"We're going to be devoured," Eton muttered, grinding his teeth out of fear.

"Quite, I don't think it has seen us." He gasps, All he could think of was the lesson he had spent his childhood learning. "Guess I was right all along but it's an opportunity. I won't let it slide."

Dinner and coins binged in his head.

Worse than his size was his natural stealth, even as he inched closer to the brush, he remained unheard, unspotted by the doe. No animal that massive could be so quiet. But if he was no ordinary animal, if he was of Cirdanoth origin, if he was somehow elvish then being eaten was the least of his concerns.

They should already be running. Yet maybe. . .maybe it would be a favour to the world, to his village, to himself, and his family to kill him while they were almost unnoticed. Putting an arrow through his eye would be no burden.

But despite his size, he looked like a wolf and moved like a wolf. Animal, he reassured himself.

Just an animal. He didn’t let himself consider the alternative, not when he needed his head clear, his breathing steady.

He had a hunting knife and three arrows.

The first two were ordinary arrows, simple and efficient, and likely no more than bee stings to a wolf that size.

But the third arrow, the longest and heaviest one, he had bought from a travelling peddler during a summer when he’d had enough coppers for extra luxuries, an arrow carved from the quenched flame of mountain ash, armed with an iron head the very type he had admired for such hunt.

From songs sung to them as lullabies over the cradle bed, they hated the anger of men, the anger of a hungry man like himself and the sting of his arrow will put him at greater odds.

The wolf shot from the brush in a flash of grey and white and black, his yellow fangs gleaming.

He was even bigger in the open, a marvel of muscle and speed and brute strength. The doe didn’t stand a chance. Elrond fired the ash arrow before he destroyed much else of her.

The arrow found its mark in his side, and he could have sworn the ground itself shuddered, he barked in pain, releasing the doe’s neck as his blood sprayed on the snow, so ruby bright.

He whirled toward Elrond, those yellow eyes wide,

hackles raised. His low growl reverberated in the air and empty pit of his stomach as he surged to his feet, snow churning around him, another arrow drawn.

But the wolf merely looked at him, his jaws stained with blood, his ash arrow protruding so vulgarly from his side, he ran using the wood as cover.

The snow began falling again. He looked, and with a sort of awareness and surprise that made him fire the second arrow. Just in case that intelligence was of the immortal, wicked sort.

The wolf didn’t try to dodge the arrow as it went clean through his wide yellow eyes.

He collapsed to the ground.

Colour and gloom whirled, eddying in his vision, mixing with the snow.

The wolf's legs were twitching as a low whine sliced through the wind.

Impossible—he should be dead, not dying. The arrow was through his eye almost to the goose fletching.

But wolves or any mythical creatures didn't matter. Not with that ash arrow buried in his side.

He’d be dead soon enough. Still, his hands shook as he brushed off the snow and edged closer, still keeping a good distance. Blood gushed from the wounds he had given staining the snow crimson and later bright sprinkles radiated.

"What is happening, why emit odd colours instead of blood?" The silver glitters blended as if creeping onto his skin he felt it walk through his veins assimilating with his flesh, and he groaned, his mouth held tight to prevent courting attention. He pulled away with terror turning to Eton he sighed. But the wolf clawed him. "Get the fuck off of me!" He screamed.

The snow swirled around them. Elrond stared at him until that coat of charcoal and obsidian and ivory ceased rising and falling. Wolf, just a wolf, despite his size and whatever he felt moving in his body, was just from the spasm of holding the arrow.

"It's bizarre, that wolf was unusual, I'm shivering from this. Aside from his enormous size, it's white, a bad omen." Elton rolled his eyes.

"Did you see that? I mean the snow swirled and. . ." Eton's eyes widened."Forget it." He shrugged it,

"What?" Eton asked.

"It's nothing." Eltond hid his hand in his sleeves. "At least don't stand there hovering, come here. Hold this side while I skin the wolf." Eton aided as Elrond skinned the wolf and cleaned his knife to his best.

If anything it warmed his hand. He wrapped his hand around the doe's skin before helping Eton with the wolf's skin, perfectly wrapped to avoid dripping blood.

Grunting against the weight, he grasped the legs of the deer and spared a final glance at the steaming remains of the wolf.

