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Hello there, and welcome back to this novel! "Sons of Winter" is a bit of an experiment on my part. It is what I call a "High creative-freedom novel commission" in which the commissioner allows me a great deal of liberty to detail the plot, as well as employ any number of OCs I deem necessary to help guide the protagonist down his fated path. So, the reason why I liked to call this a personal work is because it definitely feels like one. However, after talking with my beloved patron, he allowed me to credit him in order to give proper recognition to his OC, as well as provide an example into how these sort of novel commissions look like ^^

So, without further ado, let's get readin'!

Sons of Winter chapter 3: Unyielding (high creative-freedom novel commission written for Teufel: http://www.furaffinity.net/user/dragonteufel/ )

Description: Aleks attends a dragon's funeral and makes a decision that might shape the rest of his life.

Aleks belongs to Teufel: http://www.furaffinity.net/user/dragonteufel/

The other characters featured in this novel are my creation

*

Aleks shifted from one side to the other, his bed as foreign to him as his recently acquired memories. The outcome of the battle was, in some ways, just as shocking as the attack itself. Aleks had barely managed to keep his eyes closed for more than a couple of seconds at a time. Every time he managed that extraordinary feat, the clash of steel would once again ring in his ears, a familiar sound for a blacksmith...

Were it not for the howls of pain that quickly followed. He saw hundreds perishing around him. Hundreds of warriors that he'd seen walk the streets of his village. Hundreds of fathers who'd never return to their families.

To make it worse, ghostly sounds were the least of his concerns. He saw images too. Flashes of memories so real, they transported him back to that dreadful battlefield. Aleks could almost feel the flames that had consumed the outskirts of his village singe his fur. He practically smelled the stench of blood that soured the air in a choking miasma that remained in his nostrils even now. His heart raced inside his chest as if he became the prey of the Chimaera all over again, running--or better said, stumbling--for his life.

"N-no, it's not real." The blue wolf jerked up on his bottom. He fretfully looked around the room as if the creature would break through the walls at any moment. "Haaah...that's...that's not real. I'm home. I'm inside my home. My home is real," Aleks said to calm himself down. Everything looked more or less the same around him, just as he had left it before he met up with Ruthnyr.

But in the deep reaches of his mind, Aleks no longer felt the comforting familiarity with his surroundings. Just like his tired body, his mind remained stuck in a dazing state of fatigue, repeating the most shocking moment of the young wolf's life over and over again.

"I'm fine. It's done. It passed," he said, words without substance that couldn't possibly stem those terrible images or quiet the dreadful ring in his ears.

Aleks took a few deep breaths, then crashed his head down on the pillow, pulling the furs over his head. He had often sought darkness for comfort, but now, his old ally seemed to turn against him. As he closed his eyes once again, Aleks saw the starry sky above him. For a moment, he thought he had managed to escape the grip of strife.

Then, a deafening roar came from above. A huge, two-headed beast swooped down upon him, its gigantic maws armed with rows of sharp teeth that dripped thick strands of saliva. Aleks panicked. He tried to run, but he soon found his feet glued to the ground. Vines tied his hands together. There was nothing he could do. Nowhere he could escape.

A tremor split the ground open. Ahead of him, the enemy shaman stood on top of the gigantic monolith, laughing as the runes started to fork along the stone surface in intricate patterns that hummed with ominous power. The wolf strained as hard as he could against his bonds, but every effort was rewarded with the same crashing waves of utter hopelessness.

"Nooooooooo!" Aleks screamed just as the destructive beam rampaged through his memories.

He jumped out of the bed, and the blanket flew on the opposite side of the room as the blacksmith paced around in total panic. "I can't see that. Not again. Please, not again..." Aleks whispered. He slouched over, more a beggar than a blacksmith, a hand pressed against his racing heart to make sure he was still alive. Still here, in his home, not in the pile of cinders left in the wake of the shaman's beam of destruction. Everything had happened faster than a heartbeat; so quick, that no villager caught in the beam had managed to let out as much as a yelp.

