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It's hard to imagine I was a child once, much less a child of eight years old, and yet I still remember it as if it had all just happened yesterday. But much and more has happened between now and then, a lifetime spanning countless generations in a land I became immensely familiar with. In retrospect, my time in that land seemed to almost flash before my eyes, though millennia had actually passed. And though the days before that land were now just long-distant memories, I have found myself contemplating them more and more with each passing day.

My eight-year-old life was a meagre one, not much of my world existing outside my equally meagre village. In those days, no one lived in castles or houses made of wood and stone and mortar, and certainly there was no metal around, at least not abundantly. We lived in tents and if you were lucky, huts with thatched roofs. We lived off the land and feared most everything we didn't understand, though despite how primitive we were, we also had an arcane knowledge long-forgotten by the people of today.

Even at age eight, I had a firm understanding of the Runes, a language and power ancient even in those days. Well, perhaps "firm" was a bit too strong. I had a vague understanding of the Runes, enough to get by, and though it was traditional learning, I cared nothing for them. My mother taught some to me, and I was the only one my age forced to learn it. The village elders were all too pleased to help me, too, which only made matters worse; while the others were off playing Dragons and Slayers, I was stuck inside. At that age, all I wanted to do was run away and go slay dragons of my own. Real dragons.

And dragons were real back then, and they ruled. Not us, of course. Our village, nestled quietly within the northern, wintery forests of then-unnamed Midland, was far too remote and insignificant to warrant any sort of dragon occupation, though we did occasionally see one or two fly by in a month. It was always very exciting to watch them fly past, high in the sky and screaming loudly like giant, leathery eagles. Most people, the older folk, feared the dragons, and sought shelter even though they appeared as small insects from so high up, but the children always had to steal a glance, if just for a moment. We all imagined, even myself, they were flying off to someplace far more adventurous than this, and we longed to be there. But more than likely they were flying off to battle.

The dragons in those days were separated into six different clans, divided by the four basic elements - fire, wind, water and earth - as well as black and white dragons, or dark and light respectively. Each clan, though they had various broods spread throughout the land outside our village, was essentially at war with one another. That rarely involved us simple folk, but every so often - or so I'd been told - their war would spill over to our world and inadvertently decimate entire villages, turning whole valleys and flatlands into desolate, scorched battlegrounds. Thankfully we were surrounded by forests, and mountains to the north, plus the cold weather kept most dragons away.

Anyway, despite those frightening tales, most dragons didn't openly fight each other anyway, but would just try to avoid one another instead, but of course grudge matches did sometimes break out. Despite their warring amongst themselves, the four elements seeming to hate the other with an equal amount of disdain, no rivalry was quite so fierce nor as violent as the hatred held between the black and white dragons. Perhaps it was a bit cliché - the dark versus the light - but their fights were known, even by us, to destroy entire woodlands and completely devastate the earth of even the most fertile of lands, so it didn't much matter where our village was.

Yet my elders were always quick to remind me of how safe we were in our quiet little village. "The cold is enough to keep any dragon away," they said. "They would have to rip up all our trees just to find us," I'd been told numerous times. Yet while most villagers feared the dragons, I always had some fascination with them, more than the other kids. I wanted to meet one, just once, even if he was mean. But of course everyone always swiftly silenced me, telling me how silly I was. "Who would attack our village, anyway?"

Our village was nothing special, that much was true. It didn't even have a name, not that any other villages around us did. As mentioned, it was a meagre existence. Our homes and workshops were made of hide and wooden staves, dozens of pointed tents that could easily be packed up and moved if ever we had to. We survived out there as best we could, killing animals and toppling trees whenever necessary, and despite there being maybe fifty or so of us, each of us had our little jobs to do.

The jobs ranged, basically, from important to less important, to not important at all. At eight years old, you were old enough to have a job, just to make you feel good, but they definitely fell into the latter category. The older men, naturally, went out hunting, while others gathered fruits and nuts, generally the women, sometimes children. Some of us even farmed, too, in the tiny fields at the cusp of our great forest, bordering the Mountain River. Others helped build or repair new homes, and only a few were adept healers. Those were the important jobs, give or take, while clothes-making was slightly less important. Important, just not as important. Some of the younger villagers, perhaps in their early teens, were the fire-builders, and later teens tended to help their elders make weapons and tools. At eight, you wanted a job, but more oft than not, there wasn't one available.

But I had one. Even as a younger kit, my mother told me I had deft paws. I didn't know what that meant, of course, not exactly, but she said it was why I was able to pick up the Runes so easily. At any rate, I had a tendency to knot things in my idle boredom, and always had. Which was why my job for the village was making jewellery for everyone. Nothing fancy, of course. Most of what I made was made from hemp and wooden beads, sometimes leather when there was enough to spare. Most of the time I would make them to stave off boredom, or to distract from my Runes, then my mother would give them away for whatever we needed.

We didn't have any form of currency. Most of what we had we harvested ourselves, which would be shared throughout the village. So most of the time when you had something to trade, like a piece of pottery or a new hempen necklace, in return you might get some butter or some wheat, or even flour or wild corn. Many villagers traded meals with one another, or shared with friends as a form of payment. Services were also traded for food or supplies, or for other services. There wasn't much need for braided hemp, but the more I practiced at it, the more practical they became as gifts. I wore most of my own creations, though, but happily enough.

"What are you creating now, sweetling?" my mother asked me one morning. It was a particularly cold morning, and despite my thick, warm underlayer of snowy white fur, I'd spent half my morning curled beneath the furs of lesser creatures.

"Nothing," I answered, paws deftly working lengths of hemp together, a few wood beads nearby to string through. I had one in already, and planned another small one, then a big one, followed by two more small ones, each bead separated by a few twists and knots. The centre bead was of a harder, lighter wood, made from the scraps of a newly-raised tent.

"Are you practicing your Runes?" she asked sweetly. I could sense her presence looming over me. I stayed as deathly still as possible, though still twisted the hemp.

"Yes," I lied. I made no attempts at sounding genuine.

Suddenly, my half-naked body was immediately shocked by the chilly air drifting in from our tent's flap doors, tied loosely shut, as my mother whipped off the furs. I cried out and hid what I was working on, though it was no use trying to hide it, curling myself into a tight little ball.

"Those are odd looking runes," she quipped.

"Go away," I groaned, not in the mood for snow and ice and runes. No doubt the elders were waiting for me.

"You know you were supposed to meet the elders today," mother replied as if reading my mind. "It's very important you know your runes."

I sighed quietly. "Why?"

My mother paused for a moment. "It's tradition."

"None of the other kids have to learn it."

"They will, in time."

"I know the Runes. I can scribe them better than most anyone, even most adults. Why do I have to keep learning them?"

Now it was mother's turn to sigh. "The Runes hold an ancient power," she told me, though so far as I could tell, all I was learning was some long-dead language that hadn't been spoken in thousands of years.

"What power?" I asked stubbornly, my well-formed ball of fur slowly beginning to unravel. We'd had this discussion dozens of times before.

"Loki..." I could tell mother was becoming more annoyed.

"And how come Freya doesn't need to know them?" Freya was my sister, older by five years. She helped around the village wherever she could, usually going out and gathering nuts or berries or whatever else we needed. Like me, I think she longed for more.

"She will learn them, too, Loki. I've already taught her some."

At last I rolled onto my back, then sat up, staring up at my mother. She was wearing her working leathers, which meant for the greater part of the morning, she'd done a lot more work than I had.

Her leathers covered her legs and body, but her arms were mostly bare. Being a northern village, most of us were adapted to the cold, most particularly my family. Being arctic foxes, we didn't need to dress near as heavily as some of the others, though some nights the air got bitter cold. We always had our furs, as well as the other villagers, skinned from the baser animals wandering the forest.

"What's Freya doing, anyway?" I asked, finally getting up. Our tent was of modest size, more than enough to house four people - myself, Freya, plus mother and father - but any more would make it far too crowded.

"She was helping me at the mill," mother claimed. She wiped her brow then put her weight on one leg, staring down at me.

Though our village was in the middle of a forest, a great river split the forest in two, flowing down from the mountains; it had been aptly named the Mountain River. The trees of course thinned near the river, and naturally that was where the mill was, a big waterwheel helping with half the labour. It was also where many of the children played, upriver more, swimming and splashing and crying out in the icy cold water, and where most villagers went to bathe. I used to join in the riverside festivities when I was younger, but since I was set to learning the Runes, I hadn't much time for play.

"I don't want to learn the Runes anymore," I sighed, looking away from mother. I never liked disappointing my parents, most particularly my father.

My father was always a very serious man, large for an arctic fox and the toughest guy I knew. He was the village leader, and a great warrior. He knew the Runes, and enjoyed quizzing me on them. Without fail, the ones I didn't know or stumbled on, I would learn the next day. I loved my father, but even at such a young age, I had a healthy fear of him. He was strict, and I think in the back of my mind I knew he had to be, but sometimes I still resented him for it. I always felt it was impossible to live up to his extraordinarily high expectations, though not for lack of trying, and hated myself deeply if I failed to impress. Freya always cheered me up though, and mother helped cool him down.

"I know you find them boring, Loki, but it's tradition. If we don't remember the Runes, then who will?"

"No one," I answered with a frown. There was no point in arguing any further, as it always resulted in the same ending.

"I won't make you go today, Loki, but we aren't going to make a habit out of this, okay?"

My ears pricked up and a tiny smile crept onto my face. I knew my father would have some choice words for me later, but for now it didn't matter. I could finish my bracelet and give it to...my friend. Heimdall.

There was other small villages around, the closest to us not more than a day's walk away, across the river and at the further end of the forest, closer toward the mountains. We were enemies, of course, for reasons I couldn't understand. My father would tell me they were savages, that they ate the flesh of their own people and wore leather made from their skin. I wasn't sure I ever believed it, and despite his dire warnings, I ventured off into the forest to see this tribe for myself.

I never did reach their village, but in the woods, near the village, I came upon a seemingly lost fur. He was a year older than me, and though I was cautious at first, we quickly became friends. I discovered quickly the gods had taken his sight at birth, but had blessed him with extremely heightened senses. When I first came upon him, he was just sitting in the snow cross-legged, "listening to the forest." I listened with him, hearing only a few wild animals and the wind rustling the piny leaves. He said he heard those noises, but that and more. He told me he could hear the gods whispering to him. I asked him what they were saying, but he couldn't tell me.

After that day, he and I became quick friends. It amused me to no end his village leader felt the same about us, that we were savages who sacrificed our first-born babes to appease the dark lord known only as the Crimson King. He told me his name was Heimdall, named for one of our Gods, and we shared a good laugh at our own people.

I discovered much about his people, mostly that they were almost in no way different from mine, except some of them lived in caves in the side of the mountain. They had healers and millers and hunters and cooks and clothiers, and even jewellers as well. Their jewellers were all girls, though, which for a while didn't sit well with me. I knew my father disapproved of my hobby, and would rather I swung weapons of wood and stone and bone around, but thankfully mother knew how to talk to him. I had no doubt in my mind, though, I'd be learning to fight soon enough.

Anyway, my friendship with Heimdall grew over the year since we'd met, and though at the time I couldn't make much sense of the feelings I was having, I knew he was very special to me. Despite his blindness, he and I played for hours when we could in an area between our villages we decided to call the Glade. It wasn't a true glade, not really, but the ground was well-trodden (by us) and was the biggest area we could find between trees without anything growing. It was like a sanctuary for us, a place we could both go to be alone (or together), a place where neither of our villages existed or mattered. We would play, but we would also complain about our fathers or our siblings, or other villagers we didn't like. Often we would pretend to be the offensive person, and would enact scenes to let out our frustrations. Though thinking back, it was mostly me doing the venting.

Somehow, Heimdall never seemed to get angry. He was a wolverine, surprisingly strong and yet very calm and peaceful. He was a great listener, since apparently I had a lot to complain about, and never seemed to mind. Though he was only a year older than me, Heimdall seemed to have a certain wisdom about him I could hardly understand. He said he knew the Runes, too, and could scribe them in the dirt or snow, which was astonishing to me considering his curse; he thought of his blindness as a blessing, which I couldn't quite comprehend either.

Nevertheless, it had been almost a half moon, give or take, since I'd last seen Heimdall, and I was starting to miss him. I didn't have many friends my age, nor any younger or older, more especially friends I could talk to; probably had something to do with my father being the village leader. Though I was still very much a kit, somehow their games held less appeal to me. My mother said it was because I matured before my time, though I had no idea what that meant like most of what she told me. I did talk to my sister on occasion about personal stuff, like meeting Heimdall for instance, but for the most part I kept it to myself.

Luckily the winter solstice was just a couple nights away, which would be a perfect time to present my gift to my friend, if for no other reason than because I could slip away unnoticed, and no one would be looking for me. Instead everyone would be far too busy revelling in the pale glow of the moonlight at our village's Midwinter Blót, a celebration to the Gods to release winter's grip. The Winter Blót was always a time of great jubilation, where everyone gathered in the centre of the village by the enormous, flaming dais to drink spiced mead and eat until close to bursting, as well as to sacrifice an animal so the Gods would hear us. The Midwinter Blót, though celebrated greatly, was unfortunately much less extravagant than the Autumn Blót, held on the fall equinox where we celebrated our bountiful harvest from the Gods, and of course sacrificed an animal in thanks.

Often gifts were given during the Midwinter Blót, but being only eight years old, most elders would understand my wanting to get away and play. I had a bunch of leather and hemp necklaces and bracelets I didn't like anyway, so they could easily be my contribution to the gift-giving, though no one ever seriously expected us children to participate. We were far more interested in receiving the gifts, though unfortunately mine tended to be more practical than anything, like a bone knife. Regardless, I was certain no one would miss me whilst they drank the night away and danced around the bonfire, and no doubt Heimdall's village wouldn't miss him, either.

When at last I decided to get up, a few moments after my mother turned away to stoke the fire, I gave my belly a scratch and looked about at my pile of woolly clothes, which sat intertwined with my furs and my leathers. For now I was wearing a long pair of shaggy leather pants with fur hanging loosely around the waist, which were frayed terribly at the bottom from dragging on the ground, though they were well broken-in and arguably my favourite pair. They originally belonged to my older brother Tyr, who was twelve years my elder and no longer living in the mortal world. He was with the Gods now, and had been for three years. This pair of torn and frayed and many-times-repaired hide pants was all I had left of him, though my parents held a few trinkets as well.

I didn't know my brother all that well, since I was only five when he died, but from what Freya had told me, he was certainly his father's son. He was tough, and like father large for an arctic fox. He was an excellent fighter, and even crafted his own knife from stone, which my father now kept in a wooden box. He put all the other boys to shame, and even many of the elders respected him and his judgement. He certainly knew the Runes, for what it was worth, though I suspected they did him about as much good as they did me now.

With a sigh, I spun around on my heels and took a step toward the tent flap before being stopped by mother. "Where do you think you're going?" she asked me. "You're going to want to put more than that on."

"I'll be fine," I said, bushy tail flicking back and forth. Even the scrawniest arctic foxes could stand below-freezing temperatures, and though I was nothing like my father, I could easily hold my own against the cold.

"You'll make yourself sick," she insisted. I noticed a quiet glance toward where father kept Tyr's knife. Then she pushed past me and entered my small section of the tent, sifting through my disorganized clothes. At last she found what she was looking for, a loose-fitting woolen top with sleeves that went down just past my knuckles. It was torn in some places, repaired in many others, and much of the weaving was stretched and left big holes. Before I could get away, the garment was already thrown over my head, arms forced through the sleeves. "There," she said, giving my bum a pat while aiming me toward the door-flap.

"I don't like this top," I said, almost a whine. "It itches."

"It does not," mother said. Her tone told me not to argue. "Stop whining."

I frowned instead.

"Loki," my mother started in a somewhat serious tone, "you've matured much faster than the others boys, I know that, and sometimes I forget... But you're still my little kit, my little Lokkums."

My face immediately turned red and I couldn't suppress my groan enough. I'd always hated that name, though I couldn't remember her ever not calling me that. Mother, and only mother, ever called me Lokkums, and thinking back, no doubt she was the only one ever really allowed to. It was a "mother thing" undoubtedly, something I would never understand.

"I want you to be safe," she continued. Though I was trying desperately not to make eye-contact, a few times I did, and I saw the genuine concern she had for me. "And I'd rather you be a little warm than a little too cold."

"I know," I said, defeated. We'd been through that conversation dozens of times, though I was usually spared the Lokkums. This time she meant it, doubly so, and I had to oblige. "Fine."

"Good. Now. Since you're neglecting your Runes today, I want you to at least do something productive. You can finish whatever you were working on later."

"Uh huh?" I asked unenthusiastically. Unfortunately, being only eight, I lacked the foresight to see Runes would be replaced with something worse. The last time, I suddenly recalled, mother told me I had to help father train the older boys, which he did several times a moon cycle. He shared the duties with his brother, our village's master-at-arms, and unbelievably, the meaner of the two. That wasn't to say my uncle was mean, but he certainly had a shorter temper. Father made me his assistant that day, probably as punishment for skipping Runes.

"Go see your sister. She was helping me chop wood and grind corn for the Midwinter Blót. I need to start preparing dinner tonight."

"Yes, mother," I said grudgingly. When at last I was able to leave, my sigh turned into a quiet gasp as the frozen air snapped at my lungs. It was a refreshing gasp, and when the initial shock wore off, I took a deeper breath, letting out the hot, smoky air that had filled my lungs previously. I looked about at our modest village before taking off, seeing dozens of people much larger than me milling about and in general, preparing for the upcoming festivities.

My footpaws crunched noisily in the cold snow beneath me, which had long since been flattened and pressed into the hard mud below, making for a brown, almost mucky walk. But thankfully there had been a fresh snowfall just last night, and so there was still enough left where I could enjoy the sounds.

The village was alive with the clamour and noise of a busy people, some of it talking but mostly the banging and crashing and sawing of preparation, as well as the roar of dozens of small fires littered throughout. I walked past a few woodcutters who paid me no mind, then a couple women carrying baskets upon their heads. They at least smiled at me, but had to keep going. I then hurried past the Elders' Tent, running when I heard one calling, making a quick dash between two tents. There were stonecutters hard at work in those tents, making weapons or fletching arrows, I wasn't sure. They didn't notice me either as I slipped past, making my way toward the mill.

Just as I began to hear the waterwheel grinding and screaming as it turned, still a short ways off, I turned a corner to take a shortcut between a couple tents, but was immediately halted when I accidentally spied two teenaged furs standing close to one another.

At first I was confused, unable to understand what they were doing, but I did recall mother and father standing that close to each other once before. Somehow this couple didn't see me as I stared at them, and as the girl giggled the older boy put his arms around her waist and drew closer, until they touched their lips together. Soon after, the girl had her arms around him, and they tilted their heads just slightly, and squirmed a bit as if they were uncomfortable, yet they seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Their paws were all over each other, caressing one another as if to warm each other up, and though it was chilly out, somehow I knew that wasn't what they were doing. They made...noises, small noises, more so as the girl was pushed back into the wooden support of the tent behind her, which seemed only to serve to push their faces even closer together.

Strangely, as I gazed upon the couple, I found myself wanting to try this out, this kissing. I had seen many other couples doing this before, though never so fervently, and it always seemed to be couples who were together, like my parents. Never before had I any particular desire to kiss another in such a way, on the lips like that, and yet all I could think about was trying it with Heimdall. I immediately began to blush, wondering what he'd think about it, whether he'd like it or not. He and I hadn't ever gotten so close before, but I found myself wanting to more and more. The pair still hadn't spied me, continuing until they finally turned a little and the boy opened his eyes to see me. The husky was surprised to say the least, and pushed his same-species partner away, though carefully.

"Get the Hel outta here!" he suddenly cried, which made me jump.

My heart suddenly began to race as I found myself frozen there, unable to move. My poor affliction was made only worse when he growled and stepped toward me, my paws trembling terribly. My mind was telling me to run, yet my body stayed still, looking up at the teen twice my size with sweat trickling down the back of my neck. My stomach twisted and though my footpaws twitched, I remained petrified. The teen's paws became fists, then he shouted something, then raised his arms.

"Leave him alone," said the girl, the sweetest words I'd heard all day. "He's just a little kid."

I wanted to object to that remark, but I was still immensely scared. Thankfully I hadn't wet myself, which unfortunately wasn't unknown for me. Another dagger in my father's heart.

"Y'little weirdo," the boy commented. He was still glaring at me, and my paws were still shaking.

The girl laughed quietly. "He's just curious, like you were. C'mere, little guy. What's your name?" She knelt down in front of me, in the dirty snow.

I looked ashamed and blushed even harder, then turned my head away. "Loki."

"Do you want a kiss?" She laughed again.

"Wh-What?" My ears pricked and I blushed harder. A second later, her soft lips kissed me on the cheek like my mother had done dozens of times before. Not surprisingly, father had never kissed me, but instead glared at me and yelled. He never hit me, but the threat was always there.

"There you go, little guy." I was starting to loath that name. "Now go on, 'kay? Maybe you'll get another one at the Blót." Then she giggled and stood up, my cue to leave.

I rushed away from the two huskies as fast as I could without actually running, nearly bumping into a couple hunters and other grownups. My heart was still pounding and my paws still shaky, but when I finally stopped I was able to catch a breath. I had unfortunately moved away from the mill, and would now have to take the long way around to the Mountain River.

As I made my way there, I thought more on that kiss. Not the one the girl had given me, but the one her mate had given her. The whole scene ran through my mind, and I could only imagine what it felt like. Their warm breath was billowing from their interlocked maws and noses and though I couldn't be certain, I could have sworn their tongues were pushing together, which I hadn't ever heard of before. I had to trust they knew what they were doing, and though it seemed kind of gross touching my tongue to someone else's, that pair clearly enjoyed it. I couldn't describe the strange feelings I was having, much less this odd desire to kiss like that, and though I knew boys and girls were supposed to eventually mate, I didn't want to mate with a girl. I wanted Heimdall, I knew that somehow without question, though it seemed to go against everything I thought I knew.

