Garran’s long, clawed fingers dug deep into the bark of the pine tree. He delicately pulled back the large strip of wood and placed it on a wooden sledge sitting next to him in the snow. He had almost gathered enough bark and thatch to complete the roof of his hut.

His sharp ears pricked as he heard someone approaching behind him. “Find what you were looking for?” he asked his friend, just-returned to the camp.

“Aye. Birchwood. It’ll be perfect for a new bow. Strongest wood in these parts,” Sius said as he pulled his own hand sled up next to Garran’s. Garran noticed a large cut out from a tree sitting on his friend’s sled next to some smaller sticks and branches for firewood. The chunk of wood was about four feet tall by two feet wide and a pleasant fragrance of earth and citrus originated from within it.

Garran cocked one of his silver eyes at his friend, “Is that for incense or firewood? I’m confused,” he said pointing at the log with his chin.

The black-furred wolfkin glanced in the direction Garran had indicated and nodded, “It’s spruce. It’s a soft wood that isn’t good for building, but is extremely good for carving. I thought with your artistic touch, you’d find some use for it.”

Squatting down next to his friend’s sledge, he eyed the chunk of wood thoughtfully while running his hand down the side feeling the soft bark chip easily away, “Hmmm, maybe. Good for carving, you said?”

His friend nodded, “And for intricate designs too, but I can see you’re not that interested. I can just place it with the fire-”

Garran placed his hand on top of the chunk of wood, blocking Sius from picking it up, “No. I think I have an idea. Thank you. I think it will work out nicely.”

Sius nodded and headed over to add logs to the campfire. Garran could not be sure, but he was almost certain his wolf counterpart was smirking. ‘What is he up to?’ Garran thought, smiling at his brokta’s back.

Garran sat in front of his friend’s house strumming the lute made of spruce. Sius had been right. The soft, lightweight wood had the ideal properties for carving and the grain mimicked the curvature of the instrument to perfection.

His friend sat next to him on a long wooden bench as they stared out over a small pond. This time of year, the winds warmed slightly, the creeks and ponds lost their armor of ice, and the old oaks of the forest started to sprite. It was a truly pleasant time of year; the ‘sleeping’ fish that hid under the ice until spring, breaching the water occasionally with a noisy splash.

“Do you think you’ll ever be any good with that thing?” Sius said, glancing dubiously at the lute.

“Hey, watch it. I’m getting better. I’ve only finished crafting it near the end of zeshova,” Garran retorted, narrowing his eyes in mock annoyance.

Sius held up his hands in a show of acquiescence, “I’m just stating that if you put as much time into practicing that thing as you do polishing your armor, you’d be playing at our next regevolo...”

Much to Garran’s chagrin, he chuckled at his friend’s statement. Their friendship had been like this from the beginning. Always easy, always fluid, and always with cheeky banter.

“Garran,” he heard his friend say. He looked back up at his friend but the black wolfkin with the white muzzle was gone; the spot on the bench he had just been sitting now empty and vacant. Garran looked around in front of the hut where they’d been sitting, but saw no sign of Sius.

Puzzled, he stood and placed his instrument down on the bench, then walked down to the nearby pond. Garran glanced down into the clear-blue water. Two round and unblinking fishy eyes looked back up at him through the water.

“Garran,” the trout said with Sius’ voice.

Garran blinked and scratched behind his ear, confused. The sound on the water was playing tricks on his hearing, obviously. Surveying the area, he looked for signs of his friend, but found nothing. Glancing back at the trout, the creature was still looking up at him opening and closing its mouth in the characteristic nature of a fish.

“Garran,” it called again in his friend’s voice. This time the voice sounded somewhat distressed.

Shaking his head in confusion, he replied, “Sius? What is going on?” He waited for a moment, but got no response.

Now, clearly annoyed at whatever mind game someone was playing, Garran leaned down to try and pluck the small fish from the water. As he did so, his foot slipped from the bank and he felt his stomach lurch as he stumbled towards the cold water.

The wolfkin sucked in a quick breath to brace for the inevitable icy cold water that was about to envelope him, but it never came. He opened his eyes that he did not remember shutting, though there was only blackness. His silver eyes were well-equipped for seeing in the dim light, yet they could not penetrate this darkness. It was empty; void.

Confused, he blinked rapidly trying to get a sense of where he was. He realized he was now lying on his back, but where, he could not say. Now he heard his brokta’s voice and it was frantic, calling out to him as if in pain.

The wind began to pick up all around him as if he were standing in a windstorm. He could not see anything, but the rushing air stung his face and made his ears ring from the noise. Shielding his eyes from the howling wind, he stood and tried to move forward; anywhere in any direction. It was all he could do to keep his balance and not let the tempest blow him backwards.

“Garran,” he heard his friend’s voice over the howling gale. Out of the blackness, two reflective eyes faded into view. As they came into focus and lost the reflective effect, they became the ice-blue eyes Garran knew so well, and they were full of terror.

“Brokta? Where are you?” Garran could scarcely hear his own voice over the wind.

When his friend replied, however, his voice changed. It became higher pitched and adenoidal.

“Yes, your friend is here, but for how long depends on you,” the voice said, now calm, but still audible over the storm.

This was no longer Sius. The eyes had now changed too and were two glowing yellow orbs that penetrated the darkness like lanterns.

“Who are you, and what do you want with Sius?” Garran shouted, his voice hoarse and his throat parched.

