Mist & Moonlight

Chapter 8 | Fangs of the Wild

The landscape gradually shifted from the familiar rolling hills and dense forests of his homeland to a more rugged and untamed terrain. Here, the land rose and fell in sharp, uneven swells, like the waves of a storm-tossed sea frozen in time. The trees, which had stood tall and proud in Kattegat, now grew sparse and gnarled, their branches twisted by the constant battering of the wind. The sky hung low and grey, heavy with the promise of rain, and a breeze nipped at Erik's face as he pressed onward.

He had been traveling for days, sleeping beneath the stars when the dusk fell, and rising at dawn to continue his journey. The path to Ekkila was no easy road; it twisted through deep valleys and over craggy ridges, and at times, it seemed to vanish altogether, swallowed by the wilds.

The farther he traveled from Kattegat, the more the world seemed to grow vast and indifferent. The sense of familiarity slipped away, replaced by a harsh beauty that spoke of a land less touched by the hand of men. Here, the trees were fewer and farther between, giving way to wide stretches of rocky heath, their brambles clinging stubbornly to life. The mountains loomed in the distance, dark and jagged, their peaks lost in the fog that rolled down from the north. It was a lonely place, this eastward land, a realm where wolves prowled and the rivers ran deep and cold.

Erik's thoughts wandered as he rode. He had meant to stay focused on the journey, to keep his mind on the road ahead and the dangers that might lurk along the way, but his thoughts drifted again and again to Freydis. Her face came to him unbidden, framed by her wild red hair and fierce eyes. He wondered how she fared back at the estate of Jarl Arlick, with the child growing inside her. A pang of longing tightened in his chest, knowing that each day brought her closer to giving birth. Did she miss him? Did she look out toward the west and think of him as he thought of her?

He urged his horse onward, needing the steady rhythm to drown out the ache of his thoughts. By the time he stopped to make camp, the sun had long since sunk behind the mountains, and the stars blinked into existence, scattered like diamonds across the black sky. The air was bitterly cold, and he built his fire high, grateful for the warmth that chased away the chill of the night. He stretched out upon his bedroll, wrapping himself in his fur cloak as he stared up at the heavens. The fire's crackle and the distant howl of wolves were the only sounds that filled the night.

It was sometime in the deepest part of the night, just before dawn's first light, that Erik awoke to a low growl rumbling in the darkness. His hand went instinctively to his sword as he pushed himself to his feet. His eyes searched the shadows beyond the fire's glow, and there it was—a pair of yellow eyes gleaming in the darkness. A wolf, larger than most, its fur a grey streaked with white like the snows on the mountain peaks.

The beast lunged, a blur of muscle and fangs. Erik barely had time to draw his blade before it was upon him. The wolf's weight crashed into him, knocking him back against the rocky ground. Its breath was hot and rancid in his face as it snapped at his throat, but he twisted, bringing his forearm up to block its bite while he thrust his sword upward, driving the blade deep into its side. The wolf yelped, a sound full of rage and pain, and snapped again, its jaws closing around Erik's arm. He gritted his teeth against the searing pain as the teeth pierced his skin, but he pulled the blade free and drove it into the wolf's neck, twisting until the creature's body went limp atop him.

Erik lay there for a moment, panting, his arm throbbing where the wolf had bitten him. He pushed the dead weight of the beast aside and struggled to his feet, his limbs trembling from the sudden burst of violence. He glanced at his arm—blood was already soaking through the sleeve, but the wound did not seem deep enough to be life-threatening. He gritted his teeth as he tore a strip of cloth from his cloak to bind it, his breath steaming in the cold air.

The wolf lay still by the fire, its eyes now dull and lifeless. It was an old creature, its fur thin in places, and the signs of its struggle to survive were etched in every scar across its hide. Erik could not help but feel a pang of pity for the beast. It had been fighting for its life, much as he was fighting for his. He reached out and touched the grey fur, a silent gesture of respect for a worthy adversary.

The stars still hung bright above him, their cold light seeming to mock the blood and struggle below. Erik glanced up at them, his thoughts again drifting back to Freydis. He wondered if she was safe, if she would still welcome him when he returned. He thought of the child that would soon come into the world, his child, who might one day walk these wild lands and see the same stars. He felt a deep yearning, not just for Freydis, but for the life he hoped they could share together—a life where he did not have to journey so far from home, a life where he could see his son or daughter grow.

He tossed another log onto the fire, unwilling to let its warmth fade just yet. His arm throbbed as he lay back down, but sleep did not come easily. Instead, he stared into the embers, wondering how long it would be before he could hold Freydis again, before he could see the child they had made together. He had never before felt the weight of time so keenly, each moment stretching into the next with the same relentless determination as his journey eastward. There was still far to go before he reached Ekkila, but already he felt the pull to return, to follow the path that would bring him back to her.

As the first light of dawn touched the sky, Erik rose once more, weary but resolved. He mounted his horse and urged it onward, the wind biting sharply at his cheeks. The road to Ekkila was still long and fraught with unknown dangers, but with each step, he felt himself drawing closer to what mattered most.