The Lost Bellator

Five

Apicem

Arlaige's very being ached as he pulled himself over the last ledge of ice and collapsed to the ground. He could barely breathe, he was so high up. The air was rattling in his lungs, so thin he knew he had to descend soon or he wouldn't be able to breathe at all. But after he caught his breath, he stood, and stared.

The valley was huge, so far he could barely see the other side of the mountain. And it was dense with trees that swayed in the cool breeze. He clutched his pelts closer to him. His stomach rumbled. He could barely see through the thick of trees, but they stopped and swirled around a large body of water. That was where Arlaige would aim.

He knew that it would be easier to go down, as it looked like a path was carved on this side of the mountain, an easy walk down. An easy walk to his death. He shuddered.

His toes were numb from the cold, but as he got further down, it got slightly warmer, no doubt from the blockage of the mountain, to where if he blew on his fingers he could semi feel them. It would take another day before he would step on the valley floor, and he had enough cheese to get him by that night so that he wouldn't be delirious in the morning. He could hunt then. His sleep that night was little.

He had thought his trek down would be pleasant, but he slid and slid a lot of the time, rolling his ankle at one point. It had caused him to yelp in pain, but quickly shut up, he didn't want anything getting to him. He didn't know what was over this mountain, but he had heard stories. He tried not to think of them as he took his first step onto flat ground.

He had reached the valley.

As he dropped down into the snow that coated the expanse of the flat ground, he let out a breath. It had taken him nearly a week to get up and over the mountain and to the flat land, and his muscles ached with exertion. He could see trees every which way he went, and he knew that from his assessment of from the top of the mountain that there was a body of water somewhere in between here and there. He knew that it couldn't be frozen thoroughly, so he would get his water from there, and possibly a fish or two, he hoped.

He started walking, shouldering his bow and keeping his grip tight on it. It calmed him to hold it, maybe because it was the only thing keeping him alive.

He stopped as night fell, knowing he would have to continue through the night so that he could reach the body of water. But he needed to eat before then and rest a moment, or he would be a walking corpse. When the sun had dipped below the mountain and shrouded him in moonlight, he dropped his things and gladly sat on his pack, not wanting to soak himself and make himself even colder. He was glad that he dressed in many pelts because he barely felt the cold, he only felt it when he breathed. It was only when the wind picked up that it became worse.

He easily found quick game and started his fire, skinning his rabbit as it grew and he felt his mouth watering as it cooked, the smell absolutely heavenly. He made sure it was cooked thoroughly before he delved into it, smacking all the way as he did so. He felt his stomach rumble in thanks to him and he closed his eyes, savoring the taste. Everything was so warm, and his belly was full, and he couldn't help but rest on his pack, his eyes closed. And soon, he drifted off into sleep.

But his sleep was short-lived. He was dreaming of a warrior king, but as a sharp howl ripped through the air, Arlaige shot up, all dreams gone, all fatigue stripped from his body. He looked up to the sky. The moon was still out, but the sky was beginning to lighten. He slept too long. A rustling near him causes him to jump and he quickly glanced around himself, kicking out his fire, and he threw his pack on his back, his bow in hand, and he set off, his heart in his throat.

He was breathing hard as he walked quickly through the forest, when he heard another howl ripping through the night, this time joined with a chorus of howls that sounded eerily close to him. He had to get out of here. He sucked in a cold breath, picking up his pace, and when he stopped just behind a tree, he heard them. He could hear their tongues trailing over their teeth, the sound of their paws crunching against snow and branches, their heavy breathing, and every so often, a short yip to each other.

Arlaige had heard stories of giant wolves that lived in the forest, and he thought he had gotten past that danger, but he was a fool for thinking it. There were trees here, dense trees, so it was entirely likely that they lived here. Stupid, he thought to himself, mentally cursing himself over and over. Some of the legends even said they were men that took on wolf forms, but he had dismissed that entirely. But all the legends said one thing, they all wanted blood.

Arlaige collected himself and peeked from behind the tree he currently resided behind. He instantly wished he hadn't.

A wolf bigger than the cattle back home was sniffing around where he had walked, not even thirty feet away from him. It paws, Arlaige saw, were bigger than his hands. He turned away, tilting his head against the tree. He had two options, stay and fight or run.

He turned back to look at the wolf who had prowled closer to him. He needed to decide now. But as the wolf stalked closer, Arlaige couldn't help it, he sucked in a breath. And he watched as the wolf's ears perked up and its huge head swiveled around to him, its yellow glowing eyes meeting his.

He didn't think, didn't think about his decision once. He took off almost instantly, his pack banging on his back, his bow in his hand, already notched with an arrow. His pack hurt, and as he ran, he could hear them getting closer and closer to him, and making a quick decision, he released his pack and let it tumble to the ground, and he was suddenly lighter. He shot through the forest, dodging falling snow and trees as he did so, all the while glancing back every few feet to make sure they weren't right on his heels.

But they were and there were so many of them. There was no way he would be able to outrun them, no way. He turned, letting an arrow fly in the first wolf that dared nip at his ankles. It gave a yelp and tumbled into the snow. Good, one less beast to eat him.

He tore through the woods, notching another arrow and barely glancing behind him before he let it fly straight into the eye of another beast. If it landed anywhere else, it just bounced off of them, it was like they were shielded in armor. He chided himself for coming here, for coming into the woods, for searching for the Bellator at all because now he was about to be dinner for some very hungry wolves.

He turned for the last time, and he saw a wolf, looming and huge, running nearly right into him and he didn't think twice before he let his arrow fly into its head. It didn't make a sound as it crashed to the ground, but there were many others to take it's place. He pushed on, his legs and lungs burning, his chest heaving, and he stumbled as he went, taking his quiver of arrows off as he ran and flinging them to the side. He only had one arrow with him and as he heard their heavy breathing behind him, he turned and let his only arrow fly before he turned back and skidded over ice.

He fell, sliding over the ice, away from the pack of wolves. He couldn't stand, but it didn't matter as he looked back up to see the pack of wolves congregating at the edge, none of them daring to take a step on the ice, and a moment later, Arlaige knew why. He was in the middle of the lake.

He looked down at his own reflection in the clear glass of the lake and as he slowly moved, a sharp crack resounded around the open space around him and he watched as the ice splintered below him. There was only darkness beneath him.

He didn't move a muscle, even as his lungs burned from not breathing, he held his breath, not daring to even make a sound, but it hadn't helped. And he only had a second to let out a sharp cry before the ice gave way under him and he was plunged into icy cold water.

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