Father wouldn't like that, I was almost certain of it. Father didn't like anything I did, especially after Tyr died. He seemed content to have me go learn my Runes, but anything else he despised. I'd made him a necklace once, and if looks could kill I'd have been dead on the spot. Though no look was quite so scornful and angry as the one father had given me when I failed miserably at weapons training. The large clunky cudgel he'd given me offered me no protection, and I had no idea how to wield it, but that didn't stop him from making me try. I didn't want to cry in front of my father, but after an hour or so I just couldn't stop myself. You would think I'd stabbed him in the chest with the look he gave me. I never used a weapon since.

When at last I reached the river, a few nearby people bathing in the icy waters, I saw my sister immediately and ran up to her. "Loki!" she called, surprised to see me. She was wearing fur and leather pants similar to my own, but her fur top was sleeveless and showed most of her belly. I knew she wasn't cold, though, despite the brisk air. "I thought you were supposed to be learning the Runes?"

I frowned a little. "I didn't go today," I said as I took the smaller sack of grain from her. Freya was at least a head taller than me, and stronger, but I liked helping her out nonetheless. I followed beside her, carrying the bag in front of me like a baby.

"Father will be wroth," she said. "He hates it when you miss your lessons."

My stomach turned at the thought. "I know," I said regretfully. "But I was making something. I was gonna finish it, but mother said I had to help you."

"What're you making?" she asked with a smile. Freya was the only one who seemed to care about my craft, and certainly the only one who supported it. She still wore the necklace I made for her for her birthday many moons ago.

"Ah, nuthin." I began to blush, more so when Freya looked at me.

But she just laughed. "I see," she said. "And when do you plan on giving it to him?"

I had told her all about my "friend from the other village," Heimdall, but I had never told her about my more recent feelings for him. I immediately shot her a wicked glance, face full of fury, disbelief and fear. How does she know? I asked myself continuously, glaring at her innocent smile. At last I opened my maw to speak, but nothing came out.

"Loki," she said reassuringly, breaking the horrible silence. I'd nearly dropped the sack of grain, too. "You blush almost every time you talk about him, and sometimes even when you don't. I know I'm just your older sister, but I notice such things. The fact you blushed when I asked you what you were making told me everything I needed to know, and that wicked look you gave me sealed it. You're not exactly as subtle as you think you are."

I had to frown at that, but I was glad Freya understood. "I'm making a bracelet for him," I said, face feeling warm even as the frigid wind blow into it, "with that one purple bead I made. And I'm going to try to see him during the Blót."

"That's as good a time as any. Wait, do they celebrate the Blót, too? How will you know where to find him?"

I shrugged. "I hadn't really thought of that... Usually I just go to our secret spot and he's already there. I'll bet he'll be there, I just know it."

"Isn't he blind? How does he get about?"

"He carries a stick around with him and waves it about in front of him. He says his hearing and other senses are way better, almost to make up for his blindness. Says he doesn't need to see."

"I couldn't imagine not being able to see." Freya then glanced at a group of boys, more around her age, and looked them up and down. They didn't seem to notice her. She smiled anyway and sighed quietly. "There are so many great things to see."

I glanced at them, standing near the leather worker's tent, but I didn't notice anything special about them. I mean, they were all tall, strong, and probably better with weapons than I was. They looked confident, and I would even go as far as to say they were handsome. One was an arctic wolf, whom Freya may have been looking at more than the others. Strangely, when I looked at him, there were stirrings I'd only ever felt with Heimdall, but they weren't anywhere near as strong. I couldn't make much sense of them at the time anyway.

"So you never answered my other question, whether or not they celebrate Blót." Freya nudged me when she pointed that out, snapping me back to reality.

"Oh. Um. Yeah, they do, except it's a bit different than ours. They don't make sacrifices the same way we do. Instead some of the older villagers, usually the men, perform - oh, what did he call it? - bloodletting, I think. They hit themselves with sharpened bits of flint. As a blood sacrifice, I guess, instead of using an animal."

Freya looked horrified. "Gods... Maybe what everybody says about them is true."

"They aren't all savages, like father would have you believe. It's a little brutal, yeah, but otherwise they're just like us. They've got to survive the cold, harvest corn and grain and fish. They fight and laugh and the kids play."

"So you've been to the village?"

I drew back my ears a little. Admittedly, I had never been to Heimdall's village proper. "No... But Heimdall has told me all about it. I was asking him the same things. They live in caves, though, at least some do. The rest live in tents like us, except their land is naturally cleared by the mountains. Y'know, he told me that our village was at one point just another part of theirs, until one day some of them fought with the leader and left, and started a new village at the edge of the forest."

"Best not tell father that," laughed Freya. "He seems to think we're as different as the sun and moon."

Father didn't know a lot of things, it seemed to me. He knew the Runes, for all they were worth, and how to fight. He knew how to lead, though I wasn't sure I'd seen him do much of that. People often went to him with questions, usually stupid arguments they needed his judgement on. Last time there was an argument over livestock, and who owned which animal. Father, in all his wisdom, told them it mattered not, for the livestock belonged to the whole village. Though he took on most villagers, I often heard him confide in mother how he hated settling petty squabbling, that his people were weaker than ever. Apparently when he was in his own father's shadow, villagers would settle their arguments with blood. I was just glad I wasn't alive back then.

"I've often wondered about that village, curious to see what was going on. If only I could go with you."

"Why not? You could come during the Blót!"

Freya smiled. "Would that I could, Loki. But father says he wants me to make the animal sacrifice."

I frowned. It was supposed to be the job of the leader's son, though admittedly I wanted no part of it. "I see."

"Cheer up, Loki. You don't even like blood."

Freya had a point, though I still didn't like hearing it. I wanted to like blood, and sacrifices and fighting, but it just wasn't me. I hated all of it. "I guess. But that's not the point."

Freya sighed quietly and put a paw on my shoulder, to reassure me. I'd argued with her many times about father, and about Tyr for that matter. "I know you can't see it, Loki, but father loves you more than you know."

I sighed. "Can we not talk about this?" I always hated these discussions. They always upset me.

"I know he's strict with you, but he's got to be. You know you're going to have to take over for him when he joins the Gods."

I sighed heavily, tired of this conversation already. "Yeah, well he sure has a funny way of showing that. All he does is yell at me and...tells me I'm not his son." I felt my lips quiver a little when I said it, and small tears formed in the corner of my eyes. I hated feeling so weak, but the more I thought about it the angrier and sadder I got. It wasn't like suffering father's insults was a daily affair, but every time he and I got into a disagreement, if I wasn't in tears by the end, I was always very close. I frowned to push the current tears back. "To Hel with father... Crimson King take him."

Freya stopped me dead in my tracks and held my arm tightly, turning me so I faced her. I nearly dropped the sack again. "Don't you say that, Loki. That's a horrible thing to say, especially about father. I told you he loves you."

In a sudden bout of boldness, I wrenched my arm away angrily and took a step back. There were people and tents all around, but I didn't care. "No he doesn't," I snarled. "You're just saying that to be nice. He's never loved me, he only loved Tyr. He's ashamed of me, he says so all the time."

"He's never said that, Loki."

"Yes he has, you wouldn't know. I can see it in his eyes, anyway. I know I'm just little, but I know some things. I can tell father hates what I do, and the things I like. He... He hates me, I know he does." I was getting myself upset now, clenching onto the sack so hard I nearly tore it.

Freya sighed sympathetically, but I was already too angry to respond to it. When she reached out to give me a loving pat on the back, I turned away and stormed off, still carrying the grain with me. My face was twisted into a nasty frown as I stomped away, paws trembling as they gripped the sides of the sack. I had no idea where I was going, or where the grain was supposed to go, but I knew I had to get away.

"Loki, come back!" I heard Freya call, but I ignored her. "You can't keep running away!" When it was clear to her I wasn't going to stop, she shouted, "We have to give the grain to Bowen!"

Still I ignored her, marching blindly through our village in hopes of relieving some of my anger. Freya was always defending father, had always insisted he loved me, but never once could I remember him showing me any kind of affection. He always looked angry, just the sight of me enough to set him off. Though I had tried dozens of times to fight, I just wasn't any good at it. I was a coward, I knew, though I didn't much like admitting that, either. What hurt more was that father knew. I wanted to impress him, to make him accept me, but none of my natural talents pleased him, with the possible exception of the Runes. And even that wasn't terribly impressive.

I continued on, eyes closed tight as I passed a small crowd. If it wasn't for the cold wind nipping at my frozen tears, I would never have known they were there. I was grumbling to myself as I passed by a few more tents, head down and still not watching where I was going. It didn't take long for me to nearly bump into someone.

"Hey, watch it," cried the stranger. When I looked up, I gave the older husky a frightful glare, realizing quickly it was the one I'd seen kissing the girl earlier. It seemed he finished up already. "Where are you headed in such a hurry?" He began to circle around me, which gave me pause, and for now I just watched him. My heart was pounding, and I quickly realized he wasn't going to let me leave.

"Nowhere," I snapped, still frowning at him. As the white husky curled his paws into fists, uncurling them a moment later, I quickly forgot all about my conversation with Freya, eyes darting to find someone who would help me. "Get out of my way."

"I don't have to listen to you," he barked. I didn't even realize a couple of his friends had shown up. "You're just a little kid. A little kid who likes to spy on his elders."

"I wasn't spying," I argued. My heart was racing now, paws trembling worse than before. I tried my best not to show it, but they just laughed at me. I managed to take a few steps back, but bumped into one of his friends. I didn't have time to notice who he was before I was shoved back toward the husky. "Stop," I cried, holding onto the sack as if it would protect me. "Just leave me alone."

"Not until I've taught you a lesson, little boy."

Before I could respond, the young teen had already punched me in the face. Though I'd been hit dozens of times before, it hurt just as much as the first time, and within seconds I was sprawled onto the muddy, snowy ground, grain sack at least an arm's length away, face throbbing. I clutched my cheek in my left paw and cried out, quickly trying to lift myself and recall all the lessons father had taught me, or tried to teach me, but the fear made me forget.

Before I could get to my feet, someone had already picked me up and punched me again, but instead of letting me fall over, one of the others grabbed me, turned me around and held me up, my arms stuck out to my sides and head forced forward. I struggled and struggled, and the boys just laughed. I was stuck, unable to free myself beneath the strength of my elder, which was only made worse when the husky punched me in my eight-year-old gut, knocking the wind straight from my lungs.

At last I was freed, kicked over and allowed to catch my breath. I cradled my poor stomach as the boys just laughed and said nasty things about me. My face burned on both sides and my stomach throbbed more terribly than when I'd eaten some bad fish. I cried out and gasped for air, which only made worse my stomach pain.

"Hey!" I suddenly heard, just as one of the boys put a foot on my back. It was a familiar voice, warm and loving, one I missed terribly though I'd heard it just a few minutes ago. I was mad at my sister, but now I loved her more than anything. She would show them. "Get off him!"

"Stay out of this, Freya," growled the husky, pushing down harder on my back. But before I could see what was happening, I heard a terrifying crack and the husky fell back, then the two others snarled. Before long, the one who'd kept me in a headlock fell hard next to me, his warm, crimson blood trickling down his face. He looked to be in even more agony than I was, and it thrilled me to see him bleed. More than I wanted to admit.

"We were just kidding around," the third boy begged, but he, too, suffered a sound blow to the head. He fell, but was conscious enough to clamber back to his feet and take off. The husky was just getting back up, bleeding as well and holding the side of his face, staggering as Freya came into view. All I saw was her legs and a bloody cudgel, until a moment later the cudgel vanished and I heard that horrifying crack again, but instead of falling back the husky groaned painfully and dragged himself away, limping and barely able to move. The one beside me was still out cold.

"You okay, Loki?" asked my sister, dropping her weapon before kneeling beside me. "They didn't hurt you too bad, did they? C'mere, let me take you home."

"Leave him," I heard a terribly familiar voice say. I was up on one paw now, though not yet standing, stomach still in pain. My head was spinning, but I could feel both tears and blood trickling down my face, which froze immediately when I spied my father. "Take the grain and go."

"Yes, father," said Freya humbly. She did exactly as she was told, and the small crowd I only then realized had formed dispersed quickly.

"Loki, get up. Now." And there it was. That look I knew all too well, that look of shame, disapproval. Anger. I had no idea what he was truly thinking, but I knew whatever pain I was feeling in my belly, it would be quickly replaced by a gut-wrenching sense of dread and fear.

After a moment, arms and legs trembling wickedly, I managed to lift myself from the mud and snow, barely having time to brush myself off before having to hobble uselessly behind my father. Though he hadn't said anything, life had taught me when he wanted me to follow and when he didn't. This time he did, and quickly.

He led me through the village and toward the outskirts, and I could see sympathy and shame from the faces of the villagers I passed. They had seen this dozens of times before, an angry leader and his useless son, trying for the hundredth time to turn me into the proud fighter my older brother was. But the villagers, they knew of the futility of it, knew it wouldn't help. Knew I could never be what my father wanted, nor what they wanted. They felt sorry for me, or perhaps more realistically, they felt sorry for my father. And all they could do was watch me in my walk of shame.

At last I was led further into the woods on the western end where the other boys trained. I'd seen these woods more times than I ever wanted, and each time it filled me with fear. Any time I'd ever been here, I had a weapon in my paw (for all the good it did me), and I was soon beaten. Not because I had done something bad, but because father thought if I just had the weapon and I suffered enough, I would somehow become stronger, defend myself and thus become a better fighter. It never happened that way.

When at last we reached the training grounds, cold and muddy, father stopped at the farthest end, leaving me closer to the path back to the village. Trees surrounded us, and it seemed eerily quiet. No one else was around, nor any animals or insects. Even the wind made little noise. I was more than nervous, legs shaky and paws trembling. I had a horrible feeling in my gut, worse than the fading pain. The last time I visited these grounds, I took a stone club to the head and was half covered in mud. That was in the summer, where the snow was far less abundant. Hitting the ground now would hurt twice as bad.

"What was that?" father asked, back still to me. Frankly, I was glad he was facing away, though I knew exactly what I'd see in his eyes. Same thing I always saw: anger, disappointment, resentment.

"I-I..." I was about to start crying again, the pain terrible, but I begged myself not to. What I wanted more was to crawl under my furs and sleep, and for mother to help me take the pain away, and perhaps wash the blood from my snowy fur.

"Enough," he barked, almost turning to look at me. "You are not so young you cannot speak."

I swallowed hard, straightening myself up as best I could. I opened my maw to speak, but like usual no words formed. I've been beaten up; obviously, shamefully. Was I expected to admit it aloud? I'd done so numerous times, but it never helped. It only made him hate me more. "I...don't know..."

"You don't know?" he asked dubiously. "How can you not know, Loki?"

"I got..." I took a deep breath, let the damn tears trickle down my face, and started again. "I got beaten up. They beat me up 'cause I saw the husky kissing a girl." It sounded so pathetic, though the husky was about as pitiful as I was, beating up a child over something so stupid. Father wouldn't see it that way, though.

And for now, he chose to say nothing. He just sighed through his nose, hot breath billowing upward. I could see his larger scars upon his back as he stood there, large arms dangling at his sides. He wore only a pair of leather pants, relatively close-fitting with a big rope belt. He had been training that day, as evidenced by his garb, though whether it was with the village boys or just by himself, I couldn't say.

Still father remained silent, and I had no idea what he wanted from me. I had nothing left to say, feeling about as much shame as he did, ears pushed back and tail hanging low. I sunk into my shoulders and looked away, heart as low and heavy as ever, beating heavily against my chest. I wanted nothing more than to turn around and leave, but like in most instances, history had taught me that was always the worse choice.

"What am I supposed to do with you, Loki?" At last father turned around, and when I met his petrifying gaze, I saw that same melancholic shame he always looked at me with. Even if I hadn't been beaten up, if I'd just seen him walking by, it would be those same dreadful eyes.

I had no idea how I was ever supposed to please father. No matter how hard I tried, nor how many runes I learned, it was never enough. I knew what he wanted from me, but he could never get it. I wasn't a fighter like him, or like Tyr, not even like Freya, and I never would be. I was a craven, as he'd expressed numerous times. I was weak and fearful, better suited to picking berries than hunting boar. Again, those were his words, but I couldn't argue. He would never approve of my craft, no matter how many knots or how many beads or how many moons it took for me to make it. The last time I tried, he threw it into the fire and stormed out. I cried the half the night until sleep found me, and even come sunrise I was still upset.

I sighed quietly, looking even further away without turning around. I had no answer for him. I never had answers for him, none he would accept.

"You know your responsibility," he said for the hundredth time. "You are to be the village leader when the Gods come for me, it is your birthright. And only the strong can lead our village. Only the strong can protect our village, and defend it from the Crimson King and all his evil minions. We only live in peace now because we have a strong leader. Do you understand?"

"Yes, father," I answered sullenly.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you."

I paused for a moment, but finally raised my head, gazing at him. He stood at least twice my height with shoulders twice and broad. His eyes, though full of shame, were strong, confident, and shockingly blue. Probably the only thing father and I had in common was our eyes, though I had none of the poise. Tyr's eyes were brown, though he had every bit of the ferocity and confidence I sorely lacked.

"Do you understand your role in the village?"

I paused again, but this time kept my eyes on his. "I do," I said, though if the welfare of our village depended on the confidence of my answer, we would be doomed before the next moon. "I... I know what you want from me."

"Do you?"

My eyes flicked away, but I knew better than to turn my head. My eyes darted back to his, though it made my stomach wrench. I nodded as an answer, not feeling up to speaking just yet.

"If that's true, Loki, then you should not have missed your lessons." The rage was clear in his voice, though overshadowing it was the awful restraint. "You must learn the Runes if you are to lead our village."

"I know, father."

He suppressed a growl, though not well enough that I didn't hear it. "Do you?" he asked again, letting out a flare of anger. I sunk back a little, more so when he flashed his teeth. "How do you know, Loki? How?"

"I..." Again, I was left speechless.

"You know nothing." Father then paused, as if waiting for an explanation.

"I..." I had to pause too, to collect myself. "I don't..."

Still father waited for my response. I could feel the anger rising with every moment I remained silent.

"I don't know why the Runes...are so important." My voice shrank ten times upon uttering the last part, shaming me again. I wished I had the strength to say exactly what was on my mind, like Tyr always had, but even when I tried to it just came out pitiful.

"They hold an ancient power, Loki, I've told you this. Dozens of times."

"They're just words," I managed to spit out, glancing up at father. "Everyone says they have power, but...they're just stupid words." I took another hard swallow, sweat trickling down my back.

"Runes are more than just words. They open to you a power all around us, everywhere you look. Even inside you, as unlikely as it seems, this power lies. It dwells within nature, within the trees and the ground, even the snow and the sky and the wind and water. It is everywhere, ripe for the picking. But without the Runes, you will never be able to unlock these powers."

I knew better than to scoff at father's explanation, though I was certainly thinking it. He made it sound as if I could control the wind, or control the snow or ground or water, everything. But so far as I could tell, all I was doing was learning a language hardly anybody knew anymore.

"Yes, father," I decided to finally say, head lowered. I'd heard it explained before by the village elders, but I believed them about as much as I believed my father. Frankly, I was surprised he believed in that, too. I had yet to see him wield the wind like he wielded his stone weapons.

"You are a pitiful fighter," my hulking father continued, with a bit of a sigh. If my tail could curl any lower, it would have done so by now. "Tyr would have at least tried to defend himself at your age, like he..." It was extremely rare for father to falter in his speeches. "Like he defended you." Never had I heard so much scorn directed toward me, even from father. I felt my knees getting weaker again, paws starting to shake. I didn't like where this conversation was headed, more so as his paws twisted into fists, and I prayed it would end soon.

"You do not deserve the role you have been given," growled father. "You do not deserve to sleep in our tent, and you sure as Hel don't deserve to wear those leathers. Your brother was the finest warrior, the finest leader this village has seen since my great-grandfather, I knew this though he was still a boy. But you, Loki, my...my son...are nothing like him, and I fear you never will be. But if you can do one thing right - just one Gods-forsaken thing - to honor Tyr's memory and perhaps bring some twisted sense of pride to our village, it's learn these damned runes."

I stayed deathly silent for fear of father boxing my ears, or worse, making me spar with him. For now I just stared, shaking slightly and forcing back some tears, which was a fairly common result when speaking with him. I wanted to nod or confirm I'd heard him, but I couldn't. I think he knew I'd heard him, though.

"Now get out of my sight."

Quickly I turned and walked away, tail nearly dragging on the ground and my ears drawn back as far as they could go. My heart was slamming against my chest, heavier than it had ever been. I could still feel my paws shaking as the village came back into view, legs weak but carrying me far. Though the clamour and clangor of our busy village rang all around me, I ignored all of it as I paced toward home. I was breathing heavily with one paw on my chest, clutching as if to save my heart from tearing out.

"Crimson King take him," I growled quietly to myself, passing a group of gossiping women. They glanced at me, and I glared at them for a moment before sauntering past the woodcarver's tent, toward my own. All the while I grumbled to myself, mostly cursing my father, and though I felt immensely guilty for it, cursing my brother, too.

Like he defended you, my father had said. I didn't know what that meant, or how Tyr could have possibly defended me, but clearly just the thought angered father. I had so few memories of my brother, it was impossible for me to know. Something must have happened though, before I could remember, perhaps something that cost him his life. Another rend of guilt twisted my gut as I considered that, but shook my head to push the thoughts aside. I was upset enough as it was, I didn't need my brother's death on my conscience, too.

When at last I got home, I pushed past my concerned sister, who was trying to say something to me, possibly something comforting, then went into the tent and, ignoring my mother as well, practically dove under my sleeping furs. Though the tent was hot, I pulled the furs up over my head anyway and clutched onto my unfinished bracelet. I could sense my mother and sister nearby. They were saying something, but I was ignoring them still, curled into a tight, shivering little ball.

Sleep must have come much faster than I realized, since when I poked my head out from under my furs, the fire had turned to just coals and everything was dark. I saw a sister-shaped lump an arms-length away, breathing softly under her covers, and I was certain my parents were at the far end. With a big yawn, I grabbed the bracelet I was making, the few remaining beads and sat next to the dim, crackling coals. After a second yawn and rubbing my eyes for a moment, I checked the unfinished piece of hempen jewellery to see how many knots I'd made, then continued.

