The night is silent, the sound of snow crunching beneath his feet echoing loudly. The cold is biting into his bare skin, his stomach keeps reminding of the need to feed, his legs numb from all the kilometers of march in deep snow, yet he walks. He has to. He has to return home.

It only took him a few minutes of looking around to know the right direction. He crouches on the snow and sniffs the chilling air. Despite the darkness and silence surrounding him, he knows that he is not alone. He carefuly makes his way across a frozen river, only seemingly serene. A wrong step and he can topple onto the harder than stone ice or worse, he can break it and then there shall be no rescue from the cold flow. Once relatively safely on the other bank he double checks the environs. It is there, a mark, a footprint, still fresh. A beast is near. His stomach urges him to follow the track without hesitation. But he is a Hunter, he knows he has to be careful. Just as he is about to leave he notices another print. He is not the sole Hunter here.

He is late. The glistening white snow is covered in vast splatters of red. A trail of blood leads away from the slaughter. He is outmatched, he lost. But he is not angry, nor griefs the loss. Instead a cold desire of payback grows within him, making even the weather outside neglectable. He surveys the area. To follow into the den of the Hunters would be to sentence oneself. He is a hunter, he knows exactly what to do. He walks away from the carnage scene. The snow no longer crunches beneath his feet. He makes no sound as if he was one with the night engulfing the world.


Hours pass and he still walks, silent and unnoticed. The dawn is breaking. He stops abruptly and looks down on the glistening snow patch in front of him. He has found what he sought, fresh traces of paws run straight through the white spot. He starts moving slowly and even more careful than before, if that even is possible. He is the Hunter now, but he is no fool, a single mistake and he will become prey instead. His eyes pierce the shadows cast by the trees in the slowly rising sun. He stops and sniffs the air. No man would be able to pick up the scent of his prey in the frozen woods, but he is no man. As if he picked something up he suddenly changes direction. He steps surely, yet makes no sound. The snow does not moan crushed beneath his powerful feet, not a crack of a snapping twig.

Even more time passes, enough for the sun to rise highly on the sky and cast it brightness across the landscape. His heart rises. The prey he hunts sleeps now, waiting for the solace of the night to walk out of its lair, yet he still remember not to underestimate his foe. He walks up onto a small hill and seeks more marks in the snow. Suddenly he freezes. He gazes upon the tracks in front of him and the realisation strikes him. - he has lost again. He lost the battle of wits and is no longer the Hunter, he is the Prey now. Still he does not fear, long ago he forgot that feeling. He turns immidately as he hears a silent growl behind him. They are face to face, Hunter and Prey. A lone Man pittied against the greatest of all Hunters. The huge wolf stares at him and he returns the gaze, looking straight into the darkness within its eyes. The best is huge, easily at least his size. It's dark grey fur covered with snow and blood of its victims, its fangs bare with remains of those unfortunate beings that met it before stuck inbetween them. It is alone however, its pack is nowhere to be seen. His thoughts race as he desperately seeks ways to save his life. His only weapons are a short knife, his hands and his wits, should he been an ordinary man he would be dead already. But he is no longer just a man.

Without warning the beast leaps. In a split second the knife makes its way into his hands as he is rolling to the right to dodge the attack. The beast lands heavily on the snow, but its as swift and agile as he is, if not more. Five seconds after its leap he is granted four cuts that would become a fine scar on his forearm. But he lives, that is all that matters. The beast growls and he snarls in response. He notes in his mind that his fangs are very much akin to the wolf to his surprise. They clash again, he grips the beast just as its about to rip his throat yet its weight overwhelms him and he is knocked onto the ground. The knife is sent flying and last he knows of it is the sound of it plunging into deep snow. He struggles as the wolf tries to reach his neck, snapping its mighty jaws with a force that could shatter his bones. Crimson blood covers his chest as the paw he was unable to block slashes through it. A few more seconds and I'm dead, a voice seems to shout in his head. He focuses his strength and in one moment manages to roll over with the beast, off the slope he walked up. Still grappling they hit a mighty tree growing on the slope. The split second of surprise was enough for him to disconnect from the wolf and stand up on his feet. Blood covers him and he can feel the pain in his left tigh, chest and both arms. But that pain pales in comparison to what he went through in the past days. Quickly he backs up scouring the area for his lost blade. However the wolf does not give him the comfort of time and resumes its attack, leaping again. He sidesteps to the left swinging his arm. A mighty blow strikes the beast's head throwing it off balance. It lands on its side, a chance to strike back opening up for him. But just as he is about to press on he catches a faint glint in the snow nearby. Using the brief moment he quickly dashes to that location. He is too slow.