The silence became too much to bear after a while, so Aleks donned his working clothes and headed over to his shop to put on his soot covered vest and worn leather pants. He needed to do something. Anything to distract himself.

So, he got to work on what he did best, shaping steel with his trembling hands; watching metals become a pile of formless goo in the bowels of the forge through his weary, half-closed eyes. After the first hour elapsed, Aleks started counting his own heartbeats to avoid crashing down on the ground. The tools that came out were misshapen, bent at odd angles, useless. Just like him.

Regardless of the sorry state of his craft, Aleks kept on forging with everything he had left in his depleted body. It must've have been close to morning when a bang at the door made him jump from his slumped position over the table. Was somebody out there? Or was he hearing things now?

Aleks grabbed a misshapen pair of tongs and pointed the useless tool at the door. "Who is?" he asked, ears bent down in fright.

"Mifak," a young voice answered.

Aleks took a deep breath. The two-headed beast could hardly speak like that. He was safe. He had to remember that if he was ever going to function as a regular person again.

"My father's furweaver Mofren, the best in all the village. He has a new set of winter clothes if you're interested."

"Yes, yes. Wait a moment, please."

Aleks knew who addressed him. He had bought his very blanket from Mofren a few moons back. The old wolf loved to weave tales more than splitting fur from hide. He had a brave soul, coupled with a longing for great deeds that probably got him on the field of battle just so he could chronicle acts of bravery from a safe distance.

"Yeah. I know him." Aleks shook his head to dispel the unwanted thoughts straining his already thin conscience. "What brings you here at such early hours? Surely it's not just cloaks." Aleks put the tongs back and walked towards the door.

"Whoa!" he drew back from the cub's black nose that pressed against the window.

"Got ya."

"Yeah, kid...you got me..."

The white wolf giggled and wiped off his snot with the back palm of his hand. "Door closed. Pa said I can only tell to your ear."

"I was on my way to open it, you little mink," Aleks mumbled. "And if you want to know, my hearing's still fine. Who really sent you?"

The cub refused to answer, and with a heavy groan, Aleks twisted the key inside the heavy iron lock that bolted the door. He took a peek through the window, a weak smile forming on his face. Snow fell from the darkened skies, so early the sun hadn't even peeked beyond the horizon. Who could've sent a messenger so early in the morning?

The door slid open with a heavy creak. Aleks braced himself against the cold that embraced him like a frost dragon's breath. It was fierce to go out in this weather without a proper fur cloak, and Aleks regretted his decision as shivers took hold of him.

"Closer," the cub said insistently.

Aleks crouched to matcc match Mifak's tiny size.

"The Chieftain wants me to lead you to him. Says it's important," the boy whispered.

Aleks pulled himself up with a groan. "Mightiest secret I've heard in recent memory. What does he want with me?"

The white cub shrugged. "I dunno."

"What do you mean by that?"

"That I dunno," Mifak shrugged again. "Follow me."

"Alright. Wait." Aleks turned back to his shop. "I don't trust my feet to carry me through this blizzard without a pair of furs on my back."

The blacksmith emerged with two layers of furs draped over his tunic. Mifak's tiny hand grabbed onto two of his fingers, reminding him of the scared cubs that huddled together at the feet of the mountain.

"Let's go! He's waiting!"

Aleks shook his head to get his bearings right. "Yeah, I was just...thinking of what I'll say to him."

The cub, blessed be his innocence, bought into his lie. With a smile, he cheerfully led Aleks through the snowy paths of a village that would've been beautiful on a normal day. The serene landscape of the valley was slowly being pelted with snowflakes falling from the dark skies. Though he detested the cold, Aleks found the snow very calming. It crunched under his feet in the absence of other sounds, a painful reminder that today was not like the others. Aleks barely saw more than fifty villagers on his way to the chieftain's hall. The traders rested in their homes, and the wounded were being tended in all of the houses that still had roofs or undamaged lamps inside.

When they reached the Chieftain's hut--a tall, two stories building resembling more of a tavern from the outside--Aleks found himself tugged towards the alleys instead.

