Fenrir The White's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Fenrir The White had crossed half of Playa V searching for one wolf. Snow crusted the giant dire wolf's fur, white on white, and blue eyes swept the frozen ground for tracks. Somewhere ahead lay a shelter where scattered wolves gathered when they needed a leader. Only one wolf could lead them there safely. Her name was Valentine, and Fenrir loved her. Without her gift, the packs would stay lost, easy prey for the hunters who wanted them dead. Fenrir followed her scent up a ridge. It grew stronger near a cliff where a small cafe clung to the rock. This was where they had first met, seasons ago. Now the tables sat empty. A red stain marked the wooden deck. Fenrir smelled fear, and under it, blood. A voice drifted from below the cliff. "Easy now. She's worth more breathing." Fenrir crept to the edge and looked down. A huge man stood in a clearing, taller than any human Fenrir had seen. He wore a wide hat and a pack heavy with gear. A rifle hung in his thick hands. This was the hunter who tracked Valentine, the one who wanted her power for himself. Beside him lay a rope net, and in it, a small gray wolf. Valentine. She thrashed against the ropes. The hunter crouched and grinned, jaw slack. "Come on, sweetheart. You lead 'em, I collect 'em. Simple." Fenrir did not wait. The dire wolf leaped from the ridge and landed between the hunter and the net. Snow burst up around them. The man stumbled back and swung his rifle up. Fenrir lunged and clamped down on the barrel before he could fire. The gun bent and cracked. The hunter cursed and swung his pack like a club. It struck Fenrir's shoulder hard. Fenrir staggered, then drove forward and knocked the man flat into the snow. The hunter scrambled up, empty-handed now, breathing fast. He looked at the size of the dire wolf standing over him. Then he ran, crashing through the trees, leaving his broken rifle behind. Fenrir turned to the net. Gently, the great jaws pulled the ropes apart. Valentine limped free. Her hind leg bled where a rope had cut deep. She leaned against Fenrir, and Fenrir pressed close, warm and steady. But Valentine's eyes were wide with something worse than pain. She could barely stand. Her gift needed her to walk ahead of the packs, to lead them to safety. Now she could not walk at all. Fenrir looked back at the trail the hunter had cut. The man would return, and he would bring others. The scattered packs still waited, still lost. Valentine was found, but she was wounded, and the one wolf who could lead the packs to sanctuary could no longer lead them. Fenrir would have to carry her, and find the way alone.