There are people who care about you and are rooting for your success. Take this opportunity to lean on your support system, seek help when needed, and never hesitate to reach out to those who can guide you toward healing and recovery. I wish you nothing but strength, courage, and resilience as you embark on this new chapter of your life. May these coins serve as a reminder that you are capable of overcoming any challenges that come your way. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
Yours in haste,
Ragna Astartes of House Ruthevena
PS. The pup is cute; she also bites.
The Golden Bells.¡¯ My uncle still runs it. He took it over after my parents decided to move to Nahrstrom to pursue better work opportunities. It was a big change for us, but Father believed it was the right decision."