‘Your name–give them your name, child.’
Blood rushed in my ears, deafening and growing louder with every heartbeat. The contents of my bag spilled out in my struggle to find the bottle, but there! There it is, cold in my hand despite the heat of fight, a bright red health potion. I tear out the lid with my teeth, my arm far too mangled to be of any use, and bring it to my lips. I can hear the Clanleader’s wet, choking breaths not too far from me—but I already know. There’s nothing anyone can do for him, just like there’s nothing anyone can do for me.
I chug down the health potion and feel the heat of my rage rise again. Someone’s walked away with my hammer—first my father, now my mother—
“My name is Hersir Runa Jorahsdottir, the Unflinching Spear, Honored Few of the Great Wolf’s Hunt—
Shattered Spear is not crushed under the boot of Stonetooth—
Shattered Spear is a bastion of everything that is Ulven—
Everything you are not.”
And finally, the world goes black.
“Just as my hunt began with her father, we shall end it with her,” A wretched voice croons, and I feel my soul within me anchored to the thin shred of life I had left. “Put her next to Laifnar,”
I barely feel the ground as I’m dragged across it. The gaping hole in my abdomen, the gristled mangle thats left of my arm—the pain of it all radiates throughout my body so much I barely hold on to consciousness. Im thrown against the side of a structure, something solid. My head bounces off of it, falling to the side where I see a body laid up a few feet from me. The view is a haze, and he’s covered in blood, but the man is unmistakable. Laifnar chokes on what I can only assumes are his final breaths right next to me.
“Gaia’s embrace awaits,” I try to cough out, but the sound doesn’t even carry to my own ears.
Footsteps approach, then Hyrrokin crouches down in front of him.
“Congratulations, my conquered Clanleader. A great honor is coming to you,” she tells him, smiling wide. “Be assured, your pain will not be wasted.”
I don’t see it, but I hear it. A knife sinks into his gut, wet and squelching, and a shallow gasp falls out of Laifnar’s throat. There’s a wet suctioning sound, then a thud into the dirt, like a wet rope falling to the ground. Hyrrokin says another prayer—something about pillars and the Earth Mother—and Laifnar’s breathing gets deeper. More sturdy.
She’s keeping him alive. I watch her hand disappear inside his gut, then pull free more innards, tossing them towards me to land in the dirt. The hot spray of fresh blood streak across my skin, a strange pleasantly warm feeling to make me realize how cold I’ve become.
It goes on for long—too long, for this kind of suffering—enough that I feel the anchor holding my soul within me loosening.
Hyrrokin’s eyes turn to me. “Oh no, we can’t have you fading off too soon. It’s almost your turn,” she says, shifting towards me.
She doesn’t make it more than one step before there’s shouting in the distance.
“Mmm, more of your kin, Jorahsdottir.” She snarks, jerking her chin towards the other Stonetooth stood watching. “We’ll bring them to witness their Clanleader’s true glory,”
Their footsteps move further into the distance, until eventually I don’t hear them at all anymore. All the sound thats left is the soft, gurgling chokes from the man beside me. My eyes refocus on him, feeling myself fading faster, my vision tunneling as I fought to keep my eyes open. I watch his chest rise once—twice—and with one final choked inhale, no more.
I feel my own cold body fading from me. The footsteps quickly approaching don’t matter—Hyrrokin can’t bring the Clanleader back from this anyways. Can’t bring me back. Atleast she wont get the satisfaction—
“Hersir!” A harsh whisper carries, then a body thuds down into the dirt next to me. A soft hand grabs my chin, pulling my head towards the newcomer and my gaze away from the Clanleader. “Hersir Runa, right?” she says, pulling her bag into her lap and hastily ripping it open, pulling bandages and bottles out, then cursing and tossing it aside. “Ack–no time. Gaia take my hand.”
She weaves mana, muttering prayers rife with profanity. If I had breath in my lungs, I might even laugh to appreciate it.
“There’s a group of Daughters nearby—but we figured out after hearing your fight that we are not making it out of here.” She explains, lifting something heavy wrapping the strap around me. “But you—you are a fighter. A true child of the Great Wolf. If anyone can make it out of here, and if there’s anyone Shattered Spear needs right now, its more of you.”
The shouting in the distance has faded, and I watch her rise to her feet.
“You have to move as fast as you can. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more, there just not enough time—-” Her voice is cut off by the sounds of Stonetooth returning.
“Now! Up! Up!” She frantically whispers, grabbing me by the not-mangled arm and pulling me up to my feet. My vision sways, blurring and nearly going black. “Run, Runa, you must run!”
She pulls me further, dragging me past the outpost walls. I hear something whiz past my head, then she gives me one last shove. “Keep going, don’t stop!” she cries.
I hear a solid thunk—must be those archers trying to pick us off—then screaming as she tries to fight back.
My feet keep carrying me forward. Past trees and through creeks and ditches, it all blurs into the same landscape over and over, to the point that I’m not even sure which direction I’m going, or for how long.
The world blurs, that cold feeling creeping in again, until finally—its all gone again.
But there’s flashes. Consciousness gained sporadically, showing me nothing about where I am, nor who I’m with. I’m being dragged by my feet—smart, considering the state of the rest of me—and I can feel my hammer has been laid across my chest. It must be what the Daughter wrapped around me, the one piece of me I would’ve been devastated to lose again.
My eyes trace the man dragging me, catching on a belt flag, but my vision is blurry, and I can’t quite make it out. The darkness around me—nighttime or death, who knows—grows and wanes, until I’m once again propped up against something sturdy.
“Someone will find her here, we’re close enough.” A voice says, “Hopefully the right people, but this is the best we can manage.”
Another person sighs. “Good luck, Longfang.” He says, backing away. He turns, and I see it now. The unmistakable fang on his belt flag, green-striped and bright white.
They keep walking, footsteps fading into the distance as once again, a distinctly not-silent distant sound reaches my ears.
“Next time I say fill that hole in the line,” A voice I recognize floats through the trees. “I expect someone to fucking move into it!”
Volrok!
“Healer, get this warrior out of the way and back up! Baird! Get in here and hold that flank!”
My vision fades again, the world going dark to the sound of a living friend.