It was amusing to Yliren that Neyl believed she was leaving to her death but she felt it was necessary to get the last insult. There was no concern in her voice, she was there simply to say, “I told her so,” when she never returned. The depths of that woman’s pettiness would always be a fascination for Yliren. Even when it came to the woman who had attempted to make her life miserable for the last eleven years, Yliren could not muster up enough emotion to hate her. It would mean the woman held some importance in her life, and she didn’t.

It wasn’t that Yliren was more likable. She wasn’t, Yliren was prickly and moody and with her training as a hunter, downright dangerous when she was angry. Kymn was the only one who looked past her permanent scowl and attitude. Neyl had guaranteed Yliren wouldn’t have any friends when they had brought her in, dirty, tangle and in rags.

They didn’t know how long she had lasted in the little hut back in the woods after her parents had died. Neyl told the children she was raised by the animals, that she was no better than an animal herself. It probably didn’t help that she began thrashing and acting as if she were feral.

It wasn’t because Yliren was prettier. The villagers all had darker features, russet skin, dark eyes and dark brown or black hair, Yliren’s skin was colored similarly, but her hair was the color of reddened sand and her eyes a mixture of brown and green, like the forest.

These were not features that were attractive to her people. Not that Yliren cared, she was a hunter, most of her was covered in gear to keep her warm in the cold woods while she hunted.

Neyl fit the description of a villager to perfection. Long dark hair, dark exotic eyes. Plus, she was the daughter of the chief. She was vain and spoiled and Yliren didn’t care to play the little games that made Neyl feel more important than she really was.

The widow, who had taken her in, though she was not a kind woman, elicited some fondness from Yliren. She was strict, kept to her rules and punished Yliren when she disobeyed. The Widow’s own son had been lost to the Knawl a few months before Yliren had been found and brought to the village.

The woman was consistent and Yliren could appreciate that, but Kymn was the only person in the village she truly cared for. He had been loyal to her for seven years, stood by her, defended her. She would not abandon him now.

She traveled for a few hours, trudging through drifts of snow that came halfway up her calves. The valley had always been covered in snow, plagued by the storm that never gave relief for more than half a day.

The village was tucked just inside the line of trees to the west, managing to avoid the brunt of the storm. The sweeping ice and snow kept them confined within the woods unless you were brave enough to face it. There was little Yliren was afraid of.

She made her small shelter and tried to sleep until the sun peeked over the horizon. There were only a few hours of sunlight before the storm blew in. The snow came first, falling heavy, then the winds came, blowing the snow and ice in horizontal drifts across the white landscape.

Yliren bundled up, pulling her fur-lined hood over her head and covering as much of her face as she could. If she stopped here, the snow would have her covered with-in a few hours, so she pushed on toward the line of trees where the ground met the sky.

Yliren knew if she could not get to the woods soon, she would freeze to death before she could even make it to the Knawl. The valley was only a day-and-a-half trip, but there was no cover from the elements. She kept her head down and pushed forward.

The wind let-up slightly, and Yliren could see the line of trees in the distance. These woods were unknown for the villagers. No one who ventured in ever came out. Yliren only had a general idea of where to enter from those who had come this far and turned back in fear.

As she approached, a shrill scream broke through the noise of the storm. On her right, just close enough for Yliren to make out the forms with her trained eyes, was an elk surrounded by a pack of wolves. It was a smaller pack, maybe five or six wolves circled and dodged as the frightened creature charged at anything that came near it.

For a moment, Yliren considered walking past, letting things play out as they normally would. The wolves would bait it, wear it out, until it was too weak to hold them off, then go in for the kill. Since they had just surrounded it, there were a good forty-five minutes before it would be tired enough for the wolves to take it down.

As a hunter, Yliren sympathized with the wolves. It was cold, always cold, and she was hungry. They were hungry and a meal the size of an elk was hard to come by. They would kill it eventually, there was no point in prolonging the elk's distress or the wolfs hunger.

Yliren pulled an arrow, nocked it in her bow and stepped closer to the skirmish to get a better aim on the elk. It charged a wolf that came too close, then as the creature back away, she exhaled and released the arrow.

As usual, her aim was true, the arrow plunging into the animal’s chest cavity. It screeched and faltered, and the wolves attacked. One wolf, a darker one with gray fur, latched on to the elk’s throat, using its momentum to pull the elk down and the others leaping to help it fall.

Then they feasted on the dying beast. Satisfied with her good deed for the day, Yliren shouldered her bow and continued towards the woods. She was far enough from the pack that she would not disturb them, but the eerie feeling of her hair standing on end had Yliren looking over her shoulder.

Though the ice she could barely make out a white form between her and the pack. A wolf, coat as light as the snow it stood in, watched her intently as she trekked further away from them. It didn’t move to follow her, just watched until she was approaching the woods.

When she finally reached the tree line, the wind and snow eased, broken up by the thick fir trees. She ventured deep into the thickets and set up camp as the sun disappeared behind her. Though she knew drawing a fire this close was a risk, but if she didn’t get some warmth she would not survive the night.

Yliren made a small fire, one that she would let die to embers once she was warm enough to survive the night and sat on her knees, soaking up the heat from the flames. She would get a few hours of sleep and start out again well before the sun rose.

Yliren would have to push herself if she were to find Kymn quickly. He had already been missing for too long. The probability of him being alive was low. She wasn’t a fool, Yliren knew the chances of finding him alive were slim and she was most likely headed to her own death. But, she couldn’t let it go. Anger formed a white-hot ball in her chest.

It took her four days before she realized she missed him, his wide, innocent eyes, his heart-shaped grin, the timber of his voice. She couldn’t remember ever feeling that emotion before. As the days passed the feeling only increased, making her long to see him, hear him call her.

Yliren wanted to say she felt that for her parents, but she couldn’t remember enough of them to miss. At first, she was furious with him, the first person she had managed to care about ran off, attempting to be a hero.

That wasn’t fair, he wasn’t trying to be a hero, he was trying to be honorable. It was one of the things she liked about him. He was honorable, trustworthy, and dependable.

The Knawl’s defining siren pulled Yliren out of her thoughts. The sound brought the familiar sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Adeptly, she readied her bow, nocking an arrow and tugging the string back, scanning the area in which it came. It was pointless, one arrow wouldn’t kill it, but it made her feel safer.

The Knawl was close. Not enough for the village to hear its feeding call, but only a half to three-quarters of a day’s hike from her now. And it just had a taken a victim, which meant Kymn could have just become the Knawl’s meal. She refused to believe that.

Another sound caught her attention. A rustle several yards behind her, back in the trees from the clearing had her spinning. Yliren held her breath and froze. The wolf, majestic, stark white but for the stain of blood on its muzzle, stood taller than she knelt. It stepped into the clearing slowly, its ears drawn back in suspicion, but its tail was low. It was unusual behavior, the ears meant it was alert, but its tail indicated it was not threatening her.

More movement further behind it caught her eye. Just beyond the trees was the rest of its pack, and Yliren’s heart dropped, her chest constricted. She wouldn’t even make it to Kymn. One wolf was a possibility, but six could only mean she would die here.

There was no escape, she couldn’t outrun them, out-smart them, or overpower them. Even if she hadn’t alerted them to her presence by shooting the elk, they would have caught her scent from nearly a mile away, and she had come closer than that before she even saw them.

Even now, the fear she felt was not for herself. Kymn was somewhere out there, he needed her and she would get herself killed before she could even find him. He would be so angry with her if he knew. He had little chance without her. Either way, she would be with him soon. Yliren wouldn’t run, she would fight to the death, no matter what the odds were.