"This way," Mifak insisted.

"Why aren't we going in?" Aleks asked.

"You'll see. Now come!" The cub shook his little head and pulled harder towards the path that went around the chieftain's hall. Behind stood about eight armored figures, all gathered around a mound of what appeared to be stones stacked upon each other. A burial site for the heroes, perhaps?

A somber grunt attracted Aleks' eyes to the leader of the group. He immediately recognized his father from the heavy plate he wore, and the light leather cloak inscribed with the runes of the Snowfang guild. Even in this frigid weather, he preferred to stick to his traditions. The buff wolf had his great sword strapped to his back in an engraved steel sheath decorated with wool, and wore no helmet save for the layer of snow that pooled up onto his grizzled head.

"I brought him, just as instructed," Mifak said.

Gorath's ears flicked off the powdery snow that had gathered on their scarred tips. He turned around to inspect the newcomers, his amber eyes stern as ever.

"Leave," he waved the cub away. "Not you," he said to Aleks. "Look at me, boy. Leave the cub. He knows his way to duty better than you do." Gorath's voice was calm, even if his eyes revealed part of his tumultuous feelings. "Do you know why I've pulled seven of my shieldguards from their duties?"

Aleks shook his head. Better to deny knowledge than to say something that would earn his father's ire. Even a crafter like him with no knowledge of warfare had figured that at least a Snowfang shaman had to always be present at every ceremony, along with a dragon to ease the souls of the fallen into the sky's embrace.

But there was none here. Only shieldguards armed with the same heavy plate his father wore and large, battered axes in their hands. Aleks took a few steps closer. He noticed that the stack of boulders had odd extensions. Shapes that did not belong.

"Th..." Spit stuck in his throat when he realized what he was staring at. "That's..." Aleks still couldn't say it. Not with his father's eyes set upon him.

"Your frightened eyes have always told me more than your mumbling mouth ever could. My son." Gorath's voice was heavy with spite as he pushed his bare footpaw through the layers of snow to uncover more of the creature that lay underneath. After a few seconds, he rested his bare footpads against the onyx scales of a beast Aleks knew far too well.

"Nightwing...He's...he-"

"You stutter and moan as if you're just done crawling out of your mother's cunt. Pah. Coming out of her, with your breath intact and your wits about you, is the only thing you've ever done right. You resent me for always putting your two brothers before you, but what have you ever done to match their deeds, runt?"

Gorath grunted, a low, pained, ragged sound. His foot slid back and forth NightWing's neck, caressing his lifeless form.

"My firstborn, Rofak...Two seasons old he was when I've put the sword in his hand. At the age of six, he swung it better than most of the warriors in this village, and by ten he was an accomplished warrior. More than I can say about the lot of you." Gorath unsheathed his sword and swiped it left and right over the frozen dragon, unearthing four limbs and whatever remained of the wing still attached to the dragon's body. "He would've made this village strong. He was the ruler that we needed. My firstborn. My son!"

Gorath then turned his head towards Aleks, pointy fangs bared and dripping with spite. "He should've been here by my side. Should've bid his dragon--his Kindred--proper farewell. Instead I have you, a runt that forges weapons for his betters because he's too weak to hold his own!"

Gorath grabbed his sword and lifted it in an overhead grip.

Aleks froze. For a moment, he feared he was going to be the target of his father's ire. Instead, the ground trembled as Gorath plunged the great blade into the frozen earth, cracking and splitting it around his gleaming blade. Aleks knew something bad was going to happen. He was not only familiar with his father's outbursts, but also with the dread that rose along his nape, for it was the same fear that took hold of him during the battle.

"Take a single step back and I'll slice your cowardly feet off," the Chieftain barked. "My sons do not retreat when their father speaks to them! They stand their ground like warriors. And look me in the eye when I speak to you, Eternal Dragon be cursed!" Gorath roared.

Aleks forced his scared little eyes to look up from the ground. His father's gaze was colder than the snow that started to cover his body. The weight of it made Aleks feel worse than weak. It turned him downright insignificant. Like a snowflake crumpled under a heavy boulder, hidden from sight, sheltered from any source of warmth.