Quickly I got the third bead in, the big purple one, expertly twining the material through the small piece of wood. After another yawn, I began making some more knots and twists, losing myself in my craft. My paws worked the hemp deftly, finding my mind had drifted away with every moment and my fingers quickly took over. It was almost therapeutic, my head clear as I wove in another bead, and just after knotting it in, I stopped myself for yet a third yawn. When I tried to get back into my steady rhythm, it was somehow more difficult than before, and I decided I was thirsty. I placed the unfinished bracelet down on my bed and grabbed a horn from the shelf.

A fourth yawn found me just after the black, frozen air punctured my lungs. It was an oddly cold morning, even for the winter solstice, but I was used to it. The village was still fast asleep, and I could see through the forest the sun barely on the horizon. It would be at least an hour before any real daylight found us. When I reached the Mountain River, I stared at the twisted, black reflection of myself and sighed.

Somehow I looked stronger in my reflection, cruel and powerful. I looked confident, too, despite the rippling stream distorting it. I never liked my reflection. It frightened me, though I couldn't say why. But this time I found myself gazing into it, into the inky water and losing myself. I wanted to be my reflection, this twisted version of me. I could show father then, show him how strong I was. And yet as I stared, I couldn't help but feel a particular sorrow. I sighed once more and dipped the drinking horn into the cold, icy water.

The first sip tore at my teeth and froze me down to my core, but soon I became accustomed. I took a big gulp, feeling the liquid ice pour down my throat, then drank the rest like the grownups drank their mead. I took another horn of water and drank it down quickly, not realizing just how thirsty I was until I was halfway done a third. I wiped my mouth with the back of my paw and filled the horn again, though instead of downing it in an instant, I sipped it gently and made my way back toward our tent.

As I approached ours, I paused for a moment when I heard a couple voices talking. My heart instantly began to race, despite not knowing who it was, and I wanted quickly to take cover. But when I listened harder, I realized the voices were coming from my own tent. It was father speaking, quietly for a change, and probably to mother. I took a few steps closer and realized they weren't inside the tent, but outside it, behind where we often did our business.

"I just don't know what I'm going to do with him," I heard my father say with frustration. As quietly as I could, I pushed into the tent and curled up in my sleeping furs, head poking out from beneath. I wanted to ignore them and fall back to sleep, afraid of what father might say, but I found it impossible; hide walls did nothing to block out sound.

"He is your son, Odin, your only surviving son. Our only surviving son. I know a lot rests on both his and your shoulders, but you may owe it to yourself and to Loki to...maybe go easier on him. He's still just a child."

My father scoffed at the idea. "You coddle him, Frigg. More than Freya, more than you had Tyr. He needs to grow up, and fast. And he can't do that with you babying him, and especially not with you supporting his...craft." He didn't even try to hide the scorn behind that last word.

"Odin..." I heard my mother sigh. "There is plenty of time for that. For now I think he needs his father's love. Ever since we lost Tyr, you've never let up on him. You can't take your grief out on Loki, the two are nothing alike. You know this, I know this, the whole village knows this."

"He needs to be strong--" Father was suddenly cut off by something, and I couldn't tell what. I glanced over at Freya to see if she was awake too, but when I nudged her she didn't react. I sighed heavily, though quietly, and turned around in my furs.

"I know what you're going to say, so save your breath. Loki is strong, Odin, in many ways. You just can't see them, and sometimes I think you don't want to see them. He is not as physically strong as Tyr was, I admit that, but his determination is just as fierce as yours ever was. Fiercer, I would say, than Tyr's."

Father sounded as if he was about to say something, and say it angrily, but he was hushed by mother. Frankly I was shocked. No one hushed father. Ever.

"No, Odin, let me speak. Tyr was a natural warrior, and yes, he knew the Runes. But he was nowhere near as adept at them than Loki is. You know as well as I the number of days Tyr had come home upset because the elders were not impressed by his skill, and it frustrated the both of you. Some days he did give up, shut down and refused to learn any more, and you thought nothing of his defeat; you even defended him. Tyr was fit to lead our village in almost every aspect, but unlike Loki he had never had any real idea of what it took to earn his father's respect, never knew just how much strength and fortitude it would have taken to make you love him. Loki... He does know what it takes, knows how much is required of him, and despite what you may think, he has never given up. I know he's failed you more often than not, but he's done nothing but try."

It seemed father wanted to interject again, perhaps to defend himself, but mother wouldn't have it.

"Time and time again he's sparred with you, trained with you like you had once trained Tyr - despite himself - but you have always been unjustly rough on him. I know it sounds like I'm coddling our son, but you know it to be true, so don't you dare deny it. Tyr never had the father Loki does now, so full of grief, of fear. And despite all that, Loki wants so badly to earn the respect you had so easily given to Tyr, but sometimes I think you resist him on purpose. You want our son to be more like Tyr, but you're never going to get that, no matter how hard any of us try. You need to play on his strengths, and if you tell me once more he doesn't have any..." Mother never finished that sentence, but even I could tell without seeing her it was a threat.

A long, dreadful silence filled the air, then father sighed sorrowfully. It was almost frightening to hear my father like this, so sad, so...vulnerable. It was a side of my father I had never seen before, and I had no idea what to make of it.

"The Gods are cruel," he said with such sadness. My heart was pounding as I listened, almost feeling the sorrow myself. My paw clutched at my chest as if to contain it all, and yet I pained just as hard as my father's words. "My firstborn son they took from me... Took him so my other son could live. We are nothing to them, Frigg, just pawns, weak lumps of flesh and fur. They care nothing for us."

"Come here," I heard my mother say, then a bit of shuffling. I imagined they were hugging, but of course I couldn't really imagine my father hugging anyone. "The Gods are out there, yes, and while they may seem cruel to us mortals, I believe there is a purpose for us all. Though young, Tyr was destined to die that day. Perhaps for reasons far beyond our comprehension."

Father sighed heavily again, the grief clear.

"I know you will never be able to forgive the mountain people for attacking us that day, and I don't blame you. I am with you on that, my love, completely. May the Crimson King take them all..." Mother had to pause for a moment. She sighed quietly. "But Tyr fought bravely that day, and we can both rest well knowing he is dining with his elders in the great halls of Valhalla. As I think you sometimes forget, he fought in order to give his younger brother a chance at life; he protected Loki. Tyr did a noble thing that day by his own volition, and it is not right that you blame Loki for it. He was too young at the time to even remember, much less fight for himself."

Father apparently didn't have much to say after that. The two stood in silence for a horribly long time, and though it was more than enough to let me get to sleep, my eyes were wide open. Something was wrenching in my gut and twisting in my chest, and I only then realized I was shaking. I felt like crying, though I couldn't exactly say why, but no tears came. My lips trembled and I curled into as tight a ball as I could get, holding myself and trying to forget everything I'd heard, but it was impossible.

All my father's hatred, his shame and grief stemmed from a single day in our village's history, a day we warred with the village of the mountains. With Heimdall's village. So far as I could remember, no conflicts had even broken out between us, though evidently at one point, something had set them off. Perhaps we were the ones who had started it, though I would never truly know. And if anyone could tell me, would they tell it true? No doubt both villages had their own versions of the tale, both right in their own way. I sighed shakily and rolled around, trying my best to get comfortable, but it felt like I was lying on a bed of needles.

"You are the only one in this village who ever talks to me truly," said my father at last. He spoke softly, a strange sound coming from him. "How I could ever survive without you I cannot even fathom. I love you, my shining moon."

I had never heard my father utter those words before, especially not to me. They sounded queer coming from his maw, as if it was someone else's tongue using my father's voice.

"That is why I'm here, my burning sun. Come, we should rest. The winter solstice will soon be upon us, and there is much left to be done."

I heard father sigh again, and I stayed as deathly still as I could when they re-entered the tent. They shuffled and moved about as they settled into the furs on the opposite side as me, but it seemed father was still restless. Mother sounded as if she had fallen asleep very quickly, but neither I nor my father could find sleep.

But eventually it did come, though for how long it lasted I couldn't say. Everyone was gone by the time I woke, Freya too, but I suspected I would be put to work soon enough. It was always very busy this time of year as we prepared to celebrate and make a sacrifice, and though traditionally I never had to learn the Runes or practice fighting around the Blót, I had a feeling I would be forced to go since I had missed it yesterday.

I then yawned loudly, rubbed the sleep from my eyes and remained curled up in bed. I had a strange, sinking feeling in my gut as that sense of tranquility quickly faded and I remembered conversations from the previous day. Everything came flowing back in a sudden surge, everything at once giving me a general feeling of guilt, shame and dread. I sighed before my day really began, pulled down already. But so long as I had some privacy, until mother came bursting in to let me know I had to do something, I could work on my bracelet.

Nearly done, I realized I had today and part of the next to get it all done, as festivities didn't tend to begin until later on in the evening. I mean, the whole day was a day of celebration, time to spend with family and give gifts and share food and whatnot, but all the real drinking and dancing and games didn't start until sundown. That was when we lit the bonfire.

The bonfire was always lit in the large stone dais in the centre of the village, a place where on a regular day people would gather to discuss...whatever grownups discussed. Children played and screamed and ran around, mothers gossiped whilst the men worked. On the Blót, however, everyone gathered, bathing in the fire's warmth and drinking spiced mead. Most danced to the sound of drums while others wrestled or fought, all in good fun. The blaze always burned throughout the night, though admittedly I was always in bed before I could see the fire die.

When I was sufficiently awake, I yawned once more and found the bracelet. Though it took me a few knots to get into a rhythm, I eventually started to weave the hemp fluidly and without effort. I quickly slipped into a half-awake daze and let my fingers do what they did. I always found if I began to concentrate on what I was doing, I would become horribly self-conscious and my fingers would tangle, as well as the hemp or leather, or whatever else I was working with. And so I trained myself over time to zone out and let my paws move naturally, working on instinct and memory alone.

After a few minutes I put in the final bead and secured it in with a few good twists and a tight knot. I held the bracelet out in front of me to better view it, and was more than satisfied. I continued on with the knotting and braiding for an innumerable amount of time before Freya appeared before me - I often lost myself in my craft, creating for hours without even realizing it. When she gave my leg a kick, she snapped me out of my daze with a sudden jolt and I shot her a nasty glance. But she just smiled cutely at me, and soon my face melted into a frown.

"What?" I asked her, clearly unimpressed by the interruption. When I glanced down, I saw I had only a small amount left to go. I could be done before lunch time...unless it was already lunch time. Perhaps it was later, though I wasn't feeling particularly hungry.

"I have some bad news," she said, though she didn't sound particularly upset. "Father says you have to go to Runes today. Despite the Blót being tomorrow."

I frowned harder. I knew it.

"Sorry, Loki." Then she bent down and gave me a hug. "Hey, you're almost done your bracelet. Looks good."

"Thanks," I blushed, thinking about Heimdall. Though he couldn't see, I hoped he would like it all the same. Perhaps this gift would even afford me a kiss...

Freya laughed quietly. "You're cute, Loki."

I blushed harder, but not even the Gods could stop the tiny smile from creeping onto my face.

My sister then took a seat beside me. "So how did things go with father yesterday? He didn't say much afterward."

Whatever remained of my smile had now become a frown. "Just the usual. Told me what a horrible son I am."

Freya sighed through her nose, I think wanting to avoid the argument that had earned me my father's lecture.

"Do you remember Tyr much at all?"

"Tyr..? Why do you ask?" It was clear from her expression that she was surprised to hear me mention him. I also saw a bit of sadness within her, which told me she did remember him. And like the rest of the village, quite fondly.

I shrugged at my sister, like only a small arctic fox could.

She shrugged back, eyes distant. Freya gazed into the bed of coals in the small hearth in the centre of our tent as she recalled the time our brother had lived. I was five when he was killed, and barely remembered the time.

"Well... I've told you about him before. He was brave, like father, strong, tough. He knew how to lead, that's for sure. Never all that good at Runes, but he could get by. He was surprisingly gentle, actually, big for his age. Big for an arctic fox." My sister shook her head. I could see tears in her eyes. "Why do you ask, Loki? What did father say to you?"

I gripped my bracelet hard. "I overheard him talking with mother last night. She said Heimdall's village attacked us, and Tyr was killed."

Freya sighed much heavier now, eyes more watery. Much to my surprise, she held onto my paw firmly, gripping my arm with the other. "I suppose you're lucky in not having known Tyr, not really. He was beloved by us all, but especially father. He doted on Tyr, and never hid it. No one ever talks about that time, so I can't tell you what caused them to attack. But I do know while the women and children had taken shelter in the Elders' Tent, you had somehow slipped away."

I flattened my ears. None of this was familiar to me.

"I searched for you, even outside the tent with mother, but there was so much fire and yelling and chaos, going any further would have been suicide. Mother screamed after you until her voice was raw, but we had to pull her back inside. Even now I don't know what made you wander off, or where you went. We assumed you were confused, probably looking for Tyr. You always looked up to him..."

My sister was squeezing my paw so tightly, it almost hurt. But I held on.

"Anyway, it wasn't until all the fighting was done that we learned what fate had befallen Tyr. From what I can remember, he'd killed four enemies in order to protect you, and a fifth after receiving his fatal blow. The knife father keeps in the box, that was all Tyr had with him to fight - they'd come so suddenly. Father was hurt most by the attack, having lost his son, but we were too few to retaliate. Mother had convinced him not to, though if it was left entirely up to father, he'd have torn the Great Forest apart for sake of revenge."

"So..." I had to press my paw against my chest for a moment to make sure my heart would stay where it was. "So it was my fault Tyr died..?"

"No, Loki, you can't..." She had to pause to collect herself. "You can't look at it that way. You had no idea what was going on, you can't be blamed."

That's what mother said. "But if I hadn't wandered off, Tyr might still be alive." Another twist of guilt wrung my bowels painfully. Suddenly all of father's anger seemed almost justified. "Why did no one ever tell me this?"

"Loki... I know you don't feel it, but you're still just a kit. I mean, the adults and elders never talk about that day, how do you expect they'd bring it up to a child?"

Freya had a point, but I wasn't about to tell her that.

She gave a small shrug. "Maybe they're waiting for the right time, when you're older. I don't know, but you can't blame yourself for it. It's bad enough father blames you... And yes, I'm admitting he blames you."

Now it was my turn to sigh. I hardly knew my brother, and yet I still felt guilty for causing his death. How different would things have been had I not wandered through the village during an enemy attack? I would be able to practice my craft any time I wanted, father far too busy with his good son to worry about me. He'd maybe even encourage it, and perhaps want to wear what I made him. I could train myself at my own pace, and never worry about an over-aggressive father. Perhaps even Tyr could have trained me, and I could've helped him with the Runes. I sighed once more, scratching a bit at my chest. It felt hot, and itchy.

My sister must have noticed my staring off, as she suddenly hugged me and gave my back a rub. "I know it's tough, but try not to think about all of this too much. As mother says, Tyr is dining with the Gods now for his valour and bravery. And he watches over us."

I knew the stories. Those who fought bravely and died gloriously would be taken to Valhalla after death to drink and dine with the Gods in their great feasting hall until the End Days. Every boy prayed one day to see the vast halls of Valhalla, but never wished for an early death. It had just occurred to me, no one had ever really mentioned what would happen if you died a craven.

"Well, Loki, I should probably get going now... Father just sent me to get you out of bed and see you to the elders."

"What're you doing?"

"Father wants me to help him with the sacrifice tomorrow, so he's showing me the ceremonial knife we use, and how to kill the animal and stuff." She shrugged as if it was nothing, though it was actually a high honour; usually the leader or his eldest son made the sacrifice. It would have been me, of course, except father saw me as less than a son. Plus it was possible I was still too young, though to hear father speak I should already be a man grown.

"I see," I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. At last I got up with Freya and she led me out of the tent. It was cold out again, but since I was still wearing what I'd worn the previous day, I was fine. Freya was wearing a long-sleeved top made of fur and hide, though she still showed her shoulders and everything between her navel and the top of her pants. And of course the necklace I'd made her.

In just a short time, I arrived at the Elders' Tent, and it seemed they were already expecting me. I was taken in by the Runemaster named Ulf, who was our chief runemaster, and the one who had been teaching me since I was a kit. Or a younger kit, rather. Surprisingly, he didn't scold me for missing yesterday.

Without much preamble, Ulf and I got right into it. As usual, it took almost no time at all to become bored with the runes, scribing them in the sand with a stick. He told me their meaning and to which god they're attributed, and the supposed powers they carry.

For example, one of the first Runes I learned, and one of my favourites, I simply drew a straight vertical line, then two more coming off near, though not quite at, the ends of the first line, connecting to the right, making a sort of right-pointing arrowhead. It has many meanings, but is most commonly associated with fire and destruction. However it has cleansing properties, like a cleansing fire burning away your problems, and it enforces meditation and introspection. Or so Ulf would have me believe. On the other hand, I was warned against its inverted properties, should I ever scribe the rune the other way: evil, hatred, torment. Danger and betrayal. This rune, I was told, was attributed to the Trickster God.

On the other end of the spectrum, and what Ulf was currently talking about, was a rune drawn as a sort of zigzag, a line moving diagonally downward, then across the other way, and another diagonal line downward. This one apparently inspires positive energy and warmth, as well as healing and success. It represents the sun, and is naturally attributed to our Sun God. Like with most Runes, if drawn reverse, it will bring misfortune and destruction, and false success.

What felt like an entire day passed in a shockingly short amount of time. Ulf and I had gone over dozens of runes, most of which I'd already learned and proved it to him with ease. He was impressed by the speed with which I learned them and my retention. It was more than father had ever said to me. The new ones were simple enough, and like in most cases I drew them without any trouble. I was always made to repeat the meanings and their affiliated Gods over and over until it was burned into my subconscious, and though I couldn't fairly say I'd leaned them that well, I had a very firm grasp on the first runes I'd learned.

"You are skeptical?" Ulf asked me, after I scribed the Trickster's Rune in my idle boredom. I should have inverted it, just to see what he'd say.

I sighed quietly. "Father told me the same thing, but I've never seen anybody use the Runes like that. So far as I know, our ancestors used them for Gods-know-why, and nowadays only a bunch of us know them." I wanted to ask again why they were so important to learn, but I knew I'd get the same answer as always.

"Scribing the Runes in the sand will serve you no purpose," Ulf admitted. The old arctic fox (no relation to my family) turned around and gazed into the small fire burning within the large tent. The Elders' Tent, unlike every other one, was much less a tent of hide and wood and more made of mud and wood and clay from the Mountain River. It was a sturdy structure, though darker and dirtier, but much larger than the rest. At last Ulf turned back around. "Would you like to learn something new?"

I sighed much less quietly this time. "Not really."

Ulf chuckled. "Oh, I think you might find this lesson a fair bit more difficult than any of the others. You know the Runes, I can see that. My own father was the only one I knew who had truly mastered the Runes, and he was able to wield them most fiercely. He knew them like he knew to breathe, and seemed to have a natural talent at it. My point is, young Loki, for as proficient as my father was at runecasting, you are picking up the symbols and meanings much faster and far more masterfully than he ever had. You may not impress with your abilities as a fighter, but truly you will be a powerful Runemaster."

Ulf had a tendency to digress, a trait not even the most powerful of Runes could curb. "Great. So what's the lesson?" I asked the old fox.

"Let us start with the rune you are most familiar with, the one you draw most often in your...boredom." I flushed slightly being called out like that, but admittedly I was somewhat intrigued to see where this was going. I never believed what my father or Ulf had said about the Runes, how they hold magical powers just waiting to be unlocked, but the way the Runemaster spoke almost made me think it really was possible. I would try this lesson of his, if for no other reason than to prove to him it was all lies.

"I think that's enough for today," a spine-chilling voice called from behind me. It was deep and commanding, the voice of my father. I froze instantly, heart stopped. I couldn't imagine what he wanted.

"As you say," obeyed Ulf, bowing his head. "He will be taken into your care, then?"

"Aye." Then my father glanced at me, and I had to look at him. My stomach turned as his icy blue eyes met mine. "Loki. Come."

I took a hard swallow and got up, thanked the Runemaster and left. People glanced over as we walked past, though most were far too busy cooking or labouring before the Blót. They always looked immediately away though, either feeling shame or pity for me, or both. I think they feared father and for good reason; he had little patience and a nasty temper, especially when I was somehow involved.

As suspected, we arrived shortly at the training grounds, the ground covered in a light blanket of snow - there was no practice today. The sun was just more than three-quarters across the sky, which meant whatever father and I were going to do - spar, most like - it would be just the two of us. Nothing good would come of this evening, and I anticipated dozens of new bruises.

"Show me what you have learned," my father demanded, turning to look at me. I just stared at him for a moment, then bent down.

With my finger I drew three new runes into the snow, then explained what they were. I told father their meaning and to whom they were attributed. I couldn't imagine there were many left to learn, but neither father nor Ulf had suggested otherwise. For all I knew, there was an infinite amount of Runes with thousands of meanings and hundreds of uses. Not that any of these three had any uses.

When I finished up, I glanced at my father and he just stared down at me, arms crossed and looking less than impressed. Though I was used to it, my heart sank nonetheless. I would have preferred no one praise me, not even the Runemaster, so it would make this that much easier. I sighed and stood up.

"That was all he showed me," I said, staring at the three useless runes. "The rest was all practice."

"How much do you practice the Runes outside the Elders' Tent?"

I felt like this was a trick question. I gazed into my father's eyes, trying desperately to think of the correct answer. But he always knew when I was lying. "I don't."

Father was unmoved. "And what about your other training? With weapons?"

I began to flush, but never once did I look away. "Even less."

Though he was already frowning, somehow father managed to frown even more. "It is important you practice," he said with restraint. He had to close his eyes, too, apparently. He could only stomach so much of me. "Your craft, your...weaving. You have practiced at it day after day, despite everything. Why?"

I shrugged, though father hated it. "I don't know. I like it. I like doing it. It's peaceful."

"Peaceful," father spat, but he took a deep breath. I think he suppressed a growl, too. "I have not known peace since..." Father then glared at me, then looked away. Though he was a large, powerful, brooding man, I got the sense much more was going on in his head than he ever let on.

