Young Writers Society

The wind was whipping through the frozen clearing as Einar Mortensson sat slumped on a rock with a smooth piece of antler in his palm. His left temple was throbbing, but that was nothing new. Ever since Einar suffered a wound in his head during a hunt, the pain has always been there, constantly waiting in the back of his mind. He stared down at the carving of an Uruz rune in the bone which, according to the old healer who lived in the village, would bring health and regeneration and ensure a speedy recovery. He figured that it would never be truly healed until the hair there grew back on that side of his skull. He didn't mind the lack of hair or the low throb as much as the wind. Since his bandaged head couldn't stand any pressure on it, his uncovered head was stung and lashed by the unforgiving winter winds.

He looked down the hill towards the village's flock of sheep, who were trying their best to eat the half-frozen grass and shrubbery which dotted the landscape now that the snow was finally beginning to melt. Above the distant bleats and general ovine sounds, he heard a low rustle from further in the wood. Gripping the spear resting next to him and tightening his cloak around him, he set off to find its source.

He reached a smaller, rocky clearing as a large wolf stepped out of the brush. It snarled at him, and as it slowly began to pace Einar could tell by its figure that there was almost nothing but skin and bones under the thick coat of fur. They stood about several feet apart, both slightly hunched over and ready to fight. The wolf must be separated from it's pack, half-starved from the harsh winter, unable to catch large prey alone. It might have smelled Einar's still healing wound, whose dull ache brought Einar to his senses, or maybe he thought he could make off with a sheep and stave off his hunger. Einar heard the wolf begin to bark at him, and judged by its stance that it would not back down, and was aiming for the kill. He could hear his own heavy breathing, and the low throb from his head didn't help either. The beast lunged for his neck, toppling him over and pressing his spear across his chest. The wolf's weight pushed down on Einar's chest as it snarled and tried to bite through Einar's thick, woolen bracers, which were the only thing between Einar's flesh and the animal's snapping maw. The bracers wouldn't last long against teeth like this. Einar had to act fast. He was breathing heavily due to the wolf pressing on his chest with it's front paws, all the while trying unrelentingly trying to bite through Einar's defenses. Einar could smell the thick musk of the beast mixed with the smell of his freshly spilled blood as he pushed up with his right arm, currently located in the wolf's teeth. This knocked the wolf back and smashed the head of the spear into a rock, breaking the wood near the top of the shaft.

As the wolf fell back onto the snowy terrain it managed to get a good chunk out of Einar's bracer and a bit of his arm underneath. As the wolf turned back on its feet, Einar grabbed the end of the now broken spear in his left hand. He knew his right arm couldn't hold out for much longer, and he had to act fast if he wanted to live. As the wolf pounced at his neck again, he defensively held up his right arm again. He screamed in pain as the wolf bit into his tender skin, but he managed to sink the spear head into the beast's stomach. He tugged it down the wolf's hide and felt the jaw release over his arm. Einar struggled to his feet and looked down on the creature who had almost managed to end his life. He muttered a short prayer to the gods for blessing him in this battle, and then looked himself over. He was bleeding from his right arm, which was now exposed to the freezing wind as well. He knew he had to head back to his village as soon as he could to get it bandaged and washed, and then his eyes fell back onto the wolf. A beast like this would make a fine pelt, and wolf meat might not be the tastiest or the most tender, but any food would be welcome at this time of year. Besides, if left alone its corpse could attract more animals that could pose a danger to his herd, as well as rotting and ruining the nearby plants. He grunted as he picked up the wolf's corpse, grimacing as a paw knocked into the wound on his head. Having shouldered the warm, wet mass of blood-stained fur and flesh, he looked around to make sure the sheep were in a relatively safe spot, and slowly trudged off in the direction of his village.

As he stumbled over the frozen ground, weighed down by the body of his attacker, the only thing that kept him from collapsing was a single thought. “It'll all be fine once I get home. It'll all be fine once I get home”, he repeated to himself as he plodded forwards through the pines. The wind whipped around him, stinging his exposed face and the large gash in his arm. It felt like hours had passed when he finally reached the outskirts of the wood and was able to catch a glimpse of his village from the top of the hill. His eyes widened. The wolf's body fell from his shoulders and its teeth knocked against stones as he straightened up. Smoke. Thick, dark smoke was billowing up from the spot where his village was located. He stumbled down the hill as quickly as he could, wishing with all his might that it was not true. Every once in a while he would trip over an errant root or upturned stone, winding him and bruising his hands and knees each time. As he finally stumbled to the outskirts of his village, he collapsed on his knees in dismay. All that was left was fire and rubble.