The wolf's remaining golden eyes stared at the snow-heavy sky, and for a moment, Elrond wished he had it in him to feel remorse for the dead thing.

But this was the forest, and it was winter.

The sun had set by the time they exited the wood, their knees shaking. Their hands stiff from clenching the legs of the deer had gone utterly numb miles ago. Not even the wolf carcass could ward off the deepening chill on Eton.

"We shouldn't have gone deep. There is darkness in the heart of the forest. Had we not been attacked by the wolf that I feared, something bigger still would have attacked. I feel bad about this."

"That is a telltale, nothing of such exit it is just some creepy things to make us not leave Charevibe."

"You believe there is a greater world out there don't you?"

"The flame island filled with all the beauties."

"You have no gold or possession. A wolf skin can't get you past the sea." Eton hissed the truth.

Elrond reasoned to it, no sailor will accept him on the boat without at least a bigger copper.

There was stillness as they stepped up the road path each fueled by near-dizzying hunger.

Hopkin's voice halted them as he talked almost to himself, his palm warming by the fire inside the house could be heard.

Elrond kicked his boots against the stone door frame, knocking the snow from them. Bits of ice came free from the grey stones of the cottage, revealing the faded ward markings etched around the entrance.

Hopkin had once convinced a passing charlatan to trade the engravings against darkness in exchange for one of his wood carvings; he was less of a hard-working father. Scared.

Coward. There was so little that their father was ever able to do for them that he hadn’t possessed the heart to tell him the engravings were useless and undoubtedly fake.

Eton yanked open the wooden door, the frozen iron

handle biting his skin like an asp. Heat and light

blinded them as they slipped inside.

Elrond took a calming breath as he slung the doe off his shoulders. She hit the wooden table with a thud, rattling a ceramic cup on its other end.

"Father they brought home a doe," Grace said, the undercurrent of hunger rasped her words into a sharpness that had become too common in recent weeks. "From where?'' She asked. "Elrond?''

“Where do you think I got it?” Elrond's voice had

turned hoarse, each word burning as it came out.

Their father’s deep rumble came from the fire. His dark beard was neatly trimmed, his face spotless."You boys had luck in bringing us a feast."

"We can have half the meat this week." Elrond didn't want to let them know of the wolf. It was forbidden for the humans of Charevibe to have a wolf for food. "We can dry the other half." He hovered over the pelt. "And see how much we can get for the pelt tomorrow at the market." He finished more to himself.

Elrond knew for a fact that they were half-siblings; they treated him otherwise. Part of his responsibility as the eldest boy, even with Eton's claim in the house was to provide food.

Hopkin's dark eyes flicked to him. "Eton," he

murmured, and his mouth became a tight line. "You're the eldest Elrond, you shouldn't have taken Eton."

"I'm a man and no longer a boy, father!" Eton retorted. He hates to be daddy's pet.

“Where did you get this?”

“The same place we got the deer,” Elrond replied with equal quiet, his words cool and sharp.

Their father's gaze travelled over the bow and quiver strapped to Elrond's back, the wooden-hilted hunting knife at his side. His eyes turned damp. “Boys, the risk. . .”

Elrond jerked his chin at the pelt, unable to keep the snap from his voice as he said, “I had no other choice,"

What he wanted to say was that his father didn't attempt to leave the house were it not for him they would starve, and were it not for him they would die.

"Let me tell you something, in the winter we must protect one another. When the snow falls and the white wind blows, the lone wolf dies and the pack survives, this is quite an extraordinary creature you have got up there."

Eton with guilt became quiet, and he looked up in time to see Grace crinkle her nose with a sniff. She picked at his cloak. “You stink like a pig covered in its mud. Can’t you at least try to pretend that you’re not an ignorant peasant?"

Elrond took his time swallowing the disgusting word he wanted to bark at her. His jaw clenched.

“Please,” he asked, calming his breathing, knowing an argument was the last thing he needed or wanted. “Please get up at dawn to chop that wood,” Elrond unbuttoned the top of his tunic. "Or we’ll be eating a cold breakfast.” he sounded so tired and bothered that even his ample father sensed the dark energy of his catch. He was afraid to touch it, afraid that if he reached for it the same thing will repeat itself and the house will collapse from the swirling. Swirling that he thought he had become delusional.