"Since Tyr died," I finished for him, which earned me a wicked glance. I prepared myself for a smack across the face, but it never came. Instead I got a growl and father paced away from me.

"So why can you not apply that same effort to your other training?"

I didn't really want to answer that question. I knew what could happen if I did, but I definitely knew what would happen if I didn't. "I don't...like fighting. I don't like my other training."

"You know the Runes well, why don't you like them?"

"They're boring, even when he shows me new ones."

My father grunted and continued toward a tree at the farthest end of the grounds, plucking two wooden staffs that'd been leaning against it. Without another word, he tossed one at me but I fumbled and didn't catch it. Father had to frown at that, and so did I. When I picked it up from the snow, I noticed on one end some leather woven around about the length of both my paws. Dangling from where the leather had been tied off were two longer strips of leather with three beads on both. I was surprised to see this.

With the staff in paw, I stared up at my father, but he was wearing his usual scowl. "You kept it," I simply stated, glancing back at the leather ornament. I had woven this to my staff countless moons ago, when I was seven. Father was livid, I remembered distinctly. He yelled at both me and my mother, because she had encouraged it. He had taken the staff from me, and I figured I would never see it again.

Father just grunted again, then stood with paws an equal length apart, holding the staff to his left and his right leg pointed toward me. He gave me a hard, serious stare, and in just a moment I took a similar stance.

Of course, while father did it naturally, it took me a moment to remember everything he'd taught me. I held the staff with my right paw forward, holding it with my left paw against my left hip, angled toward father's head. I stood correctly, or as correctly as I could, and stared back at him. He didn't disapprove yet, though we had hardly begun.

A knot suddenly twisted in my gut as I realized what we were doing. Any moment father would attack, and I would be afraid and cower and block not like a warrior should. But I had to focus. Despite everything, Gods did I have to focus.

Yet I'd been in this position dozens of times before. I always told myself to focus, to concentrate and not be afraid, but nothing ever changed. The moment my father attacked, I would lose all sense and flail about miserably as I tried my best not to take too many hits. But again, nothing ever changed.

Suddenly, without much warning, father came at me. I froze, and in less than a second I was sprawled across the training grounds with a throbbing headache. Luckily I wasn't bleeding.

"Pathetic," he said, then took his stance again.

I groaned and closed my eyes tightly. When I managed to stand, the pain almost blinding, I rubbed the spot to ease the pain. That only made it worse, so I rubbed snow against it and took up my staff again. Somewhere inside tears were forming, but I pushed them back and stood opposed. I focused and watched carefully.

Just block him, I told myself. You know how, you know the movements.

When father came at me with the same motions, by some miracle I managed to thrust the staff forward and smack his, though nothing could have helped me stop his counter move, which earned me a nice big bruise on my left arm. At least I didn't fall over.

"Again," said father, and moments later I managed to block the first attack, and though I moved my staff as quickly as I could to block the second, it slipped by and struck me in the ribs.

This time I went down to one knee, gasping desperately for breath. I heard father sigh, but frankly my ears were still ringing from the first blow. "You're too fast," I complained, standing up. As if I hadn't said this a thousand times before.

"You don't want to see too fast, Loki." Same old response, too.

For at least an hour we practiced these basic moves. Several times I managed to block or otherwise avoid father's second strike, but there was always another. He told me while defense is important, I needed to take an offensive stance, too. At least two dozen times I attacked him instead, but all of my strikes were blocked and countered, blocked and countered. I took several more hits to the head, dozens to my arms, legs and ribs, a few to my chest and stomach, meanwhile father had suffered none.

I attacked my father both nervously and furiously, frustrated both with myself and him. He could have gone slower if he wanted to, but it seemed he enjoyed beating me. Somehow this was acceptable, it was "training." Frankly I had never known much else before then, wondering for the longest time why other parents weren't so harsh. It took me longer than it should have to realize it was just my father.

I came at my father once more, going for his chest or stomach, his head much too far away for me to reach. But as usual he blocked my thrust, pushed it aside then kicked me in the chest. It didn't hurt, though it was a shock at first, and it did push me back. I fell forward to my knee, panting, both paws on the ground. I was still clutching my staff, thinking of how I was supposed to hit him. When I realized how soft the tiny patch of snow was beneath my free paw, I suddenly had an idea.

I clutched the snow enough so I could hold it, but not so tight it clumped together. I glanced up at my father who was only five or so paces away, and as always he was glowering at me. Of course somewhere inside something was telling me not to do this, that it was somehow dishonourable and father would punish me for it, but it was either this or prove to him yet again I was a complete failure.

Without much warning, I met my father's gaze and picked myself up with as much speed as I could muster. Just as he began to take a defensive stance, I threw the snow right in his face, and though he only faltered for a second, it was enough. I swung my staff around with as much of the proper technique as I could, striking his ribs then spun it around quickly to hit him again, managing to strike his right shoulder.

When I looked up at him, holding the staff against his chest and shoulder, he glared at me. Father was unmoved by this, and yet I saw no fury in his eyes. For just a second I thought I saw a smile flicker onto his face, but when I looked it was gone like a shadow in the corner of my eye.

"That will be enough training for today," said father, then pushed my staff aside. Though he was still scowling, it somehow seemed different. He leaned his staff against a tree then sat himself in the middle of the grounds, sitting in the snow and frozen mud. Though he hadn't said anything or made any movements, I knew to sit with him.

"If any of the other boys had tried that," father began, "they would have been punished severely. Those are dirty tricks, Loki, and there is no honour in it, and no place for it here."

I flattened my ears, though father didn't sound particularly angry over it. "It worked for me," I ventured to say. I still felt a knot in my stomach, nervous for what was to come. Or rather, nervous for not knowing.

Father gave me curt nod, then scooped some snow in his paws. "The cold will keep the swelling down," he said, then much to m surprise, pushed his paw into my cheek where a substantial bruise was. I gasped at first, the cold nipping painfully at my cheek, but soon it came as a great relief. It was surreal having father care for me like this, especially after sparring. Usually mother would help me, or I would have to suffer alone the next few days with almost no relief. Was this because I hit him?

I closed my eyes and scooped up some snow for myself, letting it melt against my head where the first blow of the day had been. My arms were particularly sore, and my legs and ribs. Really what I wanted to do was throw off my clothes and lie back in a snowdrift, but this would have to do. Soon my shirt was off and though my other bruises still hurt, the snow at least brought temporary relief to my ribs and arms.

"I know you don't like the Runes, and I know you find them useless. I have told you countless times of their purpose, of their power, yet you do not believe. But this morning you did not believe you could hit me."

I flushed at the memory. Strangely, it hadn't felt nearly as satisfying as I'd always hoped it would.

"I've taught you all I can on how to fight, but still you disappoint. No matter how much practice, how much training, somehow you refuse to improve. My father would never have accepted that from me, nor his father from him. Perhaps this is just some cruel jape by the Gods, giving me such a pathetic son. But..." Father stared into the empty space between us for a long while as he considered that "but," as if someone else was listening and he needed to choose his words carefully. "You are...resolute. Surprisingly so. And...you are not without your strengths."

I didn't know what to say to father. He had strung more kind words together in that single moment than he had his entire life. I knew he was only saying this because of his talk with mother last night, but even still, the fact he'd said them out loud, and to me, was astounding. I just stared at him speechlessly.

"Gods," he cursed, clearly as uncomfortable with this as I was. "My point is, Loki, you have proven yourself as adept at scribing runes as Tyr was at fighting. Upon his death, he had only learned as many as you know now, and had never had the chance to take those teachings further. You are a pathetic excuse for a fighter, but I will make a warrior of you yet."

Now I was nervous. The sun was close to the horizon and still he wanted to teach me something. I thought I had suffered enough that day, but evidently I was wrong. But I nodded anyway, willing to go through with it whether I wanted to or not.

"Have you heard of runecasting?"

I shook my head. "Ulf had mentioned something about his father. Said he was a Runecaster. Didn't know what that meant, though."

"Runecasting is essentially wielding the Runes as weapons, tapping into their power, the power of nature and the world around you."

It took all my power not to roll my eyes. I listened carefully.

"It is not an easy thing to learn, and you have to know the Runes like you know how to breathe. Every rune has dozens of meanings, as you know, and some are attributed to more than one god, each one with their own set of meanings. While runecasting, you must know exactly which meaning you want, for if you utter the wrong incantation, you can get wildly different results. Of course with time and practice, you don't need to say the incantations, but it helps."

I was incredulous, and father knew it. "I've scribed and said the meanings hundreds of times," I pointed out, idly scratching one into the hard packed snow. "Nothing's ever happened."

"It isn't enough to draw them in the snow or mud or sand. Anyone can do that. Children sometimes do it without even realizing what they're drawing, just idle scratching. You need to be able to visualize the meanings, the desired results in your head, then cast the rune."

I glanced up at my father. "Cast the rune?"

He had me now, and he knew it. "All around us is nature's power. In the air we breathe, in the wood and skin we use to make our homes. In the mud, the snow. Everywhere. To tap into that power, you must find the flow of nature, the magick that surrounds us always."

"How do you do that?"

Father smiled, a look I was never going to get used to. Was he glad to finally be able to teach me something? "The answer is somewhat more esoteric than you might like. Sometimes it helps to hold an object in your paw, like a knife. Most of us, though, we just use our claws."

I furrowed my brow. I didn't know what he meant, but I was curious to find out.

"Lift your paw, Loki, feel the air."

I did as he said. I waved my paw gently through the air, feeling the slight pressure of it against my pads, like the slightest wind blowing against it. It was cool air, and getting colder. I'd want to be putting my shirt back on soon, more especially with the sun dangling above the distant mountains, barely visible through all the trees. When I noticed father extend just his forefinger, I did the same, not really sure what I was feeling for. But it definitely looked as if his finger was searching for something.

"The flow of nature is all around us," he said softly. It almost didn't sound like him, his voice free of the usual harshness I'd come to loathe. It was still a deep voice, but somehow smoother. "Even now, I can feel the tendrils curling around me, nipping at my fingertip."

I wasn't sure I felt anything. But I waved my paw around a bit more slowly, concentrating. I was waiting to feel something, waiting for some sort of sign, but none came. Father had already stopped, and just watched me instead. With his eyes upon me, I felt a warm flush creeping up my neck, and I quickly became more frustrated. This wasn't working, and stupid me had for at least a second convinced myself this was real.

"Stop, Loki," father said at last. I put my arm down in frustration.

"I don't feel anything," I said, frowning.

"You're trying too hard. You have to relax." My father pondered for a moment, and hesitated before speaking. He looked like he didn't want to mention whatever it was he was about to say, but he said it anyway. "I've seen you before, watched you as you created one of your...things. Bracelet, necklace, whichever it was. I've seen the way your paws move, the way you slip out of your own body. You're almost on a whole new plane, aren't you."

The last time we'd talked about this, I received a healthy smack across the head. But somehow I felt this conversation wasn't leading that way. "Yeah," I admitted. "I told you, it's...relaxing..." I then realized what father was getting at, and I gave him a subtle nod. "I'll try again."

This time I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. When I opened them again, I tried to hold onto that feeling I got when I was weaving Heimdall's bracelet earlier. I slowly waved my paw about, moving my fingers as if weaving hemp and leather and beads all together, concentrating on the movements and the feeling of the air against my fur, and yet somehow not concentrating on it either. I took long, deep breaths, listening to the wind and feeling it nip at my body. And still I was left with nothing. I sighed heavily, then let my arms drop again.

Father closed his eyes and lifted his paw, his forefinger extended, and waved it for only a moment before stopping. "There," he said, eyes open. It seemed as if his claw had caught on something. "The tendrils of nature are always around us," he said, paw still held in front of him. "When you find one, and you will always find one, it's like grabbing onto an invisible hook. You'll feel a slight, very subtle tug on your claw, there but not really there, sort of like running your finger through water. And once you find that hook, nature's arm...only then can the runecasting begin."

I tried to envision the flow of nature around me like the currents of the Mountain River. I waved my paw through the air and closed my eyes, breathing softly as I pictured nature's power gently rolling around me. I imagined I was that large rock near the mill, and the water coursing around it was nature's flow, lapping against me as it rushed by. I reached for the small waves, the wisps of nature, poking at them with just my fore-claw. Nothing yet, but I'd lost myself in my meditation, feeling nature course around me yet latching onto nothing.

When I opened my eyes, I let out a long sigh. "I feel like I'm almost there, like something strange is all around me. I don't know if that's nature, or what... It isn't windy here or anything."

Father lifted his paw once more and moved it for just a second, then stopped. "Watch," he said, then before I could say anything, he hooked his claw on something invisible and scraped it downward.

Trailing behind his claw was a strange, almost glowing line of red, as if he'd sliced through the air like a tanner slices through hide. I sat in awe of this humming red line, the sound of it as subtle as the wind. I could feel the slightest bit of warmth from it, and saw it cast a slight hue upon my white fur. He then carved out of the air a diagonal line from halfway between the middle and the end of the first line, causing the glowing incision to hiss, and as he drew the third line, making an arrowhead-shaped rune, the whole thing began to sizzle more loudly.

"No," I said, eyes as wide as the moon. "No way. That's... That isn't possible."

"This is runecasting, Loki. This is how you tap into nature's power, how to bend it to your will. It is an arcane knowledge, and sadly a slowly dying art. Soon there will be no one left but the Dragons who can use this ancient power."

Though I'd heard what father had said, I wasn't paying attention. All I could do was stare at my favourite rune carved into the air between father and I, its sizzling much gentler now, more like the wind rustling through the trees. I reached a paw forward to feel this glowing red rune, but when I swiped my fingers through it, it blew away like a wisp of reddish smoke. I gasped quietly, only then realizing just how dark it'd gotten.

I gave my father a hard, determined stare. I closed my eyes once more and relaxed, taking several long, deep breaths with my paws to my sides, for now listening to the wind and the sound of my own breathing. Quickly I cleared my mind, imagining myself once more working on a bracelet or a necklace, falling into my trance. I opened my eyes and raised my right paw, forefinger pointing outward the most. I scraped at the air in search for one of nature's infinite tendrils, a wisp of magick that was swirling around me. I'd seen it with my own eyes, I knew it was there, knew it existed. I believed it now, without a doubt. Like the freezing Mountain River flowing around me when I bathed, I slowly began to feel nature's flow, brushing my fur so softly, so subtly it may as well have not been there at all, but I knew it was. My finger scraped at the flowing river of nature, and though it was the most delicate of sensations, I at last felt the slightest tug against my claw.

And the moment I felt my claw tug at nature's tendril, my eyes widened and my heart skipped a beat. It was there, I had it, I felt it. Nature's power was before me, ready for me to command it, to inscribe the rune and do with it what I willed. I was excited, beyond excited, that I had finally done it. And yet for as quickly as it had come, in my excitement I had lost it. I wasn't disappointed, though, how could I be? Suddenly there was a whole new level to Runes I had been told about dozens of times, but only now started to believe in.

"I felt it," I said to father, eyes still wide. A freezing chill had crept into the training grounds as the sun sank beneath the horizon. I only now began to feel it. "I had it, it was there. I..."

Father smiled at me, and when I glanced up at him, I almost sensed a certain amount of pride. I pushed my ears back, instinctively afraid of the unknown. Certainly this face father wore was totally unknown, at least to me. I almost didn't know what to make of it, so I said nothing.

"You have done better than I thought you would," he said, finally standing up. He held out his paw and though I was wary at first, I grabbed on. He pulled me up to my feet, then handed me my woolly top.

My old, ratty shirt was as cold as the snow, but once it was on and I moved around a bit, it warmed up quickly. I grabbed my staff from the ground and father grabbed his, and I followed him back toward the village. Neither of us said any more, but for the first time I could remember, I left the training grounds happy. Proud, even, though that seemed like it was a bit of a stretch. Satisfied was probably a better word, so much so my throbbing bruises didn't seem so bad.

Though father had some Blót-related business to attend to, he told me to get home and eat something, and I did so eagerly. When I reached the warm, smoky embrace of our tent, I saw my mother and sister waiting for me.

"Gods," Freya exclaimed, pushing herself quickly to her feet and rushing over to me. The concern was worn plainly upon her face, and mother seemed worried but unsurprised. She was currently roasting some fish over the open flames in the centre of the tent. Freya turned to mother and said, "Now we know where he's been all day."

"Are you okay, Loki?" mother asked, leaving the fish for now to kneel in front of me. "Do you need anything?"

I shook my head. "I'm fine, mother, Freya. Father and I trained for a while."

I think the delight with which I told them that had thrown them off, as they shared a funny glance. Mother seemed upset. "I'm going to have to talk with your father," she insisted angrily. She must have thought he hadn't listened to a word of her advice from the other night.

"It's okay, mother, really. He... He taught me about runecasting. He didn't say I did well, but...I think he meant it. He smiled at me." Despite all my bruises, I beamed proudly at my mother and sister. I had never felt this before, this sort of satisfaction, this happiness. Not when father was involved, at any rate.

Soon enough the fish was sufficiently cooked and we all sat around the fire to eat. Mother gave me a larger portion than she'd given herself and Freya, either because she was proud of me, too, or she felt bad about my injuries. I thanked her all the same and scarfed it down hungrily. I told them more about what father and I had done that day, and they were surprised I'd survived hitting him with my staff. Either that, or they were surprised I'd managed to do it in the first place.

When at last father got home, he ate some cold fish and bread and gave a less excited version of the tale I had told. Though he never said directly I'd made him proud, he spoke to mother without shame. Even the way he talked of my fighting that day wasn't anywhere near as harsh as it had always been.

That night I went to bed with a slight smile on my face. I recalled my lessons from the day, pondering all the things I could do once I became more proficient at runecasting. In my mind I thought of all the runes I'd learned, thinking hard on all their meanings and hoped I was remembering correctly. I never had any interest in the Runes, but now it felt as if a whole new world had opened up to me, like they weren't even the same symbols anymore. Unlike before, I was eager to learn more, hungry for the knowledge of our ancestors. But more than that, I wanted to cast the Runes, to experiment and see just what sort of power I could wield. I couldn't swing a stone blade to save myself - or a staff for that matter - but somehow I knew, this was going to make me strong.

Morning came far less abruptly than it had in a long time. I woke to the smell of sizzling meat over the fire, dripping with grease. The tent reeked of it, and after wiping the sleep from my eyes I wondered why morning food was cooking in here. Usually the village gathered and we broke our fast together, but as I woke up a little more, I remembered especially during Blót, family time was important. From my perspective it had always been a horribly awkward event, having to eat with a father who hated me. But for the first time I could remember, father actually wanted me here. Well...he hadn't kicked me awake yet.

When at last I pushed myself up, eyes still heavy and full of sleep, I saw mother tending the breakfast by the fire, quick to catch the grease in a bowl made of bone. In amongst the smell of crackling meat I smelled bread, though I think it was wafting in from outside. Father wasn't here, and nor was Freya. No doubt they were off preparing for tonight's sacrifice, or perhaps gathering what little food our village had for the morning's meal.

"Good morning, Loki," said mother. Our food was sizzling away on a bed of flat stones above the fire, the grease funnelling down randomly into the flames. Mother was quick, though, to catch some of the larger drops, which she would use later on for another meal. Perhaps even to fuel the fire in the dais tonight. "Til árs ok friðar."

That was a prayer to our Gods said on the Blót, words of our ancestors. It was traditionally cried out to the heavens as the sacrifice was made, praying for a good year and peace, fertility and good health. It was more commonly used now as a kind greeting to your fellow worshipper, more especially around times of celebration.

"Ugh... Til árs...ok friðar," I groaned in response, still half asleep. I finally whipped my warm, comfortable furs off me and gave my arms a rub with my paws, feeling a bit of a chill despite the heat pouring from the cooking fire. I had on only my brother's old pants, large and baggy and tattered at the bottom, a thick fur belt keeping them up. The fur was all tattered, too, but leather strips kept it all together. I scratched my naked belly and soon I heard it grumble. At last I stood up and watched my mother cook.

"It isn't quite ready," she told me, assuming I wanted to eat now. She wasn't wrong. "We must wait for your father and Freya."

"Where are they?"

"They went to gather bread and mead. They should be back shortly."

I took in a long, deep whiff of the meat, mouth starting to water. I had to distract myself somehow, and when I looked around I remembered I had yet to finish that bracelet. It wouldn't take me more than an hour, probably less. I found it quickly and sat within my messed up sleeping furs, twisting it and turning it to find where I had left off and how best to continue. Once I found the proper ends and recalled what positions I had left them in and how I should continue, I did just that.

In mere moments I began to weave the hemp expertly, trying to block out the obvious distraction of food so as to gain a certain level of tranquility. It was difficult, but soon the smells and the sounds and my mother's voice all began to blend into a single sensation, loud but unheard. My fingers moved without my thinking, and though my eyes were open, I barely took notice of what I was doing. A smile crept onto my face the closer toward the end my bracelet got, all five beads now woven in. I just needed a bit more length and a closing loop.

I twisted and turned it as I began to work out how to do the loop, which I'd done dozens of times before but never with this particular weave. Nevertheless, I finally figured something out just as I saw some movement flicker to my left. I continued anyway, figuring it was probably just Freya and father returning. The smell of fresh bread confirmed it, and I had to look up.

Father, not surprisingly, was shaking his head, but unlike usual, he let me continue and didn't say anything. He simply greeted my mother and gave her a gentle kiss, then Freya sat beside me. Though she could see I was working, she was intent on making me stop.

"G'morning," she said cheerfully. "Your bruises feeling any better?"

I'd nearly forgotten I even had them. At last I put the bracelet down, so close to finishing, but I knew if I didn't father would yell at me for ruining the family time. I rubbed my cheek, which hurt to touch and was otherwise still tender. "Yeah. They're fine." My arms and legs and ribs and face were still covered in bruises from yesterday, sore but somehow I didn't mind. I glanced at father who glared at me, unsmiling though his expression told me to wear them with pride. Either that or that I deserved them.

"They look pretty nasty," she commented, which wasn't particularly helpful. "Father, did you really have to hit Loki so hard?"

He glared at us both this time, then sat cross-legged amongst his own sleeping furs. This was one of the few times he didn't have to be the village leader. "His enemies will not be so soft on him," my father said in defence. "Had I really hit him, your little brother would not be standing."