"You might be the most worthless of the lot, but I have to believe you carry some of my blood in your veins. I have to!" Gorath's voice started to lose its sharp edge. "I have... no other choice, no other hope to cling onto, after my two best sons abandoned me."

Aleks' heart skipped a beat. Rofak and Ruthnyr had left? He wanted to ask why. To speak.

Instead, he remained just as stunned as his father, his tired, scared little mind unable to comprehend anything he heard or saw.

Gorath rested both hands on the cross guard of his sword, his expression blank and solemn. "I have received word of it this morning from Mifak, the furweaver's son. That's why I gave him the honor to fetch you here. Because he's sharper than his father. While everybody was sleeping, that little boy saw my sons wrapped with two of the finest bear cloaks his father ever made. They headed over to Lokash, who rested on the ground, hardly able to get up, loaded from horns to tail with weapons and supplies."

After he finished speaking, Gorath stared into the distance. He wasn't one to show emotion to anybody, yet he always took great pride in the deeds of his sons. To learn they both had left in the wake of the devastating injuries left behind by Javron's attack was bound to crack his armor apart.

"It is no wonder that my firstborn desires vengeance against the bastard that stole his dragon's life, but Ruthnyr..." the Chieftain's voice sharpened to a deadly edge again. "I had things to say to him. Words that have remained in the back of my throat ever since he has departed to the lands of the humans five seasons ago. Words that I'll probably never get to say..."

The wolf shielded his muzzle with a gloved hand. He pretended to scratch an itch or cover a headache, but a few sniffles still carried upon the cold winds into Aleks' ears. The blacksmith had no idea what to say or how to feel. His emotions had been scattered and scrambled all over, yet there was a part of him that felt drawn to the suffering of others. That part of him that urged Aleks to help his fellow wolves, even if they happened to be a cold bastard like his father.

He'll punish you, cold fear whispered in his mind. When has he ever been kind to you? He saves the little goodness he has for his perfect sons and lashes you with the spite of his failures. You should stay away, like you've always done. Turn around. Turn around and leave.

But Aleks had a hard time doing so when he saw his father's eyes looking at him. There was something else in them. Something that Aleks rarely had rarely seen in his life.

The armored wolf lifted his hand to wave Aleks closer to him. As if pushed by an unseen force, the blacksmith lessened the distance between them until Gorath's heavy hand fell on his shoulder. His eyes were all moistened up, and his lips trembled with unspoken emotions.

Gorath's armor clanked. Two heavy arms squeezed Aleks' scrawny form against the heavy plate, holding him there for two long, shaky breaths.

"You've never been the heir this village needed, nor the son I wanted...but you're all I have left now."

The hug lasted for about five seconds, but it still gave Aleks trembling feet. What just happened? Did his father just...acknowledge his existence as more than a useless runt?

And it didn't stop there... Gorath started speaking about the virtues of their bloodline, listing hero after hero, each with more impressive achievements than the last.

"You are young, Aleks, and there comes a time in a cub's life when the sword has to be wrest from the hands of their parents. It is your time now. For that I offer you two choices. Join the Snowfangs and ascend to the same glory as your brothers, or become a traveler of the outside lands, for I will allow my son to be a crafter no longer. What path will you walk upon, Aleks, son of Gorath the Unyielding?"

"I'll join the order," Aleks said without the shred of a doubt. "I've made many mistakes, father...but last night taught me many things. I can serve the village better by protecting it than simply...abandoning it while I hone my skills in the Six Magics."

Gorath bowed his head with an approving smile. "Good, good. That's all I wanted to hear from a son of mine. Now linger for a moment. I want you to see him one last time before the fires reunite him with his fallen kin. You know what words to speak?"

"No," Aleks said. "I've seen the rite a few times, but..."

