A Song Of Guts And Steel: The Unburdened, Queen-From-Beyond-The-Wall | Chapter 2 (Patreon)

A world of ice and snow. Storms grew overhead, sheets of snow covered the ground, whitening the world along great distance, with the horizon vanishing entirely into the endless blur of ice and gray sky. Tan'ya kept her head down and her teeth clenched as she pushed through drifts that threatened to swallow her whole. Snow reached high, covering her boots to the ankle, sometimes to the calf, each step a small advancement that would make or break her.

Her breath came out in thin white plumes that the wind tore apart almost as soon as they left her mouth. Beside her, her father moved through the snow it relentless ease, the furs of a direwolf clapsed over his body. Bjorn was immense even by Free Folk standards, a thick wall of muslce, broad back bent slightly against the wind but never bowing. With thick red hair that covered his head in long braids and a thick beard that reached far passed his neck.

Her mother's hand was in hers. Yrsa's fingers were cold and trembling, the grip too tight one moment and too weak the next, the unsual rhythme spoke about her condition loud enough. Tan'ya did not look at her too often, she already learned and acknowledged that nothing could alter the outcome that would befall her mother. Yrsa's breathing was strained, rough and shallow. Tan'ya could tell that with every inhale, her breath seemed be caught before her chest forced it out again.

As her people say, 'The cold had gotten to her bones, and once again winter found weakness and it worked patiently and without mercy.'

A deep, throaty howl echoed behind them.

It made the already tense air even denser. It proved that regardless of them being human, they were still not on top of the food-chain in this world. The howl was felt in Tan'ya's ribs more than her ears. Her father, Bjorn, heard it too. His head turned a fraction of a second, not enough to waste time fully looking back, but enough to measure the distance between the danger and his family.

"Hrr, faster," he barked. "Move yer legs, both o' ye."

Yrsa gave a strained nod but did not answer. She had spent too much breath already. Tan'ya gripped her tight for a moment, if only to give the woman peace of mind before death claimed her. She realized that seemed to be dragging her mother along rather than helping. If a body became a burden in the north, then sentiment had to be cut away like a dead flesh. Tan'ya understood that in abstract as well as any other Free Folk. The fact Yrsa was her mother did not change the arithmetic of survival.

If a choice came between herself and the group, she would choose herself. If it came between her father and her mother, she would choose the one more likely to keep her alive. She didn't enjoy such thoughts, but enjoyment had nothing to do with it.

A rustle of leaves was the first warning. A direwolf came out behind the treeline, its motion slow but measured. It was massive, larger than any wolf had any right being. Tan'ya had heard stories from her father, but his stories didn't do the creature justice. Its coat, a dark gray mottled with black and frozen rime. Its shoulders rolled beneath the fur, its mouth opened in a long hungry snarl, and its yellow eyes fixed immediately onto Yrsa, the weaker of the three.

The beast lunged with frightening speed, snow spraying beneath its paws. Bjorn met it head-on, blocking its attack with his wooden club. Its maw latched onto the wood, taking a decent size chunk before Bjorn bashed its head with an open-handed swipe, watching a good hit in its eye.

The beast let go, only for the wooden club to come down. Both hands in a blow so powerful Tan'ya felt the impact in the soles of her boots. The strike caught the wolf across the skull and drove it sideways with a yelp of pain. It did not kill the beast, but any hopes of recovering from said attacks would leave crippled for sometime.

The direwolf rolled in the snow, snarling, and from behind the trees, shadows emerged. Shapes moved between the trunks. Another pair of glowing eyes appeared. Then another. The pack had come in full force.

Tan'ya instinctively pressed closer to her mother, though she did not mistake the gesture for comfort. She was measuring, weighing, and thinking. Her brain, even under stress, always drifted toward calculation.

Bjorn's chances remained high. Her mother Yrsa chances barely 2% of survival. Her own...the open terrain offered almost no shelter, the trees only partial cover, and the wolves had already begun to spread out, reading the family's position. Her first instinct, cold and simple, was if the pack committed fully and her parents fell, taking valuables she could and escaping into the storm would increase her chances, the wolves wouldn't risk hunting a meal if it meant separation. It would increase her odds of survival. It was ugly thought. It was also a true one.

Bjorn let out a fierce roar and charged before the wolves could settle into their arc.

His shout tore through the air, fierce and ugly and full of challenge. He kicked up a spray of snow as he stomped forward, forcing the nearest wolves to hesitate, uncertain for the smallest instant, and then he swung the club in a brutal horizontal sweep.

One of the younger wolves snapped too late to avoid it. The wood crashed into its jaw with a sharp crack, and the beast stumbled away with teeth shattered and blood frozen in its fur.

"Paa! On your right!" Tan'ya shouted.

The warning was immediate and instinctive. Helping him would increase his odds, even if a little, in a fight like this any fetal injury would mean their deaths, so every fraction of a second mattered.

Bjorn shifted just as the next wolf lunged from his side. Its jaws caught his forearm, and blood ran hot and dark over the fur wrapping his wrist. He hissed, then dove his elbow straight into the beast's snout with a force that made it yelp and recoil. Before it could recover, he brought the club down again, this time in a vicious arc that smashed into the wolf's neck with enough force to snap it. The creature dropped into the snow, legs twitching once before going still.

More wolves circled.

Tan'ya kept her eyes on their movements. They were animals, yes, but hints of humanlike intelligence showed in their eyes. Their eyes would stay on Bjorn but ears twitched in the direction herself and her mother. They were not mindless, their bodies shifted around his weight, their caution increasing with every fallen body. Predators understood cost. Even starving ones could recognize when prey became dangerous.

Bjorn planted his feet and bared his teeth, blood running from his arm. "COME ON, YE FLEA-RIDDEN PUPS! FACE BJORN THE BRUTE!"

His voice echoed across the white plain, harsh and wild and loud enough to make the trees seem to shiver. For a moment, it worked. The wolves hesitated. One of the younger ones backed away. Another lowed its head and whimpered in frustration, its ears flattened. Tan'ya saw the shift and knew the young of the pack wouldn't put up a fight. They had come expecting easy prey and now had their world shattered.

That did not mean they would leave. It meant only the older more experienced of the pack remained and would be careful now.