As they ventured further, the forest grew denser, the trees more ancient and twisted. The air grew thick with the scent of damp earth and moss, and the sunlight barely pierced the canopy above. The girl looked around nervously, her grip on the bundle tightening. Rognvald noticed the weight of her struggle and the way she stumbled over roots and rocks that seemed to reach out to trip her. He felt a pang of guilt for his earlier mercenary thoughts, and his resolve to protect her grew stronger.
The first sign of trouble came in the form of a distant howl, echoing through the trees. The girl’s eyes widened, and she clutched Rognvald’s arm. “What is it?” she whispered. “The beasts of the forest are restless,” he replied, his eyes narrowing. “Perhaps they sense the presence of those who do not belong.” The howl grew closer, and soon they could hear the crunch of twigs and the snap of branches as something large approached.
Rognvald unsheathed his sword, the steel glinting in the murky light. The girl took a step back, her eyes flicking between the path ahead and the towering trees that surrounded them. “Stay behind me,” he instructed, his voice calm despite the tension in the air. The sound grew louder, and out of the shadows emerged a pack of wolves, their eyes gleaming with hunger. The largest, a creature with a pelt the color of a moonless night, snarled at them, baring teeth as sharp as the points of a crown.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Rognvald swept the girl into his arms and sprinted towards the nearest tree, his boots digging into the soft earth. He deftly scaled the trunk, his muscles straining with the effort of carrying her weight and his own. Once high enough, he settled her into the crook of a sturdy branch, whispering reassurances. Her eyes were wide with terror, but she clung to the bark and her bundle, trusting the stranger who had promised to keep her safe.
The wolves circled the base of the tree, their growls a crescendo of malice. Rognvald nocked an arrow, his eyes never leaving the beasts below. He let loose the projectile, and it found its mark in the chest of whom Rognvald believed to be the alpha. With a yelp, it fell, its lifeblood seeping into the soil. The pack paused, momentarily confused by the loss of their leader, and Rognvald took advantage of the opening to draw his sword, the steel ringing out in the stillness of the forest.
Leaping from the tree, he landed in a crouch, his boots thudding against the earth. The wolves, their fur bristling and eyes ablaze, had regained their composure. They stared up at him, a ring of snarling menace that seemed to tighten with each passing second. Rognvald’s heart thundered in his chest, but his hand remained steady on the sword’s hilt. He had faced worse creatures in his time, but these were no ordinary wolves; they bore the cunning and ruthlessness of their newfound human adversaries.
The first wolf to charge was a massive creature, its teeth bared in a snarl that would have frozen the blood of a lesser man. Rognvald met it with a swift arc of his sword, the blade slicing through the beast’s neck with a spray of crimson. The others lunged in a frenzied wave, their claws tearing at the air as they sought to bring him down. He danced around them, his movements liquid and precise, his blade a blur in the dim light. Each strike was calculated, each parry a dance with death.
One by one, the wolves fell to his sword, their lifeless forms joining the alpha beneath the tree. Yet, for every one he killed, two more took its place. Their eyes burned with a feral intelligence that suggested they were not merely animals driven by hunger but pawns in a larger, more sinister game. Rognvald’s breath came in ragged gasps, his muscles screaming from the exertion. The girl above watched in horror as the battle raged, her tiny body trembling with each clash of steel and fur.
The air grew thick with the coppery scent of blood and the heavy panting of the surviving wolves. Rognvald knew he could not keep this up much longer. His arm felt as though it was made of lead, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him. But the girl’s trusting gaze spurred him on, her wide eyes a silent plea for his protection. He could not, would not, fail her.
Suddenly, the remaining wolves retreated into the shadows, their tails tucked between their legs. Rognvald took a cautious step forward, his sword still at the ready. The silence that followed was eerie, a stark contrast to the cacophony of moments before. He waited, his ears straining for any hint of their return. When none came, he sheathed his sword, his hand shaking with the aftermath of the adrenaline rush.
Without wasting any more time, he turned to the girl, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and awe. “We must go,” he said, his voice still carrying the edge of the battle. He offered her a hand, and she took it, her own trembling. They climbed down from the tree, her legs wobbly with relief. “Thank you,” she murmured, her grip on the bundle never loosening.
The rest of their journey was fraught with tension, the distant echoes of the wolf pack’s howls a constant reminder of the danger they faced. They traveled swiftly but cautiously, avoiding the main path where possible and sticking to the safety of the underbrush. The girl spoke little, her thoughts likely consumed by the fate of her village and the task at hand. Rognvald, too, remained mostly silent, his mind racing with strategies for facing the Redhand and his men.
Yet, amidst the pressing concerns of their mission, the ranger found his curiosity about the bundle the girl carried growing. It was not large, but it was obviously precious to her. She held it as if it contained the very essence of her hope, and the way she cradled it close to her chest suggested it was more than just a simple burden. The fabric was worn and stained, hinting at a journey much longer than the two days she had mentioned.
Rognvald knew that asking directly would only burden her further, so he waited for an opportune moment. As they paused to drink from a clear stream, the girl’s guard momentarily lowered. Her eyes searched his, and in that brief silence, he saw not only fear but a spark of something else – a fiery resolve that belied her tender years. He decided it was time to learn more about his young companion.
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