He willed the chicken skin shelter to dissolve back into his inventory, the leathery material vanishing without a trace. The silence that rushed in to fill the space was profound and unnerving.
"Wow, it is really quiet this morning," he whispered, his breath misting in the cold air. "I mean, the birds are supposed to be chirping, right?"
A primal instinct, honed by his recent battles, screamed a warning. Being wary, he summoned his glaive, the weight of the weapon a familiar comfort in his hands.
He dropped into a low crouch, every muscle coiled, his senses stretched to their limits.
Suddenly, from the deep shadows between the gnarled trees, pairs of blue eyes ignited. One pair. Then two. Four. Six. They emerged not with snarls, but with a chilling, silent grace.
Six Tier 1 Shadow Wolves, their fur the colour of charcoal and ash, their eyes burning with cold, intelligent malice.
Eis's blood ran cold. Six was too many. He couldn't win a stand-up fight. His mind, now sharper from the previous day's gains, calculated in a flash. Run.
Break their formation. Take them one by one.
He turned and exploded into a sprint, his [Agility +2] granting him a burst of speed that surprised even him. The wolves gave chase, a silent, flowing wave of death.
He led them through a thicket of brambles, the thorns tearing at his clothes but slowing the pack. One wolf, younger and more impatient, lunged ahead of the others.
Eis spun on his heel, the glaive a silver arc in the dim light. He didn't swing to wound; he thrust, putting all his momentum behind the spear-tip. It caught the wolf in the throat, and a choked yelp was the only sound it made before it collapsed.
Five left.
He ran again, vaulting over a fallen log. Two wolves tried to flank him. He feinted left, then dropped and swept the glaive low, catching one in the foreleg. It stumbled with a pained whine.
As the second lunged for his exposed side, he rolled, coming up with the glaive pointed upward, impaling the beast through its soft underbelly.
Three left.
He was tiring now, his breath ragged. He made for a narrow ravine, a place where they could only come at him single file. Another wolf, driven by bloodlust, charged the narrow passage.
Eis stood his ground, bracing the glaive's butt against a rock. The wolf ran itself through on the spearhead.
Two left.
He turned to face the final pair. One was a standard Shadow Wolf, though larger than the others. The other was the pack leader, a massive brute with a scar across its muzzle and eyes that held a terrifying, ancient cunning.
The standard wolf charged. Eis was ready. He parried its snapping jaws and drove his blade deep into its side.
One left.
The alpha.
It didn't rush. It moved slowly, its blue eyes locked on Eis, assessing him as he assessed it. They were both wounded, both breathing heavily, both drenched in the scent of blood and battle.
A silent understanding passed between them: only one would leave this ravine.
The alpha lunged. It wasn't a straightforward charge; it was a feint, a twist in the air that bypassed Eis's thrust.
Eis managed to bring the glaive's shaft up to block the snapping jaws, but the impact sent him stumbling back.
He swung wildly, carving a gash along the wolf's shoulder. The beast roared in silent fury and charged again.
This time, there was no finesse. It was pure, desperate brutality. The wolf slammed into him, its weight driving him to the ground. Eis dropped his glaive, his hands closing around the beast's throat as he tried to keep those dagger-like teeth from his face.
The wolf's claws raked his sides, tearing through cloth and flesh. With a final, Herculean effort, Eis managed to free one hand, find the knife at his belt, and drive it again and again into the wolf's ribs.
The wolf shuddered, its strength failing. But in its dying moment, it made one last, convulsive lunge. Its head snapped forward, and its fangs sank deep into the side of Eis's neck.
A hot, blinding pain erupted, followed by a terrifying coldness. Eis's vision swam, the world narrowing to a tunnel.
He felt the wolf go limp on top of him, its dead weight pressing him into the bloody ground.
He tried to push it off, but his arms wouldn't respond. The cold spread, creeping up from his extremities towards his core.
A final, blood-filled breath escaped his lips.
And then, everything went blank.
A rough voice cut through the ringing silence in his mind.
"Hey... isn't he that kid? From that weird family? With those ugly bitches?"
A pause, then a grunt of recognition. "Wait, he is. Let's go check on him. I think he's dead."
Eis felt a boot nudge his side, sending a fresh wave of agony from his wounds. He couldn't even groan.
"No, he's still breathing. Barely. Come on, get him up. Let's go, we need to arrive at the village before night."
Hands, calloused and none too gentle, grabbed him under his arms and hauled him upright. The world spun in a nauseating carousel of grey sky and dark trees.
"Ugh, look at this mess. Come on, stop the bleeding before he dies. What a waste of a poultice."
He felt a coarse, stinging paste being slathered onto the deep gashes on his sides and the terrifying puncture wounds on his neck. It was a brutal, utilitarian act, meant to staunch the flow, not to heal.
One of the men hoisted Eis's limp form over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. The jolting motion was its own special kind of torture.
"Stupid kid. What was he doing out here alone?"
"Who cares? We'll get his family to pay for rescuing him," the first voice chuckled, a nasty, greedy sound. "We hope they have some good meat. That family's always been odd, but they usually have decent provisions."
"Yeah... payment. Let's move."
And with that, the world faded in and out as Eis was carried away from the site of his mutual kill, his fate now tied to the mercenary whims of his rescuers, his survival nothing more than a potential transaction.