"I'll say them, but you'd better keep your mouth shut and absorb like a rag dipped in the sweetest of oils. It will be you who speaks to the spirits when I'm gone, and if I hear you stutter one single time, I swear by the might of my ancestors that I will haunt your dreams until the sun blackens and the sky rots with fire."

There was nothing to do but nod. Nod his head and force his eyes to remain locked on his father, for Aleks knew even the slightest hint of fear would ruin the frail bond he formed up until now. He felt tense, on the verge of breaking, every heartbeat an arrow pushed into his heart...

Then Gorath finally nodded to his shieldguards. "Reveal him, and keep your shields up to block the snow. I want my son to see this beast has battled the most wicked of wounds before he fell into eternal slumber."

Little by little, the dragon began to take shape, first the head with its two slightly curved horns, then the spine spikes, one after the other, paving the way towards the beast's tail. Nightwing might've been strong once, but the way he died, curled around himself like a beaten dog...It was a painful reminder that no beast, no matter how proud, sat beyond the reach of suffering.

"How...," Aleks quickly addressed the tone of his voice to sound surer of himself. "How did he perish, father?"

Gorath swiped the heavy sword off the ground and pointed it towards the beast's skull with a single hand.

"Here." The sharp tip slipped into a crack in the dragon's scales.

"Rofak killed his own dragon?"

"Relieved him of unnecessary suffering," the chieftain grunted, irritated by the thoughtless question. "Nightwing fought rot and pain and seeping flesh for over two days, boy. Past that, there wasn't anything left to fight for. Corruption had taken hold of most of his body. Poor beast was so weak it started fouling itself, too weak to even stand up on his feet!" Gorath nodded a few times, as if to convince himself of his own words. "My son did what was required of a Snowfang. Will you have the same strength in your arms when your time comes?"

That piercing gaze sent a shiver of weakness down Aleks' spine. "Y-yeah. I'll try."

"Try." a pained chuckle left his father's throat. "A weak word, right next to tits and cunt. A word no son of mine would ever use. Get your head down now, boy. Eternal Dragon might live outside of time, but he still has expectations. He wants his son back, and neither of you oafs has the power to deliver him because you're all cunts dressed in fur, leathers, and metals. Pah."

Gorath started speaking the language of the ancient shamans, the words flowing like the primordial elements themselves from his mouth. Some were sturdy, like rocks toppling down the mountain, while others flowed like the wind through the leaves. Though he tried his best to keep track of the eerie song, Aleks could hardly memorize an incantation that had been uttered in the halls of the shamans for centuries. How could a warrior like Gorath even know them, anyway? He never had any ties with the spirits or the elements. Only Hrothvar did.

Aleks took a step back when his father hugged Nightwing's frozen head. A silvery curtain formed around the dragon's body, then, with the last word uttered, the light blazed forth from his scales into the form of large, imposing dragon.

"That's not possible..." warm shivers raced along Aleks' fur as he met the ethereal dragon's eyes. Nightwing acknowledged his presence with a dip of his head, then unleashed a mighty roar that stirred a frenzy of shouts and claps from the shieldguards. Gorath, too, raised his sword towards the skies to guide the dragon's spirit towards the home of his ancestors, but Nightwing refused the invitation for now, flying gleefully.

"Go on now, you proud beast. You've fought hard. Now you rest."

The dragon flew through everyone that participated in the ritual. When he got to Aleks, he inched his head closer towards the wolf, as if inviting him to touch his snout.

Aleks did, and immediately his fur surged with a pleasant kind of electrifying heat that abolished every feeling of ache and fatigue in his body. He felt like he was lost in a pleasant dream, only that he wasn't alone. Nightwing was there with him in that mysterious tingling world, nestling Aleks under one of his enormous wings to share a tide of unspoken feelings that never had a chance to resurface. It shocked Aleks to realize just how deeply the dragon cared for him. His deep sense of regret for perishing before his time, his sense of duty towards the village that had raised him, his love for Rofak, but more impressive, the care Nightwing had harbored all this time under his onyx scales for the runt of the family. Aleks had always seen the dragon as some sort of malicious beast. He had always felt small and afraid around Nightwing.

