The Soldier and the Werewolf (A Mikannie Fanfic)

6

A Werewolf soldier named Peter stood in front of his chieftain's tent. His hands were shaking uncomfortably, sweat dripping down his forehead (surprising that it didn't freeze in the harsh climate). He scratched his bandaged wrist. He certainty didn't want to tell Grindor that the scouting party sent out had failed to reach the Sliver Corps Clan's base, in order to spy on them. He knew from experience that the leader of the Werewolves had a very short, flamming temper.

Gulping and scratching his brown beard, Peter quietly walked in. He saw the chieftain, his very muscular bare back facing him. He went on his knees, his head down.

"I sense nervousness radiating off of you, Peter" Grindor's low voice rumbled, "tell me why."

Peter gulped again.

"T-The scouting party didn't make it to the human base, great one. They came back just a f-few minutes ago."

Grindor's fists clenched, "And why did they fail?"

"They couldn't get though the storm. They told me they couldn't make it across the river; the ice began to crack, and they lost-"

"Do you know what I hear falling out of your trap? Excuses" Grindor suddenly growled. He turned around and faced the kneeling Werewolf, his blood red eyes glaring down at him. Peter let out a small whimper, his head lowering even more.

"Tell me, Peter" the chieftain walked around his large buffalo skin tent, his hands behind his back, "why do you think we Werewolves were born in the North?"

All the color on Peter's face drained away. He didn't know the answer.

"I d-don't know, great one."

The massive Werewolf picked up a small dagger that lay on his bed.

"We live here because the Gods put us here. And they created us to be strong, powerful beings who show no mercy to their enemies. They created us to harness the environment in which we live and conquer over it."

"And your telling me that a scouting party....can't even hike through a simple storm?"

Peter was now shaking uncomfortably. More sweat rolled down his face.

"T-The storm is a ruthless one, chief. Not even the humans a-are attempting on leaving their base. M-Maybe we should-"

He was interrupted when Grindor wrapped his hands around his slim neck. He let out a strangled yelp as the chieftain lifted him off the ground, his strong hand slowly squeezing his neck.

"Are you telling me we should call a cease fire?" Grindor snarled.

Peter threw his hands on the bigger man's arm trying to get him off, but it was no use. His hand was firm like stone.

"N-no!h ack! I-I w-was j-just, ack!"

"This war doesn't stop until every human in Maria is laying dead under my feet. Blizzards don't mean shit to me, Peter."

Suddenly, Peter felt a large mass of pain in his abdomen. He glanced down and saw blood. A lot of blood. He didn't even recall the dagger Grindor had in his hand, until he shot it right through him. He coughed, blood flying out of his mouth.

"I was going to punish the rest of the scouts" Grindor brought Peter to his level and whispered in his ear, "but I figured you'd be punished instead.

Peter gagged. It was no longer the other Werewolf's iron grip that made him choke, but his own blood. Grindor then pulled the dagger out, but not before whispering, "I hope they learn from your mistakes when they see the scavengers feasting on your corpse."