Direwolves, towering beasts larger than ponies and twice the size of great hounds, are not merely oversized wolves. Their proportions set them apart, longer legs, massive heads, and pronounced muzzles give them an imposing presence. Their coats range from storm-gray with piercing yellow eyes to midnight black with emerald-green gazes, while the rare albino direwolves, white as winter with blood-red eyes, stalk the snows like vengeful spirits.
Intelligent and deadly, they hunt as solitary predators or form formidable packs. Some lone direwolves even dominate common wolf packs, ruling through sheer size and strength. Their scent alone unnerves dogs, and horses trained for war and recoil in terror at their approach. At the Battle of Greyhill, even the seasoned riders of the plains, born and bred to hunt, faltered when the Northern Tribes unleashed their direwolves, sealing their defeat.
Once, these beasts roamed the far north in great numbers, hunted and tamed by the tribes for their prowess in battle and the hunt. Yet for a hundred years, none have been seen south of the White Wilds, not since the Northern Tribes drove humanity back during the dark wars. But the watchers of the black tower, whisper of still hearing of their howls beyond the Wall, a reminder that the direwolves have not vanished,only retreated.
And though they no longer stalk the southern lands, the people of the north have not forgotten. Great stone effigies of direwolves stand sentinel in their halls and upon their battlements, carved in homage to the beasts that once ruled the wilds. What would these ancient hunters make of the world now, where men speak of them in legends and their likeness is frozen in stone?
—Excerpt from The Beasts of Forgotten Snows by Philip the Mad Sage
Femi crouched down, still chuckling, and reached out to grab the little beast by the scruff. But as his claws neared, the puppy yelped and scrambled back, its hind leg dragging awkwardly.
His amusement faded.
"Ah… you're hurt."
A deep gash ran along the pup's back leg, matting its white fur with dried blood. It must have been separated from its pack or orphaned. From what he knows wolves didn't usually wander alone, especially not pups this small.
Femi hesitated.
His first instinct was to leave it. Nature was cruel, and this was just another creature destined to die in this cursed forest. But something about the way it trembled, still trying to growl despite its pain, made his chest tighten.
"Stubborn little thing, aren't you?" he muttered.
Sighing, he reached into his pouch for the small roll of bandages Varga had insisted he carry.
"Alright, let's see if you'll let me help before you bite my fingers off."
The moment his hand got close again, the pup lunged, tiny fangs snapping. Femi jerked back just in time.
"Tch. My friend you better behave, before I flog you."
He grabbed a nearby stick and snapped it in half, then held one piece out. The pup clamped down on it with a vicious little growl, gnawing furiously. While it was distracted, Femi quickly looped a length of bandage around its muzzle, tying it snugly.
The pup's eyes widened in betrayal, its muffled growls turning into indignant squeaks.
"Quiet my friend. I am trying to help you, but you are here trying to turn my fingers into food."
Gently but firmly, he flipped the pup onto its back, pinning it with one hand while the other worked to clean the wound. The pup thrashed, tiny claws scrabbling against his arm, but Femi held fast.
"Easy, easy. I'm not going to eat you. Though I should, say I have eaten dog meat before, and looks like you'd make a decent stew."
The pup let out a pitiful whine.
Femi snorted. "Dramatic."
He dabbed the wound with a bit of salve from his pouch, another one of Varga's "survival essentials" then wrapped it tightly with the bandage. The pup squirmed the entire time, but eventually, exhaustion seemed to win out. Its struggles grew weaker, its breathing labored.
Femi frowned. "Little victim, I don't think you will last long out here alone."
He glanced back toward the direction of the camp. Bringing a wolf pup even an injured one back to the Krags was a terrible idea. They'd either kill it on sight and toss the body or kill it on sight and eat the body, he really can't tell since he hasn't been with them for long to guess their possible reaction.
But leaving it here was a death sentence.
With a grumble, he scooped the pup up, tucking it into the front of his cloak. The little beast wriggled weakly, but the warmth must have soothed it, because soon, its protests turned into soft, grumbling huffs.
"Don't get used to this," Femi warned. "I'm not your mother."
The pup nestled deeper, its tiny body pressed against his chest.
Femi sighed.
I'm going to regret this.
He adjusted his grip on the rabbits and turned back toward camp, already dreading Varga's reaction.
------
When Femi returned, the sun had shifted a fair distance across the sky. He walked back into camp with careful steps, trying not to jostle the small, warm weight hidden beneath his cloak.
Varga was waiting at the entrance. She glanced at him, her sharp eyes scanning the rabbits in his hands, he brought it to her and she snatched them without a word.
"Good," she grunted. "Now get to work on the pelts."
Femi exhaled in quiet relief. She hadn't noticed.
He moved to the tanning area, a messy corner of camp where blood, fur, and the sharp scent of curing hides clung to the air. An old Krag usually handled this work, but he had died in the Eri's attack, now another younger one handles their tanning of skin. Dispite their brute strength made for breaking heads. They are actually skilled in the scraping flesh from pelts, who knew.
But Femi had to learn how to do it himself if he wants to get new clothes.
He settled onto a low stool, pulling a half-finished rabbit pelt toward him. The pup shifted under his cloak, a tiny claw pricking his furry chest in protest.
Quiet,he thought, pressing a hand discreetly against the lump in his shirt. Or we will be caught.
Varga lingered nearby, arms crossed, watching the other Krags work. Femi kept his head down, fingers moving deftly as he scraped fat and membrane from the hide. The pup squirmed again, its tiny nose poking out from the edge of his cloak for a desperate breath of fresh air.
"Yip"
Femi coughed loudly, shifting his arm to block it from view.
Varga's gaze flicked toward him.
His heart hammered, but he kept his expression blank, focusing intently on the pelt. After a tense moment, she turned away, barking some orders at another Krag.
Femi let out a slow breath.
The pup, oblivious to the danger, chose that moment to let out a tiny, muffled whine.
Femi's ears twitched. He glanced around, no one seemed to have heard. With a quick, discreet motion, he slipped a scrap of meat from the pile beside him and tucked it into his cloak. The pup's nose wriggled, then tiny teeth snatched the morsel from his fingers.
Greedy little beast.
He worked through the afternoon, skinning and stretching pelts, all while keeping the pup still and silent. Every rustle or wiggle made his muscles tense, but luck or perhaps his village people has not found reason to disturb him. Because no one noticed.
By the time the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the camp, Varga finally dismissed him with a curt nod. Femi stood, stretching his stiff limbs, and made his way toward the small, shelter he'd claimed as his own.
By shelter, he ment a long sticks in the middle and corners holding up some covers, that he arrange to look like a tent. It was better than sleeping outside in the cold at least.
Only when the covers was securely shut behind him did he finally pull the pup free.
It blinked up at him, bandaged leg sticking out awkwardly, its fur matted with dried blood and dirt. Now that they were alone, it seemed less inclined to bite, just exhausted, its earlier defiance drained away.
Femi sighed.
"Alright, you little trouble maker," he muttered, setting it down on a pile of old furs. "You live another day. But if you get me in trouble, I'm flogging you."
The pup yawned, curled into a ball, and promptly fell asleep.
Femi stared at it for a long moment. Then, with another sigh, he grabbed a spare rag and began cleaning the blood from its fur.
I'm definitely going to regret this.