I was sitting, but I got the idea. So did Freya.

"Oh, Odin," barked mother, who was now moving the sizzling meat off the flat stones and into a wood bowl. "It's Midwinter, lay off the child for at least one day." Outside the tent mother had about as much power over father as I did, but inside she ruled. He knew better than to defy her here.

Father just grunted, then together the four of us sat on a straw mat with our food between us. I was somehow forced to sit between father and Freya, mother across from me, and we said a few prayers in thanks for the food. We also prayed for Tyr, begging the Gods to watch over his eternal soul. Then at last we ate.

The meat was crispy, juicy, and very delicious. The grease ran down my fingers as I picked it off the bone, and picked the bones out from it, and as I shoved it in my maw a few drops escaped down my chin. I ripped a large chunk of bread from the round, crusty loaf, realising the drippings mother had collected was to dip our bread into. There was also dried fruits and nuts to eat as well, which were good but nowhere near as tasty as the freshly made stuff. Whilst gorging myself, father suddenly handed me a horn of mead, which I wasn't generally allowed, but once a season it was okay.

I glanced at my father and though he looked like his usual stern, angry self, I felt almost no animosity from him. I took the horn and just tasted the mead at first, never really liking the taste, but after a couple sips I managed a bigger gulp. He handed out two more horns to Freya and mother, and of course he got the bigger one. I tasted the mead more carefully after swallowing, scrunching up my face a moment later as I felt the buzz of the alcohol. Freya just laughed, and mother smiled, but father remained stone-faced. I decided to eat a pawful of nuts and scrape the last of the meat from the bones before trying more, but it didn't help.

Eventually, though, with some goading from Freya, I managed to chug the last three quarters of my mead which sent a long, nasty buzz up my spine. I cringed and expressed my disgust loudly, but it was down and I managed to keep it down, too. Freya laughed at my reaction, and I think even father may have smiled. I couldn't get the sweet, tangy taste off my tongue fast enough.

After finishing our breakfast, I was then forced to sit and listen to father and mother and Freya talk about whatever was on their minds, myself having very little to add. Mother mostly talked about the preparations for tonight's Blót, how much she had done and what was left to do and who was doing it. Freya mentioned some boy she liked, which immediately got a rise out of father. The boy wasn't who he would have chosen, and he expressed children were given too much freedom these days, while back in his day he did what his father told him and that was that. But of course mother was quick to remind him she wasn't who his father had picked, which surprised me - father had never struck me as the disobeying sort.

When the idle chatter had finally died down, and the bones picked even clearer than I'd managed and the nuts and fruits gone, mother announced she had some gifts for Freya and I.

I always liked receiving gifts - what child doesn't? - despite every one of them always being a letdown. Last Midwinter Blót I was given the staff which took less than a day for me to deface with my decorations. I could only imagine what father had in store for me now.

"Loki," said mother, digging around her and father's sleeping furs for her gifts. "I had Tass weave this for you..." Before I even had a chance to make a face, she immediately began to defend herself. "Now, I know you seem to prefer going topless in the dead of winter, but your old one is so ratty and full of holes, I wanted you to have something new."

When she turned around, she presented me a large woolly top which immediately made me groan. I'd learned dozens of times from father to appreciate the gifts I was given, but the last thing I needed was another itchy, baggy shirt.

"Oh, come on now, Loki, you haven't even looked at it. Look..." she then held the top out to me, and I quickly realized it had no sleeves. "It has a hood, too, for when the wind blows, and to keep your little ears warm."

I had to frown at her babying me like that. Sometimes it had its advantages, but right now it didn't. "Thank you," I forced myself to say. I then took the top. It was surprisingly soft, unlike my other shirt, and I had to appreciate the fact it was sleeveless - long sleeves could be so burdensome sometimes.

"You at least have to try it on," she insisted. "When you go outside."

I nodded at mother, conceding at last. "All right."

Freya, on the other hand, while still receiving a piece of clothing, got a nice belt with a bone latch and a new pair of hide pants, since unlike most girls in our village, she was training to be a fighter. If she was disappointed by her gift, she hid it extremely well.

Freya then announced she had gotten me something, which was a first. "I'm sure you'll be able to use them," she said, revealing a pawful of stone beads. Father was unimpressed.

"Oh, wow," I exclaimed, genuinely surprised. "These are really nice!" I took them in my paw and examined them closely. Not made from usual rocks, these ones were dark and looked to be polished. They were smooth to the touch, and varied in size. "Where did you get these?"

She shrugged and smiled at me cutely. "The stonemason had a few cores lying around, and I asked if he could make them into beads. Don't ask me how he got the hole through them."

Though I couldn't be sure, the only thing I could imagine at the time was he'd used runecasting; our stonemason was old, like the elders, and carved runestones at least once a season. I immediately began to cycle through all the runes I knew to come up with one that could bore holes straight through solid stone, but I couldn't think of one. I would have to remember to ask Ulf next time I saw him.

"Well," I started, a bit flushed. I always hated being the centre of attention. "Uh, I made...well, I mean, I made these..." I had to dig around a bit, but I at last found the anklet I'd made for Freya - hemp with two small beads and a large one, each one made of the bark of a soldier pine - and a simple woven hemp bracelet for mother. I knew better than to gift one to father.

"Ah, thanks, Loki!" cried Freya, more excited than I'd have expected. "I was wondering when you'd make me something new."

Mother just smiled warmly at me. "Thank you, Loki. You're very sweet."

I blushed, then suddenly father shifted. It was his turn now, always last to give gifts.

"Freya," he began, a paw behind his back. I hadn't seen where he'd gotten his gift from, but it was small enough to hide. "You are nearly a woman grown now, and ready to cast aside your weapons of wood. On the new moon you will begin your real training." Then he presented to Freya a polished stone cudgel. The round head was dark, smooth, and deadly. It was bound to the thick wooden arm by leather straps, and the grip, too, was bound in dark leather. A fine weapon if I ever saw one. "I know you favour the cudgel," he said as Freya took it. Apparently she was speechless.

"F-Father," she finally managed. "Thank you, I... I'm honoured!"

Father smiled warmly at his only daughter and bowed his head. "Your training will be more vigorous, and harder than you know. But I think you are ready."

Freya nodded quickly. She had a fire in her eyes, ready to please father. Suddenly my runecasting seemed second-rate.

"And Loki," he said in a much harder voice. Frankly I was surprised he would even bother. "I was debating with your mother for many moons on an appropriate gift for you, if even there was one. It ended up a fruitless effort, but I have found something. No doubt it will go wasted on you, but every boy your age has one, though it tends to serve them better than it will you... Nevertheless, son, I give you this."

Father turned, and when he turned back around he presented me with the most beautiful, most unusual dagger I had never seen. The blade itself was as black as night, and it shined more brilliantly than the most polished stone. I had never seen anything like this before, the reflections changing with every movement. The small flames in our tent danced off its glistening, incredibly smooth surface, and yet it still appeared darker than ash. When I at last held the weapon in my paws, I felt the edges; though jagged, they were sharper than any knife I'd held before, and smoother than a newborn pup. The blade itself was firmly attached to a dark, sturdy handle made of wood, with equally dark leather keeping it all together. Even mother seemed awestruck by it.

"Where... Where did you get this? What is it?" The blade was almost surreal, like holding a piece of the night sky in my paws.

"They call it dragonstone," said father, gazing at the blade. Freya looked almost frightened of it, yet entranced by its beauty. "One of our scouts brought the stone back from the mountains, from deep within its bowels. They say the Dragons carved those tunnels with their fiery breath."

I had heard the tales of the Gods, of the Crimson King and the fabled city of Asgard. Their people took a stand against the evil might of the Crimson King and his wicked army. He had vowed to conquer the whole of the world and steal their souls, cutting down any Valkyrie who tried to take the bravest warriors to Valhalla. Apparently the Crimson King slaughtered all who stood in his way, turning them to his cause. All but the people of Asgard.

The old tales say the people were the last in all the land to be taken by the Crimson King, and though they fought bravely, they were no match for his evil. So instead they sought shelter within the ancient mountains carved out by the Dragons and begged the Gods to save them. The Gods took pity on the people, and though the Crimson King had become too powerful to destroy, they had instead banished him to the dark underworld, Hel. There it is said he rules, and those who die with sins in their hearts are doomed to become a part of his monstrous army.

Of course, those were just old tales. My mother had told me those tales when I was very little, and insisted they were true. Even father seemed to fear the Crimson King and his evil army, and of course every season we made a sacrifice to the Gods as thanks for their kindness and wisdom. Myself, I wasn't sure what to believe. I had never seen any sign of the Gods' existence, nor the Crimson King's, and yet everyone swore they were real. It was what I grew up hearing, but if the Gods were so kind, and truly existed, why was my brother taken from us?

"Thank you," I said at last, the shock of the strange dagger finally starting to wear off. Admittedly, I felt a little guilty accepting it, especially when Freya was the real fighter in our family now. She never used such small weapons, but regardless, I hardly deserved it.

"I'd been holding onto that dagger for many more moons than I should have. It was to be your brother's."

Now I really felt guilty. I flattened my ears and sunk a little, tail curling into my legs. Any sort of joy I'd gotten from this gift was taken away about as quickly as it'd been given. An awful silence filled our tent as father's last words sunk in. It was foolish of me to think father had intended this gift for me, and even more foolish to think he had any sort of pride in me. I was just as pathetic as I was two moons ago, if not worse for letting myself believe anything had changed. He had only shown me runecasting to pacify mother, never intending to make me a better warrior.

But when I glanced up, I saw mother glare at father, and he flattened his ears, too. Perhaps he'd accidentally let it slip out.

"It's a really nice dagger," Freya said, rubbing my back. My tail flicked and I tried a smile at her, though it didn't last. Still, I appreciated the effort.

Perhaps I'll kill father with it, I thought, but of course I didn't really mean it. It was a really great gift, such a strange, beautiful blade, despite it wasn't originally intended for me. But still, father could have given it to me at any Blót between now and when Tyr died, if he was just trying to get rid of it. Instead he chose Midwinter, three years after Tyr's death, which meant he was either tired of looking at it, or he felt there was a good reason to gift it to me. The only thing different about this Blót was I'd shown him just how capable I was at Runes. Perhaps there was a certain amount of pride after all...

I nodded at my sister, flicking the edge of the black blade again with my thumb. I was surprised at how sharp it was. I then realized I had no place to put it, nor to keep it if I wanted to carry it around. Not that anyone would ever be threatened by an eight-year-old with a stone knife, especially me, but still, it would have been nice. Clearly father didn't think that much of the gift.

"Well," mother began, clapping her paws together. "I suppose it's time to clean up. Loki, care to help me?"

Not particularly, I wanted to say, but I knew better; sometimes mother's wrath could be just as nasty as father's. I gave her a disinterested nod, then glanced at Freya and father.

"What are your plans?" she asked them, as if reading my mind. "I imagine there is still much to do before tonight's celebrations."

Father just nodded, and Freya, too, but more nervously. She had never made the sacrifice before, but was probably just as nervous because the whole village would be watching her. She would also be allowed to drink and feast throughout the night with them, a privilege she had never had before. I didn't know much of what happened after the sun went down, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

"Well, you two go along. Loki and I will clean up, then I suppose I'll have to prepare our contribution." The feast was generally supplied by the whole village, everyone bringing their own food to share with all. I tended to gorge myself every time.

And so begrudgingly, I helped clean up the eating area, which quickly turned into cleaning up the entire tent. I shifted sleeping furs around and small piles of smelly clothes. The bones from our breakfast I deposited out back, and the bowls and horns I gave to mother to wash.

"You should wash up, too," she commented. "I think you still have mud on you from last moon."

I glanced down at my white-furred belly, not seeing anything terribly dirty. But when I brushed my paws through my fur, I did get the sense it wasn't as soft as it could have been. I sighed quietly, wanting more to practice runecasting. Perhaps afterward, though I desperately needed to finish Heimdall's bracelet - I had only the closing loop left to go.

When at last our tent was sufficiently cleaned, I put on my new woolly top and tucked my black dagger under my leather-and-fur belt, then helped bring the dishes to the River where other mothers were doing the same. Some of the younger kids were splashing around in the River, which really didn't appeal to me. I sighed once more.

"You should thank Tass if you see her. You know, it doesn't look so bad on you." She was referring to my gift, of course. Surprisingly, it wasn't anywhere near as baggy as I'd expected, though it still had enough give for me to grow into it. It was oddly nice having my arms totally free, like I was half way to being half nude. It seemed like it would be more practical for a fighter who needed his arms free and body warm, but I appreciated it all the same. More than I let on, anyway.

"I will," I told her as I threw up the hood. I felt hidden now, like a shadow. I walked away from my mother, up the stream and toward the mill, watching the other villagers through the corners of my eyes and feeling quite mysterious. I would have to thank Tass.

Finally I was far enough away from the mill and the village to be able to enjoy a freezing cold bath alone. I sighed gently and removed my top, placing it nicely on the snowy riverbank, right beside a dead, lopsided tree. The air was always somewhat colder by the Mountain River, but my under-fur was adequately thick. Still, I rubbed my arms and chest all the same, then after glancing around, removed my pants at once, hiding the black blade within. I wore only my hand-made bracelets now - six on my left wrist, seven on my right and three right anklets, each one unique and different - but it didn't matter if they got wet.

The cool air brushed through my fur and my private bits, cooling me significantly but it was somehow refreshing. Without another thought, I stepped off the riverbank and into the water, frozen by the icy water but soon I began to move. The river's current wasn't particularly strong this far from the mountains, but even so I was careful not to go out too far where the little ones sometimes got washed away, though their parents were always close by to save them.

After painfully walking in up to around my waist, my privates cold as ice and belly faring no better, I stood in the rushing water building up enough courage to dive under. I wasn't quite shivering, but I felt like I was awfully close. Soon enough, though, I realized I'd made it out too far to not bother cleaning myself up, and so at last dived in.

The current, while not strong, was substantial, pulling me toward the mill but not with a strength I couldn't handle. The icy water nipped at my eyes and bit my nose, ears flattened and taking on little water. Still, my head felt like a block of ice and my body adapted quickly. I swam about for a moment before at last surfacing, taking a deep breath as the chilly air rushed into my lungs. I was definitely shivering now as I waded back toward my stuff, water lapping around my chest, then my belly button.

I dove in again and this time grabbed some sand and rubbed it vigorously through my fur whilst underwater, scrubbing as much dirt and oil and grime as I could, surfacing quickly. I did my legs and my privates and arms, always saving my chest and neck and head for last, since that required the most amount of time beneath the tiny waves. I finished up quickly, then just swam around at my own leisure until I heard a few voices. A few familiar voices, and my heart began to race.

I splashed back to shore as swiftly as I could, but before I could reach my clothes, I saw a group of bruised and battered boys emerge from the woods, and no older sister in sight to protect me. I made for my stuff anyway, but they'd already seen me, and began yelling at once. I backed away as they approached the riverbank, further into the water until it lapped gently at my waist. The boys continued to yell.

My heart and mind raced. They had to know who I was, had to know who father was. They trained with him, most every boy did. Did they not think beating up their leader's son was a bad idea? It wasn't like father would do anything to them, but perhaps he could make their training harder. He could beat them like he beat me.

"Freya's not around," one of the boys cried, a fat one. They hadn't yet stepped into the water, but they were hovering around my stuff. What I feared most was they'd take my blade, then father would never forgive me. I had to get it back, but if went too close...

"Go away!" I yelled out. All of this had started because I'd caught the white-furred husky - and seemingly this little gang's leader - kissing a girl. No doubt he'd forgotten why he attacked me to begin with, and now wanted to take his anger out on me. Probably because he'd been so severely beaten by a girl. He was just as cowardly as me.

"We came here to wash up," called the husky. "This is our spot. Get out of here."

I frowned at the husky. "No," I said, very defiantly too. I tried to hide as best I could my racing heart, which risked pounding straight out of my chest. Frankly there was more than enough River to share with everyone, I just didn't want to share it with them. And they probably didn't want to share it with me.

One of the others whispered something to the angry, vengeful husky, which caused his face to twist into an awful grin. He bent down and grabbed my stuff - pants, shirt, knife and all - then threw it into the river. I cried out angrily and ran for it before it could flow away, or get caught up in the mill. Fortunately I reached it, but everything was sopping. I looked about desperately for my dagger, feeling up and down the pants and my shirt, but it wasn't there. I growled quietly, more nervous now for what father would say than what these boys would do.

They just laughed, then began undressing. Before I could make it up to shore, defeated now - especially without my black knife - they came right at me and prevented me from leaving. I backed away, gripping my soaked clothes until the water lapped at my navel.

The boys were nude, and now I could see very clearly just how much bigger they were than me. One was a fat boy, but strong, while the others all varied in tall and muscular. The leader, the white husky, was the second tallest, most brawny and despite his thick fur, most defined. Father probably loved him.

"Still not done with you," said the boy. He was a bit older than Freya, and much bigger and stronger. His face seemed fine, though, after his beating. Only his pride had been smashed, and clearly he aimed to rectify that. Surely beating up an eight-year-old would help.

"What do you want now?" I asked, holding my wet clothes close to me. I hugged them as if they would protect me, but they would serve me about as much good as the grain sack had.

The husky winced, staring at my naked body. It seemed he was intrigued by all my bruises. "You get beaten up again, hm?" Then he laughed a little, which prompted the others to laugh, too.

I growled quietly. "My father gave them to me."

The husky huffed through his nose, but still stared. "Your father hates you, I hope you know that."

Something suddenly rent at my heart. What did he know, anyway? "You know nothing about my father. He doesn't..." I had to stop myself. Did he hate me? He sure didn't love me. Or did he? Was his lessons his twisted sense of love? The husky gave me little time to ponder such things, as he growled and gave me a shove.

"I don't like you, craven. You need your sister to fight for you because you're too weak to defend yourself. But she's not here now, is she. What're you going to do now?"

"Stop it," I cried, just as he shoved me back again. The water splashed just under my chest now, and still the husky came forward. The others seemed content just watching.

"What're you going to do?"

I suddenly felt tears well up, realizing my hopelessness. I didn't have anywhere near what it took to defend myself, and Gods forsake him, this husky had it out for me. Thankfully the splashing water covered my tears, and I had no real way of knowing if they'd begun falling down my face. More so when the husky pushed me again, and this time I fell backward.

I splashed in the water and broke the surface easily, still somehow clinging to my clothes as my footpaws touched solid, rocky ground beneath the water. I gasped for breath, downstream a bit from the husky, but not nearly far enough away to make a run for it.

Instead the husky was on me like flies on meat. He grabbed me and though I yelped, he threw me back toward his friends, all of whom enjoyed laughing at me flail about in the water. When I gained proper footing once more, I backed away from him, further toward his friends but away from them, too. They seemed to be herding me upstream, probably not on purpose. They just liked seeing the fear.

At last the husky came at me and punched me again in the face, which knocked me down instantly. Before I could do anything, though, I felt him on my back and pushing me down. I tried desperately to keep myself above water, but he was too strong. The icy river flowed up my nose and into my maw and my ears, and when I was allowed back up my lungs were on fire. I coughed and coughed as I tried my hardest to expel the water, but it burned horribly.

The husky, though, who seemed frighteningly angry with me for something so small and so stupid, suddenly tackled me, and his friends circled around. The large dog and I wrestled and splashed about closer to the shore, closer to where I'd laid my stuff. My clothes, of course, were long gone now, flowing toward the mill faster than I'd ever be able to catch it.

I suddenly took another punch to the face, something I was unfortunately not as used to as I thought I should have been, and tackled into the icy water once more. We twisted and screamed and tore at each other violently, myself more scrambling desperately to be free of him than anything. I was then forced onto my bum and with his paws around my neck, he pushed me back into the water. I was completely submerged, save my flailing feet, and though it was freezing and dark, I could somehow hear yelling, too.

I kicked and twisted as best I could, but I wasn't strong enough to break free of this husky's grip. I didn't even know his name, yet he was trying to kill me. I held my breath feverishly as he held me there, still struggling but at least I was aware enough to not take in water. Of course, I could only hold my breath for so long.

My world started to grow darker, quieter, infinitely colder. I was weaker, and losing strength by the second. Still I kicked, but it was impossible now. My left paw gripped tightly onto his forearm, and though someone was pulling on the dog, even they could not help me. But just when I felt the Crimson King's dark paws on my shoulders, my right paw came upon something smooth, hard, and incredibly sharp.

Immediately my paw came flying out of the water, jabbing the object hard into the husky's arm. That was it, that was all I needed. The husky faltered and wailed horribly, and in seconds he was off of me. I lifted myself quickly from my watery grave-to-be and held my dragonstone blade by its proper grip, gasping desperately for air. The husky just cursed loudly and despite clear objections from his friends, he came at me again.

Though we collided violently, I managed to move and struggle and stagger about until I found an opening. With all the strength I had left in me, I snarled as wickedly as my father and sliced open the husky's stomach.

The dog cried out and backed away until the water pushed at his ankles. His paws clutched his gaping wound, blood pouring through his fingers and down his privates and legs. The dog was shaking, stunned at so much hot, crimson blood flowing into the River. His friends were shocked, too, and I just stood ready for more, though I prayed this was the end.

"Gods..." uttered the husky, then fell to his knees. "Y-You...cut me..."

Immediately one of the boys disgorged into the River, while another - the fat one - fell to his knees and begged to see the wound. It wasn't anywhere near as bad as I had thought it was, nor as bad as the husky made it out to be. Another boy then frantically threw on pants and ran back to the village. I still stood as if ready for more, blood finally stopped dripping from my black, shiny dagger.

Then my heart stopped. With the other boy came father, who was marching with more anger than I'd ever seen him march before. No doubt he was busy with something, and now had to deal with his horrible son slicing open huskies.

But father just ignored me, and looked at the boy. He seemed so small now, the husky, so tiny. So weak, insignificant. Father moved the husky's paws and examined the wound closer. He scoffed and pulled the boy to his feet.

"Go to the healers, Jorn" commanded father. "You go with him." He was talking to the fat one. "The rest of you go home. Loki..." There was a horribly long pause after he said my name. "Back to the tent. Now."