But now, he began to realize just how deep he wrapped himself in a net of self-inflicted lies. Under the dragon's wing, with his hands wrapped around the pebbly scales of Nightwing's sizable snout, Aleks placed his forehead against the dragon's and broke into tears, for today he lost more than a protector.

He lost a friend.

"Son?"

Aleks shuddered back to awareness. Nightwing's spirit was gone, and all the shieldguards looked at him, including his father.

"Was I...Did I say something strange?"

"Nothing that I've heard. Go back to your home and rest. Or you can wander the village. I don't care what you do, so long as you present yourself to the Snowfang guild before the sun sets, understand?"

Gorath didn't even wait for a response. He took his shieldguards back to the Chieftain's hut to prepare Nightwing's pyre. Aleks waited until the others left, then knelt before the dragon's head to wrap whatever part of his snout he could hold in his arms.

"I'm sorry you had to leave us so soon, dragon. I just wish we could have...spent more time together. Both with you and with my brother. Keep him safe for me please...wherever his travels might take him."

Aleks cried himself back to a state of calmness, and when his wits returned, he headed towards the center of the village. The clouds above lightened up into a dull gray by now, coaxing more villagers out of their homes. Some went about their daily duties, but most lingered around the too many pyres that started to take shape in every garden, alley, or nook. Any space that didn't impede travel became the prime spot for the morbid piles of wood and kindling, each family responsible for the final rites of their fallen husbands. The warriors that had perished before being tied to a family were bunched together in bundles of six to as many as twenty-thirty. Mated pairs rested on the same pyre, with their hands intertwined, looking to each other. They would ascend to the skies together after the fire cleansed them of their decaying flesh, while commanders had their own separate beds. Ferals, such as dragons or gryphons, were too big and heavy to fit on top of anything, so they became the heart of the pyre instead, with wood strewn all around them to feed the biggest, hungriest, most sacred flames of all.

The chanting voices of the shamans, together with the flames rising all around him so soon after he was parted from Nightwing, felt like a boulder squeezing Aleks' heart down to a pulp. He ran through the closest alley and entered the Sleepy Dragon inn. The pleasant smell of cooked food and fresh bread washed over him like a tide of blessed comfort. Aleks closed the door behind him, then slowly took in the sights and smells around him. The whole concept of a lodge made to rest travelers had fascinated him since he was a cub. Gorath had told him that the first scouts came back with fascinating reports of merry travelers eating in droves, and, wishing to prove they were above humans, the tribes came up with their own version of an inn.

Sleepy Dragon was huge. Almost as big as the Chieftain's hut, made up of three floors with separate kitchens on each level. Normally, there would be laughter mixed amongst the clattering of forks or between the thudding of tankards smashed onto the table, but today, such din was replaced by a thick, unnerving silence and many empty tables.

Aleks headed to the counter to order himself a tankard of mead alongside spiced sausage on top of a hearty rabbit stew. He ate there, on his feet, if only to enjoy the company of the cook's aid. Dranm was a coyote born in the summer judging by the light browns and golds strewn into his fur, and he helped Aleks remain grounded in the present with jokes and tales of his deeds. The coyote's dream was to become an innkeeper not for fame or fortune, but to help travelers recover their bearings after a lengthy journey. Aleks asked him what kept him back, then a deep seething regret settled into his heart when the coyote revealed that his father, the cook he had learned everything from, had perished in the last battle after Javron's traitorous band washed over the village like a tide of death and destruction.

In that regard, Aleks understood why his had brother left. Somebody had to cull the beast before it had the chance to reproduce and bring even more darkness into the world.

After he cleaned his plate and downed the last gulp of fermented brew, Aleks thanked the coyote for his hospitality and headed back to his shop, where he continued forging tools throughout the rest of the day. Night arrived too soon, and with it, the jitters he tried to bury into the deepest reaches of his mind. Dark scenarios, where Javron returned to finish what he had started, kept Aleks fretting through his second night, making him wonder whether running away wasn't the safer option. He was best at it, right? That was the only thing he did right while the others had sacrificed themselves to protect the village.

