The Wolf of the Wilds

The Skinwalker

Just before she attacked, she pulled at the length of fabric that she used to bind back her hair and tugged it over her eyes, leaving a small gap at the bottom. 

Skin walkers were said to be able to possess those they looked into the eyes of and she didn't want to take any chances, even if it was just a rumour. She could see the ground below her, but she couldn't see above or directly in front. It would do.

At the sound of the skin walker's cry of victory, she pounced.

Over the years she had hunted many a creature great and small. Stealth and agility were her friend in all of these cases. Her teeth or silver blade her weapon of choice.

She feet propelled her forward, through the cover of the bush and across the short distance to the corpse of a dead horse that the skin walker was dismembering slowly. From her limited line of sight she could see the emancipated figure of the creature. Its skin was stretched across its bones. Its fur was sparse and a deep red in colour. Whether from blood or its natural pigmentation, she did not know. Nor did she care.

The skin walker was not stupid nor deaf. As soon as she emerged, it had turned and sent a snarl in her direction.

That was where it made its fatal mistake.

She didn't slow or stop as she got within its reach, colliding with it headlong and shoving her shoulder into its side, pushing them both back onto the dead horse. Using the momentum of their fall, she thrust the blade of her knife into the space below its ribcage, angling it upwards into the chest cavity and sharply twisting it with a flick of he wrist. As soon as she hit her target a shrill screech erupted from the skin walker and she was thrown several meters in its panic.

She skidded and landed on her feet with the grace of a bird as it came to rest, peering out from beneath her blindfold. The skin walker was screaming, its dog-like head was thrashing and it snapped its jaw as it tried to claw out the knife embedded in its chest. Helena watched dispassionately, staying light on her feet as it finally managed to dislodge the blade and flung it away across the track.

Blood was dripping through its freakishly elongated fingers like red rivers and it scrambled towards her with teeth bared and claws extended.

The hardest part of fighting a skin walker was their speed and strength. She had heard many stories of wolves being beaten and killed by these monsters, so she had made her first hit count, intent on disrupting its speed and sapping it of its brawn. The wound would have hit or at least damaged the lungs, hopefully reducing the creature's oxygen intake and causing pain when it moved.

As it lumbered towards her she darted to the side and picked her weapon off of the ground with a swipe of her arm.

She did a fast turn on the balls of her feet and ran back at the skin walker, ducking under a swing of its clawed arm and slashing at its leg, blood erupting from the gash she made. Another howl. Another cut. Another scream. Another slash.

More cuts she made, the slower and more desperate it got. Blood was staining everything. Her skin, her hair, her clothes, the ground.  Eventually though, after one final blow to the throat it fell silently onto the earth with a thud.

She stood straight and pulled the blindfold from her eyes, gazing upon her fallen opponent with a slow intake of air. The monster no longer remained; only the body of a man lay there, a fox's pelt wrapped around his shoulders.

Helena knelt at his side and closed his eyes for the final time. She then grabbed a fistful of his shirt and wiped her knife clean of ash and crimson blood, sheathing it away at her hip. When she was done, she straightened and glanced around her surroundings.

In the shadow of the upturned cart, a pair of wolves sat, clutching one another.

Helena approached, halting before them and clearing her throat.

"It's dead," she said gruffly, catching their attention. The older of the pair, a woman in her thirties or forties, stared up at her with wide horror struck eyes. She had her body wrapped around the girl in her arms, a hand covering her eyes to shield her from the sight.

"You- you killed it," she whispered shakily.

Helena nodded. "Yes. I did. Are there any more in your party?" she questioned, skipping introductions. It probably wasn't the time.

A sob wracked the woman's shoulders as thick droplets of saline water ran down her cheeks. "My mate. He tried to fight back and they dragged him away," she said through her tears. Helena sniffed the air and frowned. Beneath the overwhelming stench of blood a familiar scent was carried in by the slight breeze. The Montis wolves were finally on their way it seemed.

"Stay here. There are others coming. They will help you and the pup. I will look for your mate, but blood is thick in the air so I can't make any promises," she replied.

The woman reached out towards her. "Please, please look for him," she begged.

Helena didn't reply and was soon leaving the road at a run. She could smell the rogues up ahead, the tangy odour of wolf blood trailing them like a shadow. Clearly they were cocky or just had no brains, because Lena could easily follow the path they had taken just from looking at the splats of blood and the broken plant life they had left in their wake.

A/N

Well that got rather violent. I hope you found this part interesting. As always votes, comments and constructive criticisms are welcomed.

Have a nice day!

-H