With my heart now thoroughly in my stomach, I skulked back home as naked as the day I was born. I felt bad for having lost mother's gift to me, but I knew better than to argue with father. I got a few stares, but I think the village was used to this sullen look, knew father had said something or done something, and knew better than to interfere. The fact I was soaking wet no doubt told them I'd been bathing, anyway.

When I got back home, mother came to me instantly, wrapping warm furs around me. I told the shortest version possible in the time I had, which wasn't much. Father soon appeared and though mother was busy, she left us alone.

"Go easy on him," I heard her say before leaving.

"Sit down, Loki."

I sat.

He then sighed, frustration clear on his face. "I don't know what you did to that boy, and I'm not sure I want to know. What were you thinking?" he growled. "I did not give you that knife so you can go attacking anyone you please. A warrior does not seek battle."

I opened my maw to speak, perhaps to explain, but father's wicked glance told me without words to keep my mouth shut. He must have assumed I was the instigator, that I sought the husky out.

"It was a deep wound, significant. The boy will have a scar, and a large one at that." I had to admit, that satisfied me somewhat - he would bear that scar forever, the scar a child had given him. "Now, Loki, explain yourself. And in as few words as possible." Father was talking to me sternly, yet if he was wroth he hid it well. Still, I dared not anger him further.

"I said why he attacked me earlier, the first time. But this time..." I had to pick my words carefully. "He wanted revenge. He was mad that Freya had beaten him up, and took it out on me when she wasn't around. He's the craven, father, not me. He... He was going to drown me! But I stabbed him instead. He deserves worse! I didn't do anything to him." While my heart was still racing and my paws still shaking, I felt like I could speak much bolder to father than I ever had, though it probably sounded more like whining. No doubt that boldness would wear off soon.

Father just sighed again, eyes closed tight. He looked aggravated, but quickly eased up. "That boy's father beats him," he said firmly. "And his mother."

I flattened my ears and felt a twist of guilt. "He...does?"

Father nodded, face a serious frown, then sat across from me. "And not in... Not in the way I do, Loki. Jorn's father has a sickness, bad blood. A curse, perhaps."

My father was cruel sometimes, angry and harsh, but he would never, ever lay a paw on mother, that much I knew. He treated mother like a goddess.

"That husky, Jorn, he has problems not even I can help with; anger issues, above all else, feelings of inadequacy on several levels. But it has always been upheld by our elders and leaders past that the Gods will sort out his father's ilk, that a balance will always be maintained. But after so many sacrifices, so many celebrations to their might, to their wisdom and their power..." Father just stared into the tiny flames of the hearth. "Sometimes I have to wonder if they're even out there at all." Though he was opening up to me - Gods only knew why - my father retained his hard, stoic face. "You cannot blame that boy for lashing out at you, Loki, not entirely. The Gods have no interest in our trifling affairs, so I will take care of his father myself. I do not know how, not yet, but I promise you I will."

I shifted uncomfortably as slowly my body warmed up. I hugged my furs extra tight, staring into the flames. I had no idea any of this had been going on in our small village, but then what child would? Moreover, what child whose own father hits him would ever be aware of it happening elsewhere, or even aware that it was a problem? Still, it put the husky's anger into perspective, and strangely I found myself feeling somewhat guilty after everything. Had I known, perhaps I would not have let things escalate as much as they had, though at the time it seemed there was no choice.

"As for you cutting the boy..." Father gave my blade a hard stare, which was sitting just an arm's length away. "I don't imagine you fought like a warrior, with grace and confidence like your brother would have, nor even very bravely. But...you did fight. You did defend yourself." Father then sighed, as if his whole world had been turned upside-down and he had no idea what to make of it. He rubbed his eyes for a moment, then finally glanced at me. Like a movement out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw him smile, but when I focused on his mouth it was gone. "I can see gifting you with that blade was not entirely a mistake."

And with that father left me. Though my face hurt again and my lungs still burned from the breath of river water, I think I was happy. Father had basically told me he was proud of me for cutting that boy, or rather for fighting him like that, when every instance before this one had resulted in my utter, humiliating defeat. Despite the husky's problems, this was a victory for little Loki, and little Loki was pleased. In pain, but pleased nonetheless.

Still, in the pit of my stomach I did feel bad. After everything, I actually felt guilty for cutting him, and for fighting with him all together. I almost wanted to apologize, to tell him I knew his secret and that I knew what it was like, though I suppose I didn't truly. But I knew that would be a bad idea, especially so soon after today's altercation. No doubt if I appeared before him, Jorn would attack me on sight, though it seemed his wounds might pacify him. Even still, it would be best to avoid the husky, at least for now. Perhaps some time after the Blót I would get a chance to explain.

When I finally felt warm enough to move, I searched and easily found Heimdall's bracelet, realizing suddenly I'd be seeing him again tonight, for the first time in what felt like forever. To get my mind off Jorn and the Mountain River and the dragonstone knife, I began to weave together the hemp for what felt like too short a period, finally finishing the closing loop and the bracelet altogether. I stared at the length of it, the purple bead gazing at me as if to thank me for finally finishing. I wrapped it around my wrist to test its size, knowing Heimdall's wrist was only slightly larger than mine. On me, it was the proper amount of loose, and on him it would fit perfectly. I smiled at my newest creation until I realized I had nowhere to pocket it.

I flattened my ears and though I had other leathers to wear, my brother's pants were probably lost forever now, and my new top, too. Mother would probably think I lost that one on purpose, though after wearing it I decided I really did like it. I would have to make a point of telling her that.

I sighed heavily, gently tossing the bracelet onto my sleeping furs for the time being, staring at the bracelet from just a few feet away, sitting down again. The floor of our tent was hard, packed dirt, not the most uncomfortable thing to sleep on, but the furs sure helped. I scratched idly at the floor, not realizing until I pulled my paw away that I'd drawn a couple runes.

Snow, I thought to myself. Earth. I began to think of what sorts of applications they would have if I was runecasting. Would I make it snow? What about the earth rune? I imagined myself creating mountains from nothing but a simple rune, father at the base of them staring up at me in awe. A smile crept onto my face, fantasy taking me away from our village and into a world where Dragons weren't the only wielders of magick.

I scribed a few more runes into the ground with my claw, which would somehow grow trees from the ground, and another to bring water from the heavens to feed our meagre crops. The only thing our people did was pray to the Gods for such fortune, but what if we could create it? Father spoke of the Runes as a great power, but I had to wonder just how much he knew how to do. How much did Ulf know? Both seemed to know the Runes like they knew the village, yet for only a moment did I see evidence of some kind of power. And even then, I just watched father carve the rune into the air. Perhaps it was all just a cheap trick. But...how did I feel it?

I made a frown and wiped the runes away, packing the earth back down though it was clear I'd done a bit of digging - it was considered ill-mannered to scrape the floor of peoples' tents, much less your own. I then lifted my paw and began waving it around to search for that spot, that invisible arm of nature that father said was always around me. I closed my eyes like I had before and relaxed myself, slipping into a trance-like state in just moments.

Quickly I began to sense the flow of nature around me, like I had before, and my little claw scraped at the tendrils as if they were actually there. It never caught, not like it had, but I felt I was close. I moved my paw from one space to another, not at random but where I sensed gentle, hidden wisps, little bits of power that brushed against me and teased me with their tingling caress.

But try as I might, I just couldn't latch on. I kept thinking about Heimdall, about my friend from our village's most hated enemy, the so-called mountain tribe. But I didn't hate him. He and I were both too young when the attacks came, and he probably barely recalled the incident. His village hadn't been attacked, anyway. I couldn't wait to see my friend, I had so much I wanted to ask, so much to tell him. But more than that, I wanted to give him his gift.

I'd never given someone a real gift before, not like this. I'd made bracelets and necklaces and so forth for people around the village, but I'd never made it for them. Not like Heimdall's gift. His was special. I could make a bracelet easily before sundown on any given day, but his... I'd been working on it for a quarter moon, wanting to get it just right. It had to be perfect. After all, the wolverine had greater senses than I did, he would know if something was off with it, just by touch alone. Not that he would care, he would be happy all the same. But still...it needed to be perfect, and now it was.

I gazed at the bracelet and smiled again. I tried to think of what I would say to him when I would present it, which was the exact moment when I realized I had no idea. Would I just thrust it in front of him and hope he likes it? No... I would have to say something first, like, "I have a gift for you." But that seemed too blatant. I wanted to make it more subtle, perhaps make him guess a little. Maybe I could wear it, and see if he notices something different about me. His paws might even hold onto mine then.

Blush crept onto my face quickly, and despite being naked save the furs still wrapped around my shoulders, I felt incredibly warm. I decided right then and there, I wanted to hold his paws. Maybe not both, even just one would be great. I imagined his pads were soft, since he relied so much on touch to get around. Or would that make them rough? Either way, despite how strange that desire was, that was how I wanted to greet him. But...who would take whose paw? I would have to take his, I suppose. But then what?

Could we...kiss? How do you start kissing, anyway? I of course saw the husky with that girl, but they'd already been kissing. Did they start off by holding paws? They had to, else how would they get so close? I was in a state of constant smiling, and blushing for that matter, imagining my paws linked with his and walking around the cold, snowy forest between our villages. He would have my gift, be wearing it, and I would be happy just knowing we were together like that.

My paws gripped together as I imagined all of this, lost in a world I hoped would come to be. It wasn't so farfetched, either. There was no Runes, no magick, just a confused, battered arctic fox and the best friend he'd ever known. With a warm hue splashed across my face and a smile that threatened to stick like that, it was no surprise I hadn't heard anybody approaching, much less whip open the tent flaps to come in.

I jumped, of course, when mother entered. When I glanced up, my face still thoroughly warm, I saw she had a bundle of...something. She smiled at me.

"You're blushing," she said, gazing at me from across the tent.

"It's warm in here," I lied, though I was hot.

She smiled a bit wider. "Well in any case, I brought something for you." Mother then plopped down a damp bundle of leather, fur and wool that I quickly realized belonged to me.

"You found them!" I exclaimed, sifting through the clothes to spread them out. Both my pants and my sleeveless top were here.

Mother nodded. "You should hang them up above the fire to dry," she suggested, but bent down to pick them up before I could even pick myself up. Bone hooks dangled from the flap's hole in the ceiling of our tent - which was intended to vent smoke from the hearth - to which mother attached the clothes. We sometimes hung fish from the hooks, or meat, but they worked well for drying clothes too.

"Your father explained what happened. I'm sorry you had to deal with that boy, but I suppose now he won't be bothering you. I know he isn't entirely to blame, but I hope he learned something from this experience. Are you doing all right, Loki?" Mother then kissed me on the head before I gave my answer.

"I'm fine," I told her, though my cheek was still sore. Most of my injuries father had given me the day before were still sore, too.

Mother then went on with whatever she was doing whilst I practiced my runecasting. It was hard to tell whether or not I was improving, but I lost myself in trying. As always I managed to relax easily enough, to let myself be taken. Despite my mother buzzing around, constantly leaving and returning, I managed to maintain my connection to nature, the flow circling around me. I wanted to cast my favourite rune, the one I knew so well, the first one I ever learned.

Though I felt I needed to heal first, I wanted to cast the rune in the air anyway like father had. I wanted to see if I could do more, were it even possible, perhaps begin to tap into nature's supposed power. But what sort of effect would it have? I began to name the meanings in my head, knowing them well but not sure how I could possibly bring those meanings into being. Still, I considered them as I felt nature's arm brush against my own.

I reached my paw toward that feeling, that sensation, but like the ever-flowing Mountain River it moved. I took a deep breath, then another, and a third before starting again. Mother watched me for a while but I ignored her. Another subtle wisp brushed past me, but it was too late to catch. It was as if I had to predict the flow of nature, though it was ever-changing, and like salmon in the River I had to catch it before it slipped away.

This time I growled with frustration, opening my eyes and taking a heavy sigh. Mother smiled at me and continued along, and I just gazed into the flames in the hearth. I looked up, saw steam rising off my clothes. I sighed again and simply stared at the smoke, the steam, and the bright, warm, leaping flames. I closed my eyes again and relaxed, letting go of any and all focus I had, concentrating on nothing but the fire. I began once more.

I fell into my trance much quicker this time, sensing almost nothing around me. I heard noises, voices, sensed and saw the presence of others but not knowing who they were - it was impossible to focus on them, to see them or even smell them. The only thing I could feel was the slightest breeze, the calmest of rivers flowing around me, and yet I stayed still. I let my mind wander, my body so still and so tranquil, I was like a leaf upon the River. I began to flow with nature, following it along its infinite course.

Slowly I raised my paw, creating no ripples but instead branches of my own. I felt the tendrils wrap softly around my arm, barely even there and yet their presence was profound. They flowed with my movements instead of working against, climbing up my paw as I moved it in front of me. I lifted only my forefinger, small claw reaching for nature's invisible wisp, reaching for that arm, that tendril that would grant me access to a power as ancient as the Dragons. And then I found it.

With my claw hooked onto that strange, invisible stem, that doorway to nature's power, I found I was able to hold onto it unlike before. I had it now, and now I could cast my rune. My claw became the leatherworker's knife, slicing through the air like stripping a hide. A sharp hiss echoed through my ears as a blazing red tear ripped through the air. My heart was racing, but I knew I had done it. Slowly, I moved my finger up and began the first diagonal line, and after the third, I had finally cast my first rune.

Though my eyes were open, seeing my rune sizzling before me, I at last let myself truly see the tent around me. My mother and father stood on the other side of the hearth, staring down at me with maws agape. Father was especially surprised, though he wore his expression more subtly than mother. Freya suddenly entered, and began to speak before she glanced at me. She stopped dead in her tracks. It was then I realized I was smiling, the wide grin of a light-headed arctic fox.

But before father or mother or even Freya could say anything, my attention was quickly drawn away from my glowing red rune when I realized the usually tiny fire in the hearth had climbed significantly. When at last I focused on just how tall the flames were, my eyes went wide and I snapped back to reality.

Father and mother noticed it just as suddenly, and in my scramble to get away from the blazing hearth, I pushed my arm through the rune which brushed it away like smoke. Freya yelped and mother instantly tore my clothes from above the flames and father threw a sheet of thick leather over top, dousing the flames immediately. My heart was racing even quicker than when Jorn had come after me, paws shaking. It was all over in just a second, and yet I was still flustered and excited.

"Loki," father hissed, kneeling before me. I was trembling from the sudden blaze, and father's presence wasn't helping any. He looked as if he wanted to strike me, but after the events at the River, I think he knew better.

"Odin," mother barked, and Freya approached. "You showed him this, you cannot blame him. How was he to know?"

Father calmed himself immediately, then stood up. "He would have burned the whole tent down had we not been here," he grumbled. "Still..." My father never finished that sentence, but I imagined it would have contained the word "impressed." I was still too scared to be proud of that.

"There is still much you need to know about the Runes," father said instead. "And even more about casting them." He then gave me a curt nod and left. Mother still looked like she was shaking, but soon started the fire up again.

Freya sat beside me. "That was pretty cool," she said quietly. No doubt mother would disagree. "I'll bet if you tried hard enough, you could really control that fire, like...throw it like the Dragons do."

Neither Freya nor I had seen a Dragon cast fire before, but most said they breathed it right from their mouths. Those were the elders, of course, who usually knew a lot more about that sort of stuff than anyone else did. Father always said it was important to listen to the elders, and adults in general, for as old and frail as they are, they had wisdom beyond their years. And naturally being only eight, I believed more than I probably should have.

"Father would have me believe I can wield the Runes like a weapon," I told her. "But I don't really know how to control it." That much is obvious. I flattened my ears. "But I'll figure it out, I know I will. You have your cudgel, Freya, and I'm going to have my Runes."

Freya smiled at me and gave my back a hearty rub. "I hardly even know the Runes, but father says I'll begin learning soon. Don't tell him I told you this, but he's said several times, to both me and mother, that he's really impressed at how adept you are at learning them. Says you'd be one of the best runemasters anyone's seen in a long time, even the elders say so. But of course knowing father, he'd probably rather have you fight with the Runes rather than just know them."

"He wants me to be a rune_caster_," I said with a slight smile. The thought certainly had its appeal. I glanced up at mother, but she was too busy to be listening in. "I'll show father... He'll never want to spar with me again, that's for sure."

Freya laughed. "I don't know if father will have the energy he does now by the time you become a true Runecaster. Ulf said it takes many and more seasons to really learn all the runes well enough to be a good caster. Says it takes great concentration and memory to be able to wield them like that. I guess one wrong word, or rune, or whatever, can completely ruin the casting."

Freya and I talked Runes for a good while more before mother began tripping over us, and she made her annoyance clear. "Loki, Freya, I swear to you..." She took a few deep breaths then dug her paws into my clothes, moving her paws around thoroughly. Then she threw them at me. "They're good and dry," mother stated, though I thought they were still slightly damp. "Out."

With a frown, I slipped into my large, baggy pants and after feeling my new top for any signs of water, slid into that as well. I flattened out what I could, though it didn't have any real effect, then glanced up to mother with a smile. Though she was trying to look irritated, she buckled under my undeniable cuteness and gave me a hug. Then she kissed the top of my head and gave my bum a gentle pat as she pushed me out, though not before I managed to nab my knife and pocket Heimdall's finished bracelet.

After getting kicked out, I sheathed my dragonstone knife between the fur on my pants and the leather strap helping hold them up, since father didn't feel I'd need a proper sheath. Freya and I at last decided to go see how Jorn was doing, though when we got there he didn't particularly want to see us. He was lying in the healer's tent alone, wrapped in furs and leather holding the salve to his stomach, but all things considered he seemed okay. I apologized anyway, though father would probably scold me for doing so, but still he regarded Freya and I coldly.

Soon enough we left and father called Freya away for a few last points about the sacrifice. I was simply told to go help mother, but she just told me to get out of the way. Mother was constantly running back and forth from our tent, to other tents, and to the big wood table by the unlit dais that seemed to have cropped up out of nowhere. Throughout the day more and more was added to it, including skins of mead and food I scarcely recognized. It all smelled so good, but every time I went to approach the table, some adult or another was quick to push me away.

And so I decided rather than try to be helpful, I went to the training grounds to practice my runes a bit more, though admittedly I was a bit scared to try casting them. So instead I drew them in the mud and snow, naming the meanings to myself both in my head and out loud, feeling confident in my knowledge. Between runes I sat and daydreamed, imagining again what it might be like to be a powerful runecaster, and all the amazing things I could do with it.

But of course my imagination could only take me so far. Eventually I ran the same scenes over and over again in my head, trying to come up with something different but quickly realizing just how little I truly knew, and how much I still had to learn.

Shortly after imagining an incredible blaze raised up as high as the trees by my newfound power, I looked up to see just how high that might be. The sun was dipping low in the sky, which meant the village would be gathering for the lighting of the dais and to watch Freya make her first sacrifice. Which also meant I had to move my butt and go stand with my father and mother.

I rubbed the runes away and quickly got up, dashing toward the training grounds' entrance. I ran past and between dozens of trees before reaching the village proper, where the noise and clamour of every happy fur became louder with every step. I took a few shortcuts through the larger tents and darted between a couple others, pushing my way past several people who were yet to join the crowd. Quickly I came to the centre of town where almost everyone had gathered, all talking loudly amongst themselves and eating and drinking from the table around half the dais. I spied father before anyone else, and Freya next to him. With a smile, I pushed my paw past everyone just in time to get my nightly dose of father's wicked glare.

"Where have you been?" father asked. The roar of village somehow kept our conversation quiet.

I flattened my ears. "I was at the training grounds," I admitted. I figured father would prefer that answer above all else, and I had the advantage of actually telling the truth this time. Of course I'd learned very early on not to lie to father, and he always knew when I was lying.

"You were late."

"Odin, enough," snapped mother. Still no one heard us, or even paid much attention. "He's here now, and we can get started."

Father frowned at mother, but knew not to argue. He just sighed, then stood up straight. He took the few stone steps up toward the enormous dais and stood between two torches raised up to about his waist. The edge of the dais was as wide as his footpaw was long, if not a little more, giving plenty of room to jab the coals and animal fat with the torch and not get his face burned off. Father took the torch to his left and raised it up, and quickly the noise of the village came to a silent murmur. A few still spoke, but it died completely when father glanced around, waving the torch a little.

"My fellow tribesmen," father began, voice deep and loud. "Another season has passed, and the Gods have been good to us. They had given us a bountiful harvest, enough to last us through their harshest winter, and now we gather to celebrate their wisdom and their power, and pray they let it pass so life may spring up once more. We shall feast in their honour and make a sacrifice to their names, to all the Gods who protect and guide us always. Til árs ok friðar!" Father sounded as if he'd made that speech a thousand times before.

Never known as long-winded, father at last dipped the torch into the dais and in a second I felt the heat of the flames blast me in the face. I could only imagine how father felt, though he seemed un-phased by it. While the village screamed uproariously, father replaced the torch and nodded at his only daughter. He unsheathed his own personal knife, which I had never laid paws on before, and handed it ceremoniously to Freya and they glanced toward a small wooden cage.

Inside was a poor chicken completely unaware of what was going on. While I didn't know much about the Gods, I felt like a chicken was a pretty meagre sacrifice. I mean, how was a dead chicken supposed to melt ice and snow and let us farm once more? Would the Gods even notice? Did they ever notice? Were...they even there?

Finally father opened the cage and Freya, with as much confidence as she could muster, grabbed the chicken by the neck and yanked it from the safety of its cage. If ever the chicken had yearned to be free, it would no doubt beg to be back inside if it knew what fate had in store for it.

As Freya walked past me, I gave her a smile and she smiled back, though I could tell she was nervous. Her paw was shaking and the chicken squealed and squawked and flailed to be free, but my sister would have none of it. She walked the steps and stood before the flames, before our entire village. I was intensely curious to know what the view was like from so high up, but I knew I would never see it. So instead I watched, the crowd going silent and waiting for what was undoubtedly their favourite part of the ceremony, besides all the drinking and eating that followed.

"Go on," father urged quietly. He looked a little nervous, too, but more prevalently he looked proud of his daughter. He had never gazed upon me with those eyes. Mother clung to father and he clung to her, waiting for Freya to make the sacrifice.