That morning, he almost gave in to his fears, were it not for a young panther about eight seasons old. The navy colored cub requested a sword, out of all things. Aleks asked him why? What could such a frail creature want with a deadly weapon?

The cub responded with the fiercest face he could muster. He bravely declared himself the only male left in the family, conqueror of fears, destroyer of his enemies. A mere child, willing to do everything it took to protect his remaining family against the evil monsters that came from the forest in the night. Aleks gave him a smaller sword, and it shocked him to see that the cub struggled with the grip. After all, how could this panther risk his young, untested life, while he cowered in his shop? Was he truly beyond the reach of courage?

Was he the useless runt his father had mocked for years?

That night, after the sun fell, Aleks decided to abolish the weakness that had plagued him throughout his entire life. Equipped with his usual vest, fur cloak, and a sword sheathed at his hip, the blacksmith locked the door to his abode and strode purposefully towards his destiny. The village was easy to traverse, even in the night thanks to the luminescent crystals strewn on the side of the road or dangling from ropes tied between the buildings. It was the forest that gave Aleks troubles. With no lantern or crystals, he had to rely on his other senses to make sense of his surroundings. The light of the half-moon barely pierced through the thick canopy of the forest, and the road was bent and tricky. Bumps, roots, and all sorts of debris forced him to hang onto the trees to keep his bearings, but that wasn't always the case.

After a few hours, Aleks finally spotted a suave blue light in the darkness. He shuffled with his numb paws towards what he expected to be the enclave, stumbling around like a deserter fleeing from battle. Two Snowfangs came to greet him when he reached the outpost--wolves, just like him. One had a juvenile red dragon that reached up to his waist for a Kindred, while his partner strode upon the back of a gryphon so dark, it looked like a cloud of swirling smoke. Aleks told them of his purpose here. Strangely enough, the two Snowfangs exchanged a quick glance, then waved Aleks to follow them into the enclave, an arboreal village that looked like no other. Aleks counted about fifty of these elite hunters keeping an eye on their surroundings from atop the wooden walkways. They connected five large platforms that formed the core of the enclave, yet all around, you could see small structures built around the tree trunks. Probably storage spots for goods, or dens that protected against the elements. He couldn't be sure, as every source of light was so dim, it barely counted.

Once his party moved past the habitable enclave, darkness once again took over the frozen forest. Aleks had no idea where he was being led. He just kept following the two Snowfangs, trying hard to focus more on the journey and less on the sharp needles that stung his paws with every step. In that regard, he wished he could be the red dragon. The little beast tried to entice the larger gryphon to play, but the feathery creature kept its steady pace, focused on the objective, same as the Snowfangs.

Fortunately for Aleks, the walk ended before his feet gave in.

"You lead him on from here, Anrosh," the gryphon rider spoke. "Meet me back at the Hollow Tree when you pass him on to the spirit speakers. We both have scouting duty tonight."

"Gives my little drake another chance to charm your stubborn bird, eh?"

"You know he doesn't give in that easily. Go now. Night's going to end soon."

The dark brown wolf nodded his head and motioned Aleks to continue up along the path until they arrived at the foot of an unreasonably large tree.

"Wait here," the brown wolf said.

Aleks rubbed his hands together. He yearned for something warm and inviting as a bed right now, when his eyelids threatened to collapse over his aching eyes.

A heavy groan forced his ears upward. Something heavy was moving under the earth, but before he could make sense of what happened, the Snowfang pointed him down the tunnel that appeared beneath the tree's roots.

"Descend down the steps and walk up ahead. Try to be quick, alright? We don't take initiations in the morning."

"Wait! How do I-"

But Anrosh had already left, and so did his dragon.

It was just him now. Him and a strange, dark hole in the ground. Aleks carefully walked down the steps that led him further under the tree. The stone beneath his feet was slick with watery mud that seeped between his cold, aching toes. The more he descended, the warmer the air became, a pleasant contrast to the outside world.

END OF CHAPTER 3

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