Helga Wulf Slayer's Arc

Chapter 1 of 5

Helga tore the last strip of mammoth meat from the bone and chewed slowly. The camp spread around her — warriors cleaning weapons, children chasing each other between tents, smoke rising from a dozen fires. She had come here looking for answers about her father's sword, but no one knew where it had gone. A gray-bearded warrior sat down across from her. He said the sword was lost, that chasing it would only bring her death. Two others nodded and told her to let it go. Helga wiped her mouth and stood. She walked past them without a word, heading toward the tent where she had slept. The tent had belonged to her father once, and she had kept his things inside — his cup, his cloak, the bear tooth he wore on a cord. She gathered what she needed and slung her pack over her shoulder. When she stepped outside, the warriors were still watching. She turned away from them and walked toward the edge of camp. No one followed. The path out of camp was marked by a line of stones where the last tent stood. Beyond that, a dirt trail led between tall pines toward the mountains. Helga stopped at the boundary and pulled the wine pouch from her belt. She drank once, felt the burn in her throat, and tied it back in place. The wind came down from the peaks and carried the smell of cold stone. She looked back at her father's tent one last time. The hide walls were still, the entrance dark and empty. Helga turned and started walking. The path curved into the valley, narrow and worn from use. Her boots found the center of the trail and she kept her eyes ahead. The camp noise faded behind her — voices, axes on wood, dogs barking. By the time she reached the first bend, there was only wind and the crunch of her own footsteps. She did not look back again.