Freya, I could see, was breathing heavily, no doubt running all her lessons through her head before she moved. But eventually she did move. She pushed the chicken close toward the flames and held out the sharp, stone knife, concentrating. Then in a very fast, fluid motion, my sister silenced the chicken at last, and though its blood sprayed still the chicken flailed about madly, silently, until at last it could no longer do that.

The flames sputtered and spat for a moment as the blood splashed over the coals, but it was nowhere near extinguished. Soon the crowd was once again in an uproar, and Freya held the dead chicken up for everyone to see, blood running down her arms. But she was happy, so proud, almost as much as father was. Even mother looked proud.

I smiled at her again as she descended the stone steps, and mother was quick to take the chicken from her daughter; we would be feasting on the sacrifice tonight, I did not doubt. Well, Freya would be, and father. Perhaps even mother would have some, though she seemed to enjoy fruit and nuts more than meat. I would feast on neither, but instead would be seeking my friend Heimdall, and with any lucky he and I could celebrate the Blót in our own way.

"You did well," father told his daughter, rubbing her back. She looked up happily at him, then back to me.

"What'd you think?" she asked.

I risked a shrug in front of father. "You did well." Father glared at me for repeating him, I think looking for some sort of insult. But I meant it either way. I wasn't sure I would have been able to kill the chicken, even if it was to please the Gods. Frankly I was surprised at father's sincerity during his speech, about the Gods and all that. Perhaps he and I shared more in common than just our eyes; he wasn't nearly as god-fearing as he let on, and neither was I. "I'm sure winter will be behind us soon enough." Though father was already glaring at me, I had to wonder if this current glare was that of skepticism, or just the original one.

"Thanks, Loki!" said Freya excitedly. She gave me a hug, though was careful not to get any blood on me.

"Go wash up," father commended. "Then the feast will begin."

I glanced at my father to see if he had any words for me, but he just frowned a little more and turned. I sighed and turned, too, working my way past the revelling villagers and toward the feasting table, the one set for everyone but the leader and his family. Every Blót, though a separate table was always laid out, everyone ended up mingling together in a massive orgy of meat and mead, and I wanted to get out before everyone got too drunk.

I managed to snag a few legs of something and chunks of something else, as well as a fair hunk of bread before father stood up again and announced we could now start the revelling. The village, most of whom were probably already drunk, cried loudly and in a very disorderly fashion, made their way to the food. Almost immediately after I heard drums playing and a few people had begun to dance. Most were gathering for food, myself small enough to weave between legs and snatch whatever I wanted.

Already finished the fish and what I assumed was some sort of roasted chicken, I gnawed on the heel of bread and went in for more, avoiding a few vicious elbows and knees as I reached up and grabbed a rather large leg of turkey. I had no idea who had made any of what I was eating, but I didn't care. It was warm, crispy, and very juicy. I grabbed a cob of corn, too, munching on that with one paw whilst the other held onto the enormous turkey leg for fear of dropping it. Grease ran down my paw and dripped through all six of my bracelets on my left arm as I batted my way out of the crowd, and when I looked up my heart skipped a beat.

Standing on the outskirts of the crowd was Jorn, that husky who enjoyed bullying me of late. He just stared at me, well enough to walk it would seem, though his stomach was still wrapped up. I noticed a rune was drawn onto the bandages, and it took me a moment to remember it was dedicated to healing and change. I glared at the angry, snow-white husky, but saw he was still in pain. He held onto his stomach as if the knife was still there, and looked in no shape to push through the crowd. I noticed his father wasn't around, either.

In a moment of pity, and perhaps a bit of mercy, I took a more relaxed stance - as opposed to the tense stance I'd instinctively taken, ready to run - and tried a bit of a smile. He didn't smile back, but I noticed him gaze almost longingly at the crowd and all the food. The smells, I realized, wafted this far over all the people, and must have been mouth-watering. In fact, I'd already eaten some and my mouth was still watering. Then I held out the large turkey leg to Jorn, offering him some.

I'd already taken a couple bites, but after a long, distrustful glance, the husky accepted my gift. He took a ravenous bite, tearing the flesh from the bone and enjoying the crispy, juicy flavours that ran down his chin. Though I'd eaten half my corn, I offered him that, too, and he took it thankfully. Though he wasn't yet feeling a smile, he did give me a rather gentle nod.

I smiled at him anyway, feeling strangely happy over the exchange, despite the fact I got nothing for it. I felt almost like a thief, like I was stealing from these foolish villagers and giving it to the more needy, or otherwise incapacitated. And with that thought in mind, I wanted more.

The sun was almost completely set by the time I threw myself back into the crowd, which had died a little now, but it was still a challenge. I wove between legs and hips, skillfully dodging dancers and revellers, until at last I reached the table. I had no idea what father or mother was doing, but I knew sitting with them had absolutely nothing on the thrill of stealing food, though it wasn't really stealing.

I nabbed a large wood bowl that still had some roasted carrots on the bottom, and as I darted between people I managed to grab a few more chunks of meat - fish, I think - and some warm, crispy potatoes and another cob of buttery corn. I threw all my items into the bowl as I went along, grabbing what I could before someone had the chance to elbow me in the head or nudge me hard enough to drop my collection. When at last it was full, I artfully made my way back to the husky, who had already finished the turkey leg.

Without saying a word, with a smile I held the bowl out to him, showing him my find. He stared at it wide-eyed and at last cracked a smile. Together the older dog and I sat away from the crowd and the music and the noise to eat our own little feast.

"Thank you," he at last managed, glaring at me. He was currently working on a chunk of bread, which had been softened slightly from the various juices in the bowl.

I just smiled at Jorn as I picked a fish bone out of my teeth. Together we sat until the sun was down completely and we were both stuffed. Father had already said a few more words and I missed the ceremonial eating of the sacrifice, but it was clear no one missed me. The husky told me his wounds were healing fine, and quickly, and though he didn't apologize for anything, I somehow knew he meant it. It could have been in the way we laughed together, or how he offered me the last bit of food in the bowl, or how he touched me softly a few times. Either way, I knew we were okay.

At last, though, I had to get up. Not only was my bum sore and a bit wet from the snow, but I had to go see Heimdall. I was thanked again for the food and though still no apology, I smiled at Jorn and took off past the revellers, sticking behind some tents so no one would see me.

Soon enough I was by the Mountain River and took off north, with almost a skip to my step. I wasn't quite running, but it was far more than a walk. I was excited. I felt around for Heimdall's bracelet as the great noise of our celebrations became a quiet murmur, until soon all was silent and I had only the moon to guide me.

At one point in the river, where a tree had fallen, I crossed to the other side without getting wet and hopped onto the snowy shore, taking off this time away from the River. I knew these woods fairly well, well enough to find my way through even without the moon's help. Fortunately it was half full, more than enough to light the way.

The large trees cast long, black shadows in the pale blue snow, but I knew better than to fear the Crimson King and his evil minions who lurk in the dark. I'd been told these stories countless times as a younger kit, and though they spooked me then, I had learned quickly from father you cannot fear that which does not exist, or rather that which you cannot see. And so I bounded excitedly between trees, from shadow to shadow like one of the King's wicked little demons.

I continued along for quite some time, the glow of my village and rushing of the River long behind me. But I knew where I was going. I knew exactly where Heimdall would be, and somehow, deep down I knew he was there already, waiting for me. That only made me more excited, the anticipation. I imagined kissing him as I passed a particularly large tree with a particularly large knot in it - I used trees like that to find my way there, and home again for that matter.

At last I came to a strange clearing in the woods, a place I called the Glade. I saw no sign of my friend, and for just a moment my heart sank. But sitting in the shadow of a tree I saw an odd figure, frightening at first but I quickly realized I had nothing to be afraid of. My friend was here after all.

"Heimdall," I said softly, just to make sure it was him. The snow here was soft and besides his footprints, untouched. The dark figure glanced at me.

"Loki," said a slightly deeper voice, the pleasure in it clear. "My friend, it has been too long." Heimdall stood up, and though I'd only seem him half a moon ago, he somehow seemed taller.

"I knew you'd be here!" I said more excitedly than I meant to. My heart leapt as I gave my friend a hug, which surprised me more than it surprised him. He was gracious enough to hug me back, then we both sat in the middle of the Glade. My tail was swishing back and forth feverishly, meanwhile he sat very still. He had a smile upon his face, eyes open but I knew they saw nothing. Instead he heard everything, felt it and smelled it, and tasted it too.

"How went your celebrations?" the wolverine asked me. His eyes were pale and blank, yet full of life. He had a fire in those eyes, despite his stoicism.

"Okay," I said with a shrug. My answer wasn't as confident as it could have been. "Same thing, I guess. Lots of food and noise and stuff. Gifts were a bit better, though." I was suddenly reminded of my gift for Heimdall, but was nervous to present it. As far as he knew, I could have spent very little time on it and just brought it to get rid of it, but I knew how much hard work I'd put into it. It was special to me, and I wanted to present it that way as well.

"What did you get?" asked Heimdall with a small chuckle.

I pulled out my dragonstone knife despite he couldn't see it. The moon danced in its reflection, somehow making the darkest parts even darker. "Father gave me this knife," I said, holding it out. "Here."

Heimdall reached forward for it, and I directed the handle into his paw. My heart raced intensely for just a moment as our fingers grazed together, and blush climbed quickly onto my face. I was really hoping he didn't notice my tiny gasp.

"Nice," he commented, carefully feeling the blade. "We have many tools made of dragonstone, which our people take from the mountains. Even some weapons have been fashioned out of this, much like this knife. It takes a skilled stoneworker to craft dragonstone."

It hadn't occurred to me to ask who'd made it.

"A gift like this, your father must have a new opinion of his only son."

"I guess," I said, shrinking into my shoulders. Talking about father was never the most comfortable topics of conversation.

Suddenly Heimdall's paws came at my face, and before I could react his fingers moved through my fur. My heart skipped a beat as his gentle pads ran across my face, carefully massaging me as if combing for something.

"You are bruised," he said, some concern in his voice. Then anger. "Your father did this."

"No," I shook my head. "He... I mean, he did, but we were training. I wanted to train. Plus...it wasn't just him, either." I finally grabbed my friend by the wrists, but he seemed intent on feeling my poor wounds. Then I held my paws upon his, which was enough to make him stop. I felt my heart beating faster now. "It's fine, Heimdall. Father..." I stopped myself. "Another boy...beat me up, too."

Finally Heimdall retrieved his paws. Mine simply fell to my lap. "I see."

"Everything's okay, though, don't worry." Sometimes my friend lamented on how he could never help me, more especially because he was blind. "Please... Father, I think he respects me now, or at least...he's a step closer."

Heimdall cocked his head to the side, curious how that could be.

I couldn't help but smile. "I'm going to be a Runecaster," I said proudly. "Father knows I'm never going to be able to fight, not like him, or like Tyr had. Says, though, if I can control the Runes, I'll be able to use them like weapons, and fight that way. And I already know how to cast them, I did it today!"

"We have Casters of our own," said my friend. "They do all sorts of things, including digging for dragonstone. I've been told they can shake rocks straight from the ground."

"Well all I could do was make the fire in our tent a lot bigger, but father seemed to think all I needed was more practice. That was pretty scary, though, but amazing, too."

Heimdall laughed, seeming to forget about my bruises already. "Perhaps an outdoor fire may be a more suitable target for your casting."

I chuckled. "Yeah, probably. Do you, um... Do you want to see, or, no, wait, I mean..." I blushed intensely, feeling more stupid than anything now, but my friend just laughed.

"It's okay, Loki," he said as he touched my paw. "I know what you mean. I'd love to."

"I know you won't be able to see it, but maybe just...feel it?" I shrugged, then lifted my paw. I just took a long, deep breath, then exhaled. As my breath flowed from my chest, so, too, did nature flow around me. I managed to sense it even quicker than before, and when I lifted my paw I had only to wave it a few times before finding that little hook, that tendril of nature's infinite river. Then I had to think about the rune I wanted to cast.

Though it took me a moment, I thought of the perfect one and hoped I didn't mess it up. Out loud I said its meaning, carving the glowing white rune for "snow" into the air, imagining a gentle snowfall in my head. I repeated the meaning like a mantra, even telling the rune I wanted soft snow, falling gently from the sky. I didn't want a blizzard, I wanted no wind. Just calm, serene snowflakes. The rune sizzled and glowed in the space between my friend and I, giving no sign as to whether it was working, or if it had even heard me. But Heimdall was entranced.

He stared at the glowing rune as if he could actually see, slack-jawed and frozen in place. For a second I was afraid I had frozen him by mistake, but when I saw his paw move I was greatly relieved. Despite not being able to see it, he looked as if he'd seen a Dragon; wide-eyed, mesmerized, taken by it. I smiled at my friend, but of course he saw nothing but the rune.

"I... I can feel it," he said. "It's cold, but...it's there. I can...I can almost see the shape of it, not in front of me but...in my mind somehow. It's amazing, Loki, that's nature right there, right before us. You tapped into it, used it, but... No one at our village has ever cast a Rune at such a young age. I am impressed, Loki, truly."

I had never felt so proud as I did in that moment. I then watched as the curious wolverine swiped his paw through the glowing rune and it vanished as if it was smoke, dissipating into tiny crystals of ice. "Amazing," he said.

A second later, I noticed a snowflake fall gently between us, where the rune once was, then another, and another and when I looked up, some clouds had formed around the moon and began dropping dozens of gently-falling flakes upon our little Glade. Heimdall just laughed and looked up, and I couldn't help but do the same.

"You did it," he said happily. "I was always so unsure about runecasting and magick and all of that, maybe because I could never see it for myself. But...Loki, this is truly incredible."

I was blushing heavily as the snow trickled down from the treetops. I glanced at Heimdall who was just looking around him, twisting this way and that as if he was experiencing a snowfall for the very first time. His paw came down on my knee and he laughed, so excited to have the snow fall upon him. My heart jumped of course, and my cheeks lit up. I was trembling a bit, but if ever there was a time to not be craven, this was it. Nervously, I reached my right paw forward and held onto his.

Heimdall stopped at once and was frozen once more, just for a moment. He glanced at me and sunk back a bit, I think blushing as well - his dark fur made it hard to notice, and the moon's shadows didn't help. But I did see a smile creep onto his face. "Loki..." he muttered softly.

"Heimdall..." I had to take a deep breath, and I held onto his paw tighter. His pads were warm, fur soft. "I've been having... I mean... I like you. I like you a lot. You're my friend, and I want to be your friend forever." Not only did I have trouble speaking, but my paws were still shaking and my gut twisted as if father wanted me to spar with him. And yet I felt immensely elated, frightened even more than when I was in the training grounds. But Gods was I excited.

My friend just laughed quietly through his nose, barely moving. For once he was without words. This just made me more nervous.

"After we last met," I continued, the nervousness clear in my voice - I was shaking all over, and not from the cold, nor the snow, "all I could think about was...meeting up again. I don't... I know that boys and girls are supposed to get together, I know that. I know what is expected of me, and what father expects of me, but...I've never wanted to be around a girl as much as I want to be around you."

At last Heimdall gave me a sign. His paw turned around so our pads touched, and after a bit of a twist our fingers linked together and we held paws tight. "I like you, too, Loki," was all he said, and it was more than enough. Greatly relieved, I gave his paw a squeeze and smiled wider than I ever had.

"I don't know how we're going to be able to keep meeting, though, especially in secret. Freya...she knows, I told her about you. She knows how much I...like you..."

"We'll figure something out, Loki, we'll have to. My father tells me stories all the time, myths and legends of our tribe, and love always wins out."

Love, he'd said. I repeated the word several more times in my head, saying it over and over but never truly grasping just what that word meant. Yet for as confused and excited as my eight-year-old mind was, somehow I knew there was no better word to describe what I was feeling in that moment.

Suddenly I found myself lunging forward, and in just a moment our paws unlinked and I had my arms wrapped tightly around my friend. His soft cheek brushed warmly against mine as I embraced the wolverine, and though it had surprised him at first, he hugged me too. He even rubbed his pads up and down my back for a moment until I let go. I was kneeling now, not sure what to do and still feeling as nervous as I had before I'd said anything. I held onto both his paws and tried to control my heavy breathing, but it was hard.

"Are you okay?" he asked me.

"Y-Yeah," I stuttered. I was still shaking.

Heimdall smiled. "Your breathing is different," he noted, "and you're trembling all over. Even your voice. Plus I can smell you, Loki, more than usual. You're sweating."

I took a hard swallow. "I was really scared to tell you that," I admitted. "But I'm really happy you feel the same."

"That's it..?"

I swallowed again, then took a deep breath. "There is...another thing. Something...I wanted to try with you. If you want..."

Heimdall smiled warmly at me, which helped a little. "What is it?"

"I saw someone doing it earlier... A husky. He was doing it with a girl though, but he got really mad when he saw I'd caught him. Either way, he was...kissing her. A lot."

"Kissing?" He sounded incredulous.

"Not like your mother kisses you," I pointed out. "It was...different. Really different." I imagined Heimdall had never been kissed like that before, and of course he had never seen it either. I wasn't sure how to explain it without it sounding gross; it even sounded gross to me. "Instead of my lips kissing your cheek, or your head...we, um...we kiss each other's lips...at the same time..." I began to blush intensely, and I think he did, too.

"I see," he managed to say with a smile. "And who starts this kind of kissing?"

"Uh..."

Heimdall laughed. "You'd have to forgive my aim, should I go first."

I let out a quiet laugh and glanced away. "Ah, of course." I felt quite silly then, but when I noticed Heimdall's head move forward, I turned cautiously to face him with all traces of my smile gone. We were both breathing quite heavily, myself significantly more than he, our frosty breath hanging in the air as the snow continued to fall. Despite my rapid heartbeat, I did manage to move my nose closer toward his, and despite my trembling, I was able to hold myself reasonably still. Our dark noses were less than a finger's-length away, and though I was as nervous as ever, I never strayed. Then at long last, our lips finally met.

It was an odd sensation, his soft lips against mine, and though it had only lasted a couple seconds, it was a couple of the most exciting seconds of my life thus far. It was like a kiss, a normal kiss I would give my mother, yet it was against his and he was doing the same. Even at that age, a kiss was meant as a gesture of endearment, but kissing Heimdall while he kissed me...it was indescribable. My heart leapt and just as it came back down, it was already over.

My face was hot from blush, and though we still sat close together, neither of us spoke for a long while. Our paws were still connected, though not anywhere near as tightly as before, but still our pads touched. I was breathing quite heavily even still, heart racing and mind spinning. I had no idea what to make of any of this, but I knew nothing else had ever made me feel so happy. I wanted to kiss my friend again, but I also didn't want to spoil the moment.

"That...was nice," was all Heimdall had to say about that. He looked at me through his unseeing eyes, smiling again. Somehow I knew he was blushing now. He rubbed his paw up my forearm and smiled a bit wider. "Is that all there is to this kissing?"

"Well..." I didn't know how to explain the concept in the first place, so I really didn't know how to explain the other part, the part where their tongues had touched. I hesitated a bit more, stumbling over words until at last my friend silenced me with a paw.

"It's okay, Loki. Maybe instead of explaining it..."

I paused, then gave Heimdall a nod despite his blindness, taking a deep breath. I had managed to squeeze out that you hold the kiss for longer than we had, but every other attempts at explanations came out as nonsense. Nevertheless, on my knees before my friend I leaned forward and again our lips came together.

Though it was a bit awkward at first, holding our lips together like that, I tried desperately to recall how the husky had done it. I closed my eyes and to balance myself, put a paw on Heimdall's shoulder. I then leaned in a bit further and tilted my head a bit, my friend doing a bit of the same. My lips parted slightly and I was glad to feel Heimdall following easily, but as soon as I leaned forward to push my tongue in, I found the wolverine had had enough. He pushed me away at once, though not too forcefully, and exclaimed his disgust with a bit of laughter mixed in.

"I'm not sure I like that sort of kissing," he told me. I was sitting back on my bum now, a bit disappointed but inclined to agree.

"I don't know how they were doing it," I admitted, that statement mostly true. "They seemed to like it, so maybe we should try again when we're older." The thought of meeting up with Heimdall when I was a bigger arctic fox definitely had its appeal.

Heimdall laughed. "Maybe. But for now..." He held my paw again and helped me back to my knees and pulled me in further, and for a third time that night I found myself kissing my best friend. Though it lasted longer than the first kiss, it wasn't anywhere near as gross. His soft lips moved delicately across mine, sending deep shivers up my spine but as the kiss continued, I found a somewhat familiar and yet all too strange shivering within my pants.

When at last we parted, my sheath was plenty full and hard, but at the time I had absolutely no idea why that was. I'd been hard before, of course, every boy has for seemingly no reason. And though it always felt kind of good, somehow this time was far greater. I think it had something to do with kissing Heimdall. I wasn't sure I wanted to point my sudden hardness out to him, not quite yet.

"I really, really like you," I told my friend again as we parted. "I mean...I think the way boys and girls like each other, that's what I have for you." I couldn't believe how nervous I still was, stumbling over words. At least I wasn't trembling as much as before.

Heimdall smiled at me and pulled me close. Though I thought he wanted to kiss me again, I found he just wanted to hug. Satisfied with that, I wrapped my arms around him and we stayed like that for longer than all our kisses combined. I tried not to let him know my sheath was hard, though it was difficult in such close proximity.

"You are truly an amazing little fox," commented my friend. His paws ran up and down my back, and much to my surprise, I thought I felt against my leg his own sheath, hard as mine. I had no idea why we were both like that, or what that was supposed to mean, but I knew it was something special. More special than the kisses we shared, somehow...I knew that. If only I had known what to do with it.

When our hug finally came to an end, Heimdall kept his paws down by my waist and our noses bumped together. We kissed again, just for a second, then he nudged me backward, then nudged me again until I found myself on my back. Though my friend couldn't see, I wouldn't have known it the way he positioned himself above me, paws on either side of my head and knees by my hips - my legs just lay between his, and our noses were once again hovering close together.