“What? Your archer friend? Bah! He’s of little use to me, which is why you may want to hurry. I do not tend to hold on to things I don’t need for long,” the voice rang loud in Garran’s ears.

“What do you want, creten!? I have nothing of value!”

“Ahhh, but you do. She is with you now, I believe. Bring me the Bastion--the she-wolf--to The Summit and I will exchange her for your worthless friend. But hurry. I am not known for my patience. You do not have long. Goodbye, Garran. Your friend’s fate depends on you,” the nasally disembodied voice uttered as the yellow eyes winked out of existence, his final words fading as they rebounded, and echoed all around the wolfkin.

The winds picked up with a virulent gust and lifted Garran into the air. But as suddenly as the winds picked up, they stopped and Garran felt himself plummeting towards some invisible ground in the blackness. He tried to cry out, but could no longer find his voice. He kicked his feet and flailed his arms to try and grasp anything, but there was nothing to grab onto.

As he was falling, he felt something hit him in the face and looked down towards his chest. His amulet was glowing silver in the darkness; the only light to be seen. Grabbing the sigil in his right hand and shutting his eyes tight, he silently prayed for a way out of this…

Garran woke with a start, still clutching the amulet around his neck. His stomach was somewhere in his throat and the feeling of falling was still playing heavily on his senses. Still breathing heavily, he sat upright and felt around. He was on cold, hard ground and the air smelled of mildew and moldy earth. The cave, he thought, relieved. I am back in the cave.

Surveying the scene as his senses began to process his surroundings properly, he saw the bodies of two gnolls lying on opposite ends of the cave. The large gnoll lay on the ground, unmoving; its legs splayed at an awkward angle from when it was blown backwards against the jutting rock. The other was lying on its back with its head crooked at an angle. Teya sat in front of it on her haunches staring down at it pensively.

Garran winced audibly and grabbed the back of his head as a shooting pain erupted from where he had slammed into the rocky cave wall. He could feel matted hair at the base of his skull; blood that had been flowing now coagulating and beginning to clot and heal.

“You’re awake, Steward. You were restless in your unconsciousness, but I did not want to rouse you, lest I cause you to further injure your head. It had stopped bleeding, so I left you where you were,” Teya sighed. “This one is the only one still alive. One is in the ravine below, one with an arrow in its heart outside, and 'Big Ugly' over there snuffed out pretty quickly.” She pointed with her snout behind her, towards the large gnoll with the now-mangled backbone.

“Only this one languishes. What shall we do with him?”

Garran stood, with difficulty. His head still foggy from the concussive force of the blow as well as the vivid dream still lingering in his mind, the wolfkin stammered toward the wolf and the injured gnoll.

Placing a hand on Teya’s soft, furry back to comfort her, he muttered gently, “Are you ok?”

The she-wolf never took her eyes off of the unmoving gnoll lying before her but answered with a single nod to the affirmative. “It’s he that I am worried for. Adversary or not, he is suffering. I know what it is like to linger in a place you wish to move on from.”

For a brief moment, the brave facade of the she-wolf melted and Garran could see despair and anguish on her face, but then the armor returned and she turned her two-tone eyes to Garran, awaiting his response.

“We will figure this out, Teya. I will see to it. I swear it.” He squeezed her shoulder once, reassuringly and turned to the gnoll before them.

The creature lay there with labored breathing; the side of its head was sunken in where Garran’s mace had smashed in the temple. The gnoll’s right eye was swollen shut and oozing grotesque liquid. Garran nudged the creature’s foot with his own and it jerked back, sputtering and coughing.

Glancing down, a glint of metal caught the wolfkin’s eye. The hunting knife the gnoll was using, he thought. That will work.

He picked the weapon up and knelt down next to the weakened gnoll, “You may want to leave for this part,” he said softly, avoiding both the eyes of Teya and the unseeing eye of the suffering creature before him. The best thing we can do for our opponents is give them swift deaths, he heard Sius’ voice say in his mind.

Teya padded back into the cave when the deed was done. Despite Garran’s predisposition of these creatures, he still took care to end its suffering swiftly. He said a silent prayer to Aegis for the pitiful creature then began searching them to try and glean any clue to what they had been after.

Squatting down in front of the leader gnoll, he searched the creature’s pockets. He found a small pouch containing some odd coins. He dumped a few of them into the palm of his hand and inspected them. A few of them were small and silver, but there were some that were much larger and oval-shaped with odd symbols on them. This is not common currency, but where have I seen these symbols before? he wondered to himself.

Glancing over at the two-handed axe his adversary had been wielding, he picked it up and tested the weight in his hands. It was heavy on the end and a little light in the handle, but a decent weapon. The metal blade, though chipped in a few places, looked relatively new and well-made. Upon closer scrutiny of the handle, something gave him pause.

There was something oddly familiar about how the blade had been forged to the handle. Realization dawned on him and Garran felt the hair on his hackles raise and his lips peel back in a vicious, guttural snarl.

“Steward? What is it?” he heard Teya ask, alarmed.

“Orcs,” he growled through gritted teeth, barely holding back the fury and choler in his husky voice. “Orcs paid these bastards and gave 'Big Ugly' here a new weapon to track us down. The same orcs that took Sius."

“How do you know it is the same ones?”

Garran stood, palming the handle of the massive greataxe, his silver eyes meeting Teya’s mismatched ones. “I haven’t been sure of anything since leaving my village a day ago, until now. Now, I’m willing to stake my life on my gut instinct. They have him.”