Like a thunder the mass of the beast falls on his back, toppling him over onto the ground again. The massive claws cutting painfuly into his skin. He lets out a hurt roar of anger. Yet the beast does not end him. Instead it claws more and bites into his arm, causing new explosions of overwhelming pain. His vision erupts in white as the sharp canines dive deeper into his flesh. Suddenly he feels a fire within him. Fire and fury so great and so mighty, that it would give him the power of gods. All he has to do is reach out deep inside of him and grasp it. He can feel its might wash over his body, no pitiful wolf could stand against him. But with the fire comes the darkness. Still, isn't the darkness overwhelming him a small price to pay for his life? He feels as though his fangs grew longer, his claws getting sharper, the expression of his face changing...

No. He focuses his mind. A lone figure in dark black armour. His helm in the shape of a skull and his eyes deep below gazing straight into his soul as he hands him a golden cup. The twisted, corrupt body of the misfortuned that did not possess the inner strength laying on the cold stone floor nearby. But is is the reminder of these eyes brings him back to his senses. He finds new strength, but not coming from the fiery void deep within him. However with the senses returns the pain. It is so excrutiating it nearly catches him off track again, but he managed to get a grip on himself. With inhuman effort and power he throws the beast off his back. Caught off guard it flies over only to drop clumsily on its feet a meter away. But that is enough. With agility of the hunters of legend he reaches into the snow, pulling his blade. Its grip reassures him further as he leaps onto the beast with a battlecry that could terrify a kraken. The wolf is stumped, surprised with such sudden turn of events. It no longer is the Hunter. He throws himself onto it, slicing with his knife. The blade is too blunt to cut through its skin however. The wolf regains its wits a resumes its flurry of claws. He dodges some, but most earn him even more bleeding cuts. He does not lose his weapon this time though and swings back at the beast, using the arm without the knife instead however. It sends the beast flying again, but this time it twists landing on its paws and resuming its attack again. Yet in that split second he realises what power he possesses now. What gift has the Allfather given him. As the wolf flies towards him he pulls his head back.. and headbutts the wolf mightily straight between the dark eyes. It whimpers and thumps on the ground before his feet. Using the momentum he plunges the knife straight into the beasts neck with all the force he can muster. The blade goes straight through the thick fur and skin and a gout of dark blood splutters from the gash. The beast still struggles, but he presses onto it with all his weight, pushing the blade even deeper. It growls fiercely, yet with a faint weak tone in its voice. It suddenly stops struggling. Even though its eyes are dark, he knows it gazes upon him now. It admits his superiority. It lets out a single moaning howl and its eyes grow blank.

He gets up slowly, as if afraid the beast is only tricking him, but it moves no more. He gazes upon it in silence and the looks up on the sky. What felt like an eternal battle couldn't have taken more than 5 minutes. His eyes return to the beast. He nods respectfuly and mutters something incomprehensible. Slowly he kneels before the body and grips his knife once more.

He would return home. And he would bring a trophy of a worthy Hunter.



The stars behind the main deck view-port glow brightly, obscured only by a huge oval of the planet below. A mountainous world under the sovereignity of the Allfather. The sovereignity that has recently been threatened. Hrodgar stands silently gazing the planet below him, surface of which soon he will walk upon. So alike to the mighty Fenris, yet so different. He finishes polishing the huge armoured gauntlet of his mighty armour and puts it on. Enough reminiscing.




(Hope you enjoyed this at least a little bit! Let me know, if you did, I might come up with more in the future)