After the Hunt

Before I could even react, the three Wendigos ran toward me. Their movements were so fast I couldn’t even track them. One of them slashed me across the chest, the impact knocking me backward and sending the Colt flying from my hand.

Warm blood soaked the front of my shirt. Ignoring the pain, I pulled out my flare gun in one hand and the angel blade in the other. Now that I knew what I was facing, everything became much easier. I had their one and only weakness—fire.

One of them lunged again. I fired the flare gun point-blank.

The flare ignited its flesh instantly, burning it alive. The creature shrieked and collapsed, writhing before turning still. The other two saw this and howled even louder.

I knew I wouldn’t have time to reload, so I tossed the flare gun aside and braced myself for close combat. With my wound slowing me down, I wasn’t sure I could handle two at once.

They leapt together, claws ready to rip me apart—

—but one of them was suddenly hurled away by a massive force, slamming into the cave ceiling before dropping to the ground.

The Amarok had headbutted it.

Seizing the moment, I tightened my grip on the angel blade and charged at the remaining Wendigo. Maybe because of the Amarok’s pressure, it froze just long enough. My blade struck clean, piercing its chest. The creature burst into flames and dissolved into smoke.

Looks like the angel blade had a similar function to the Colt.

I grabbed the fallen Colt and approached the final Wendigo—the one pinned under the Amarok’s giant paw. It thrashed weakly, helpless beneath the weight of the beast.

Without hesitation, I drove the blade into its skull.

The Wendigo gave one final howl before turning to ash like the others.

I lifted my gaze. The Amarok stared back at me.

Knowing I had hurt it earlier, I slowly knelt down, trying to appear as sincere as possible. I wanted it to understand that I was asking for forgiveness. I knew this wasn’t some pagan god for forest spirit. The Amarok was something older. Stronger. Mythical.

The pup limped beside me and lowered itself too, its small body trembling. The bandages I had wrapped were still tight around its leg. It whined softly, almost coaxing its mother to spare me.

The cave fell silent.

Then the Amarok let out a low howl.

Not anger.

Forgiveness.

Its eyes then shifted to me, deep and ancient, as if it were speaking without words. At first, I didn’t understand. But slowly, something happened—not a voice, not an image, but a feeling. A connection.

And I knew what it wanted me to do.

The Amarok and its pup turned and walked deeper into the cave, disappearing into the darkness.

I checked my wound. Luckily, the claw hadn’t cut too deeply. After a quick first aid, I rested among the piles of bones until daylight.

When I woke, sunlight filtered into the cave. I stepped outside and called the authorities. They said it would take a few hours to reach me due to the snowstorm. I ended the call and waited. For the first time in a long while, I felt alive.

Everything went as planned.

They found me lying at the cave entrance.

I told them I stumbled upon the human remains while seeking shelter during the storm.

When they asked about my wound, I said it came from a wild wolf.

After being discharged from the small medical center in town, I returned to the cottage I had rented... and chose to stay there permanently.

As for the Amarok’s demand—the price of forgiveness—

I was to remain in the Arctic for the rest of my life, acting as a guardian of the forest. A ranger, in my own words. My role was to ensure no human would ever harm its pups or invade its territory again. In return, the Amarok would provide food for me—freshly hunted animals left at my doorstep during the night. I never heard it come. Somehow, the massive creature delivered offerings without making a sound.

From that day forward, this became my life.

Patrolling the forest, rescuing trapped wildlife, warning away hikers and trespassers.

Sometimes I had to fire warning shots to scare stubborn humans away. I never actually shot anyone—didn’t need to.

Once a week, I offered a share of my own hunt at the entrance of the cave. Whenever I turned away, the carcass vanished. But something always remained.

A faint line in the snow—subtle enough for normal eyes to miss, but unmistakable to mine.

The frozen trail of the Amarok.