Blood in the Snow

The forest was still. Only the soft crunch of snow beneath padded paws disturbed the silence. Above the pines, the pale moon hung like a silver coin, spilling cold light through the branches.

Korr loped at the head of his pack, breath steaming in the night air. Each stride was smooth and tireless. Veyra kept close to his right flank, her grey coat melting into the shadows, while Hask, Tirn, and the rest followed in a loose, staggered formation.

They had been running since dusk, following the faint musk of deer, when another smell cut through the crisp air. It was faint, yet sharp. Sweat. Oil. Steel.

Humans.

Korr slowed, tail flicking in warning. The pack froze as one, lifting their heads to taste the wind. Then it came: an undertone of iron. Blood.

The wolf in him leaned toward caution. The human in him urged forward. He padded ahead, each step soundless, until the trees thinned and the shadows gave way to a clearing.

A wagon sat half-buried in snow, its goods scattered like spilled guts. Three men in ragged cloaks surrounded a fourth man who knelt in the snow. His hair was streaked with grey, his face lined and weary. A small chest lay beside him, its coins spilled and glinting like frozen stars.

“Please, do not kill me,” the merchant pleaded, voice hoarse with fear. “I have a family.”

The tallest bandit laughed, drawing a notched sword. “Then you should have stayed with them.”

The others chuckled, already tasting the kill.

Something twisted in Korr’s chest. The merchant’s fear, the bandits’ cruelty, it gnawed at him. The wolf might have walked away. But the boy from another world refused.

A low growl slid from his throat.

Veyra’s ears twitched. Hask’s eyes narrowed. Wolves did not waste blood on Two Legs without cause. But the alpha had given his command.

Korr exploded into motion, snow scattering under his paws. The closest bandit turned too late, Korr’s weight slamming into him and knocking him flat with a cry. Steel flashed, but Veyra was faster, clamping her jaws on the swordsman’s arm and tearing the weapon free.

Hask barreled into another, dragging him down in a spray of snow. Tirn harried the last man, snapping at his legs and driving him toward the wagon.

Chaos erupted. Blades cut the air. Teeth found flesh. The clearing rang with snarls and screams. The bandits swung wildly, but the wolves were shadows given form, too quick, too close.

One broke and ran, only to meet Veyra’s bared fangs. Another swung blind, slicing Tirn’s flank. Korr was there instantly, jaws crushing the man’s wrist until bone gave way. The sword fell. The man crumpled, clutching the ruin of his arm.

It ended as swiftly as it began. The pack began to feast, blood steaming in the cold. Wolves did not leave meat to rot.

Korr stood apart. He had killed humans for the first time, a necessary act to save the merchant, but he would never eat the flesh of men.

Steam curled from his breath. “It is safe now,” he told the merchant, his voice carrying human words from a predator’s mouth.

The man stared at him, eyes wide. “You… you are…”

“Just a spirit of the forest,” Korr said. “Go, before darker spirits find you.”

The merchant grabbed the chest and fled, coins clinking in the night.

The pack’s eyes lingered on him. Wolves did not question their alpha, yet Korr felt the unspoken weight of their silence.

The moon hung above them, pale and cold. In the distance, the scent of blood still rode the wind.