I looked up at my friend, who was smiling at me. I wasn't sure what he was up to, or why he wanted me on my back, but this was a position I knew well - that of submission, or rather, of defeat. I got the sense, however, it was slightly different in this case, but it was something I was very much used to. Father would disapprove, of course.

"Though I cannot see," said Heimdall, "I know this is a common position for some furs. I can hear them, you know, people moving about, shifting around. I can picture their movements in my mind's eye, and though I suppose I could have it wrong..." My friend then kissed me, and happily I kissed him back.

As I held my paws to Heimdall's shoulders, I realized my nervousness was all but gone. I was growing more and more confident in this kissing thing, feeling a deeper and deeper connection with the wolverine each and every time we did it. My heart was elated beyond words, and though I was becoming more accustomed to kissing him, I loved each one just as much as the first.

Soon Heimdall laid down with me, nuzzling my cheek and my neck as his body slowly pushed against mine, a bit awkward because he was bigger. But as he lowered himself, his left arm draped over my chest as he slid to my side and snuggled close, holding on to keep us warm. I wasn't sure what to do, so I reached my arm over and shifted toward my friend as best I could, rubbing gently at his side. Like me he was wearing a woollen top, though his had sleeves, and for some reason I had a strange desire to feel his fur.

I turned my head and kissed my friend once more, which surprised him a bit because he probably didn't see it coming, but he was quick to adapt. We were both sort of on our sides now, idle paws feeling around each other, neither of us really sure what to do. But it didn't really matter, because I'd waited for a moment like this for what felt like forever, and I finally had it. Despite the falling snow, I was so warm next to Heimdall, so comfortable, and more notably, so happy.

Even on the best of days, being around father especially, I had never felt so happy. Though I was only eight, I somehow felt as if I'd found a place for myself. I didn't truly understand the concept of love, not then, but I knew being with Heimdall was the only thing I wanted, the only thing I craved.

As Heimdall's paw came up under my shirt, I shivered momentarily, his pads brushing through the fur on my belly. I couldn't help but giggle, a sound I so rarely made, then felt that strong tingling in my pants again.

I didn't know what that was all about, why I was so hard down there, but it did feel good. As I said, I'd been hard before, countless times, but not one of those times was nearly as pertinent as it was right now. It was stronger somehow, almost aching, warmer than it'd ever been, but of course I couldn't explain why. It was almost a new sensation altogether, but I lacked the wisdom entirely to know what to do with it. So instead I continued to revel in Heimdall's presence.

He and I at last relaxed, smiles upon our faces as we lay in the snow together. We held paws and just stared up at the moon, snow still falling, but I could tell it was starting to thin. Our breath billowed from our noses and mixed as it rose upward and vanished. I gave Heimdall's paw a squeeze, then shuffled closer, despite we were already touching.

"This is really great," I commented. "I was so nervous you wouldn't feel the same."

The wolverine laughed through his nose. "I think about you all the time, Loki. These feelings are all very new to me, but I think you're very special. I'm so glad we found each other that day."

My heart nearly leapt right out of my chest. Like Heimdall, making sense of all these emotions was difficult and largely confusing. I couldn't exactly put to words what I was feeling, but I knew it was something I didn't ever want to let go of. I gave my friend a quick peck on the cheek and in our warmth we continued to stare up at the vanishing clouds, moon piercing bright.

After a while, my nerves mostly calmed down now, Heimdall sat up slowly and twisted himself so he was partially above me, gazing down through his blind eyes. I brought both paws up to his face to let him know I noticed him, and soon he gave me a kiss. A short kiss, but it made my tail flick back and forth a few times. When he pulled away, he stood up, our paws still linked.

"Come on," he said, suggesting I get up. I did so quickly, curious what he had in mind. "Come with me, back to my village."

Immediately I was struck with fear, releasing his paw. "What..? Why? I mean... Are you sure? Won't they wonder who I am?"

Heimdall chuckled quietly. "I don't think anyone will notice. I can show you the mountains."

I had never seen the mountains before, though apparently Tyr had. He had told Freya all about them, and in turn she told me years later. Apparently they were enormous, jagged hills, rocky and steep, capped with snow and treacherous for those who didn't know them. Tyr had gone only once in his short lifetime, his first time out of the village. He'd gone with a scouting party when he was sixteen, looking for rocks or materials to make tools, and to bring back food should he come across any. The air in the mountains was clean and crisp, and even colder than our harshest winter nights. But still... I always wanted to see them.

"All right," I said at last, having serious reservations. For all I knew, I'd be killed on the spot for being one of the forest tribe, or perhaps they would cook me and eat me as some would have me believe. But when my friend held my paw and began leading me northward, my worries soon melted away.

I trusted Heimdall with my life, and I would follow him anywhere. Despite his disability, he had amazing confidence in everything he said, and everything he did, confidence which I sorely lacked. And so I followed the blind wolverine through the trees and the brush and the snow, surprised at how adeptly he wove between obstacles. Of course he had to feel his way through the woods, relying entirely on his left paw to guide his way around trees and under branches and sometimes over rocks. Yet his moves were fluid and well-practiced, like he'd coursed this forest hundreds of times. And for all I knew, he had.

Eventually I saw a dim light begin to appear in the distance, flickering between the dark, silhouetted trees of our vast forest. But as we approached what seemed to be the edge of the woods, the trees thinning greatly and the snow getting slightly deeper, I realized the light was much further off than I'd initially thought. When at last we were cleared of the forest, I took pause at the burning light at the base of an enormous, moonlit mountain towering on the horizon.

"Wow," I managed, and inadvertently forced Heimdall to stop. "You should see it!" I cried, staring at the behemoth that was the mountain tribe's mountain. Flanking it was dozens of other mountains rising up like a giant wall of rock and ice, blocking the path of any who would dare cross. And yet none stood quite so tall as the central peak, so grand in size it dwarfed all the others . The village below looked like just a speck by comparison, as if it could be crushed and swallowed up at any moment. This was not a mountain I fancied climbing.

"I wish I could see it," mused my friend, a hint of sadness in his voice.

I gave his paw a squeeze. "It's really amazing," I said, then for no particular reason gave my dark-furred friend a hug. He smiled and hugged back. His body was warm, paws strong but soft. I didn't want to let go of him, if for no other reason than to delay having to walk into his village. But inevitably we were off again, trudging toward that glowing light that I could only hope was the flaming dais built to appease the Gods. I also hoped everybody, like back in my village, would be too busy revelling to notice a newcomer. Especially a newcomer who was such a pathetic fighter.

All too soon the mountain began towering over us, and over the village which Heimdall and I were steadily approaching. Not used to trudging through such deep snow for such long distances, I was thoroughly out of breath by the time the two of us reached the first tent of the mountainside village, and it surprised me a little to see how similar theirs were to ours. Heimdall, not surprisingly, still had plenty of breath to spare.

After just a short distance, a few people danced and staggered by which prompted Heimdall and I to release paws, not that they noticed. I was shaking more than I wanted to, and certainly more than I wanted my friend to know. But he rubbed my back to comfort me as best he could, and quickly the crowd thickened. In just moments I gazed upon the roaring flames of their seasonal dais while also trying to avoid banging into people. As Heimdall had said, no one noticed me.

It wasn't until we passed by the dais that my nerves started to calm down a little. I felt like every person I passed by was an enemy, like they all hated me and wanted to kill me, but I was surprised to see just how much like us they were, like my tribe. They all enjoyed their drink and food as much as my people did, and enjoyed the drum and dancing and screaming and laughing, just as well as us. But despite just how similar our people really were, I didn't start to relax until the fire's heat was at my back and I got my first glimpse of the mountainous caves.

Though I was excited at first, admittedly the caves were a bit of a letdown; it was all just rocks and slime, so far as I could tell. To hear Heimdall tell it, they went deep into the mountain and connected all other mountains in the range. Apparently the tunnels went on for so long, you could reach the other eight worlds if you walked far enough, but the journey would be so treacherous and take so many moons, you would die before you ever made it to one. I had a hard time believing that was true, yet the mountain tribe swore by their legends.

It didn't take long for the caves to become totally dark, so much so I couldn't see my friend in front of me.

"Hold my paw," he said softly, and I did so quickly. Unfortunately he felt my trembling. "Don't worry, I know these passages well. There are many and more I am yet to discover, but I'd like to show you something."

"What is it?" I asked as we started again. Somehow Heimdall was walking briskly through the tunnels while I, despite holding his paw, struggled past some large rocks and smaller ones, and tried desperately not to slip on any muck.

"We call it the Ice Chamber. Of course I have never seen it, but my father has described it to me dozens of times."

I was intrigued, but I felt a little bad that I was able to see all these wonderful things myself and Heimdall could never see a thing. I wished there was a way I could have let him see for just a moment, to use my eyes so he could view the beauty of the world I had always taken for granted. I wanted him to see me, though he claimed he knew exactly what I looked like on touch alone. Naturally I was dubious, but I trusted my friend. It always amazed me how joyful he could be about everything, especially the things he couldn't see.

"We're almost there," he told me, though I had no idea how he knew that. "Don't you feel it getting colder?"

I shrugged. "I guess," though I really couldn't. The caves were warmer than outside, and damp, though I did start to notice the slightest breeze. Then as if from nowhere, I noticed a slight reflection from the corner of my eyes, then more, until I realized I could see the walls of the cave. There was light somewhere, and we were approaching it quickly.

"Here we are," said Heimdall, turning a corner. When we came around, just a few steps lead us into what I knew right away was the Ice Chamber.

It was a huge room of ice and rock, the floor covered in snow and ice as well. The ceiling, while mostly rock, I noticed had a large hole it in that lead straight outside, and like everything else it had a healthy coating of ice. Everything looked sharp and jagged and deadly, more especially the frightening maw in the ceiling, and yet despite that, the moon reflected brilliantly off the ice, bathing the chamber in a cold, eerie blue glow. It reminded me almost of my dragonstone dagger, except instead of being infinitely black, the entire chamber danced with light. I imagined when the moon wasn't out, there would be very little to brighten the room.

"Beautiful," I said in awe, stepping into the icy cave. I finally let go of Heimdall's paw and stepped toward the centre of the chamber, looking at the glowing reflection of the moon all around me. "Everything's so, um... luminous. And, uh..." I wasn't sure how to begin describing the cavern to my friend.

"It's okay," laughed Heimdall. "I know what it looks like. I've been along the walls, I've smelled the outside air wafting in from above. Like I said, my father describes this place to me often. I know I cannot see it, but I know this chamber very well." My friend began stepping toward me. "In fact, did you even notice, Loki, the moss growing beneath your paws? It's mostly covered in snow now, but I can still feel it. It's still there, and still living."

When I looked down, I kicked at the floor and realized there was, in fact, moss growing. I glanced back at my friend. Somehow I knew I didn't have to answer his question, but he smiled at me anyway.

"I've dreamed about taking you here many, many times," the wolverine admitted. "I thought if we could never see each other again, I could rest easily knowing you have seen this chamber. I come here often to meditate, though more recently I've been using the Glade. Still, it's one of my favourite places to be, and very few people bother me here. I can get away from the noise of the village here and just listen to nature, feel it, smell it... Everything but see it."

"It's very beautiful," I said. Whenever Heimdall smiled at me, I couldn't help but smile back. I found my heart was racing again, more especially when he stepped closer. He held onto both my paws and gave them a gentle squeeze. I began to blush heavily.

"I don't fully understand this idea of love," he began, "that word which grownups use so commonly. My father has said he loves mother, and mother has described the feeling as the greatest joy you can ever know. She says when you find love, to hold onto it because once it's gone, there is nothing else in the world that can replace it. And you know you've found it when that person dominates your thoughts, and you can't imagine your life without him. Loki..."

I was definitely shaking now, and not from the cold. My face was burning bright and heart pounding. I wanted desperately to say something, anything, but I couldn't form any words. Instead I stared up into Heimdall's blind yet expressive eyes, seeing a certain flame in them, a certain passion. I opened my maw to speak, yet still I had no words.

"I think I love you, Loki."

Suddenly I wrapped my paws around Heimdall's chest, giving him the heartiest squeeze I had ever given someone. He hugged me back, of course, yet my heart was still thumping against my chest. I had always thought about my friend daily, and I'd known for a long time I didn't want anyone else in my life but him... Though the idea of love was still fairly vague, if Heimdall's mother could be believed, then I loved my friend back. I loved him more than anyone. He made me happier than I'd ever felt, and so intensely sad when I was without him.

"Me too," I managed to say. "I mean, me... I love you, too, Heimdall!"

It was my friend's turn to give me a squeeze, and together he and I sat on the soft, mossy floor of the cave, then soon he was on his back. He pulled me atop, then we kissed, then simply relaxed together. It wasn't until I was lying with an arm draped across Heimdall's chest when I realized just how tired I was. I'd been up almost all day and been through a lot dealing with father and that husky Jorn. But at last I was exactly where I wanted to be, and I didn't want to be anywhere else. I knew I would eventually have to go back home, but for now I pushed those thoughts aside and lay with my friend, happier than ever.

I had no idea how long either of us had slept for, but we were both suddenly awoken by what I thought was an extremely loud clap of thunder. I was still dazed when I awoke, not sure I'd really heard anything at all or if it was somehow a part of a vague dream I'd been having. What worried me was that Heimdall had heard it, too, and quickly we both realized both the moon and the stars could be seen through the ceiling maw.

"What...was that?" I asked.

Heimdall shook his head. "It was like nothing I've ever heard befo-"

He was suddenly cut off by another loud bang, echoing through the cave loudly. I couldn't tell whether it was coming in through the hole in the ceiling, or from the entrance we'd used to get here. Either way, it was louder than anything I'd ever heard, and after a third and fourth time, I knew for certain it wasn't thunder. But before either of us could move, a black shadow suddenly passed by the ceiling hole, then a few more, and suddenly a long stream of fire blazed past.

We both gasped and held paws as the sudden heat billowed through the hole, both of us staring at the hole petrified. Only I could see it, but Heimdall knew something was terribly wrong. A few more black shadows flew past, and in a moment the blue, serene light that had lit our chamber again turned a fiery red, then orange and yellow. I had no idea what was happening outside, but I knew I didn't want to find out.

"We have to go," said Heimdall suddenly, standing up. He still held onto my paw.

"Wh-What is it?" I was shaking again, more so as more and more of the shadows flew by.

"I don't know, but we have to see."

Suddenly I found my legs were frozen, and so was Heimdall's while our paws were still attached.

"I'm not going to stay here," my friend barked. "I...I can't. I have to see. Father, mother..."

Heimdall was a much braver fur than I, despite the fact he couldn't see at all. My stomach turned, but I nodded. If he was going out there to see what all the noise was, I wasn't going to let him do it alone. I gripped his paw tightly and let the wolverine lead us out of the caves.

But when we finally approached the cave's exit, screaming and burning could only be heard. Tents everywhere were on fire, and staves and posts and wooden statues were all alight. Smoke billowed all around us, and people were running around frantically. Suddenly, a massive four-legged beast dropped down from the sky, black as my dagger and many times larger than my father. He had enormous black wings, leathery, and eyes red as blood. He didn't see us, thankfully, then suddenly let out a long stream of fire, and only more screaming could be heard.

Shouting everywhere, Heimdall and I finally found our legs and began to run from the Dragon, myself following close behind my friend as best I could. My heart was racing, but soon we joined the crowd of panicked, terrified furs. Heimdall was shouting for his parents, taking me past dozens of collapsed or burning tents until he came upon one that was still on fire, but largely intact. A woman lay lifeless in the middle, and despite my objections, Heimdall went to her.

He was crying now, pushing on her and pulling her shirt, but she still wasn't moving. I had seen the dead enough to know there was nothing to be done, and soon I managed to pry my friend away from his mother, despite violent protest. Together we both ran through the burning village, past dozens of blackened corpses and even more dying, somehow avoiding every Dragon we came across. In the sky they could hardly be seen against the starry field, but it seemed some were already fleeing from the battle, if it could even be called that. Anyone who stood against the Dragons were taken down immediately, but as we rushed past two collapsed tents and a wooden hut, I saw a Dragon grab hold of a few people still very much alive and take to the sky.

"C'mon," I cried, leading Heimdall now. "We have to reach the forest," I said. "They won't get us there, they can't."

"I have to find my father!" snarled the blind, frightened wolverine. I realized quickly that with all the screaming and fire and smoke and chaos, Heimdall was more lost in his village than I was. I could smell burning flesh and fur hanging in the cool night air, so I knew my friend could smell it too, and smelled it worse.

"We can't stay here," I begged. "He could be..." I choked trying to finish that sentence, but I could tell Heimdall knew exactly what I was going to say. He was probably thinking the same. "We have to go, we can look for him later."

Suddenly a Dragon landed behind us, snarled, and opened his maw. I saw a glow from deep within his deadly maw, from what looked like the pit of his stomach. This was it, Loki, your death. I'd always figured father would be the cause of it; never once did I imagine I'd be killed by a Dragon. I had just assumed I'd go my whole life without ever seeing one, but now...

Before I could make any sort of move, frozen by the black-scaled behemoth, a half-burnt fur stepped in front of us and cried out. "Go!" he snarled, a wolverine.

"Father!" cried Heimdall, reaching out for him.

The wolverine then quickly carved a rune into the air and raised his paw up, and suddenly a great sheet of earth rose between Heimdall's father and the Dragon. When the Dragon let loose his fire, the earthen shield blocked us from it, though sprays of flames still nipped at our sides.

"Go, son! You must! Please."

"I can't leave you, father. Mother is..."

"I know, Heimdall. Don't worry, I'll find you. I promise. Just go!"

I pulled on Heimdall's arm, then again to get him moving. Heimdall resisted, tears streaming down his face but at least he was running. When we looked back, the Dragon took one big swipe at his father which sent the poor wolverine crashing into burning rubble. Heimdall cried out desperately for his father, but he'd been thrown so violently into the flaming wreckage, there wasn't a chance he'd survived. Finally I managed to pull my friend away and we were running again.

Quickly we reached the edge of the village, and though in the snow lay dozens of black marks of furs who'd tried to run, there was no other option. I gave Heimdall's paw a long, loving, hard squeeze, then we took off.

I ploughed through the snow with all my might, kicking it aside as if it was air, my body kept up only by my rapidly beating heart and energized nerves. I had never had this much strength before, yet the fear somehow kept me going, both for my life and even more for Heimdall's. We ran and ran, my friend dragging behind me, but we made a steady pace toward the trees. Half way there, I actually began to feel as if we could make it, but a horrifying scream stopped that at once.

Though I tried to ignore it, trying to summon up as much strength as I could, nothing could have stopped the giant monster from landing atop both Heimdall and I. The heavy impact blew the air right from my chest and pushed us both forward. Though I'd lost my footing, I scrambled desperately to my feet and looked frantically for my friend. I saw he had fallen closer to the Dragon than I had, next to his giant paw and even bigger claws, and immediately I was struck with a greater fear; the Dragon bared his teeth at my friend, maw open.

"Stop!" I snarled to the Dragon, not knowing or even caring if he understood me. But it was enough to get his attention. The Dragon snarled at me, roared and snapped his teeth, then began to take in a breath.

Without much thinking, I used every bit of knowledge I had to carve a Rune quickly into the air, the one for snow and ice. But I knew that wasn't enough, it would never do. It was the same one I'd used to summon a gentle snowfall, but I needed more. I carved the rune for our war God in the same place I'd carved the first, then a couple more faster than I had time to recall their meanings. Each newly-carved rune brushed away the last, yet traces of its smoky power remained whilst another was scribed. I had no idea if this would work, letting my instincts take control of my paw. In just a second I'd scribed five different Runes, and just as the Dragon took in his deepest breath, I cried out and slammed my paw down through the rune and into the ground.

Just as I did, several large, hard spears of earth and rock shot up from the ground and stabbed the massive beast in the chest and stomach and neck. The Dragon cried out as his blood came pouring from his wounds, letting out a pathetic wisp of fire before screaming again. As the earthen spears lifted the Dragon off the ground, he struggled to free himself, but only succeeded in sinking further toward his death. At least eight different spears had him stuck in his place. The Dragon tried to breathe fire at me, but only smoke and blood came pouring out. Like me, the Dragon shook and trembled and moaned, until soon the life faded from his blood-red eyes and he went limp.

Still enraged and shaking beyond control, I rushed immediately to my friend. He was lying lifelessly in the snow, and when I got to my knees I was struck with a terrible fear far worse than anything I'd felt before. He lay on his face and blood was pouring from his stomach, barely frozen by the time I managed to turn him onto his back. Tears were already welling up in my eyes and my heart sank to the deepest pit of my stomach.

"C'mon," I moaned, pulling on him. A quiet sob squeezed out as I spoke. "Let's go, Heimdall, we have to go." Tears were now trickling down my face when I got to my footpaws, pulling on his arm to get him up. "Let's go!" A louder sob then came from my maw, and I pulled and pulled and pulled again but my friend wouldn't move. He just kept staring up at me with those dead, blind eyes. "We're almost there," I wept, "the forest is right there..."

I gave my friend another hard yank, but nothing would make him budge. My legs were so shaky I could stand on them no longer. I fell to my knees and let out one of the most awful sounds I had ever made - a loud, terrible wailing, and it was among the longest, most horrifying howls I had ever cried. They say only the Crimson King can hear such dreadful cries, but it was clear the Gods had all abandoned me, even the most wicked of them.

"Wake up, Heimdall," I wept again, praying to every God out there he was just asleep. My eyes burned and tears were frozen to my face. "Wake up..! Wake up, wake up!"

At last I collapsed upon his frozen body. Nothing I could do would stir him from his slumber. His eyes were open and crusted with tears and blood, and blood covered his stomach and arms. I shook him and hit him and cried and cried and cried, begging him to wake up but nothing helped. I cursed the Gods and cursed the Dragons and cursed the Crimson King, but I knew my friend was gone. My...love.

But what if..? Desperately I ran through my head every single Rune I knew, but my thoughts were muddled. We had healers in our village, they used Runes, there had to be one to save Heimdall. There had to be one, I knew there was, and I knew I knew it. As I cried, I carved rune after rune, but nothing happened. I began trying runes I wasn't even sure were real runes, but for the life of me I couldn't recall the one I needed. I screamed toward the Gods and cursed them again, slamming my paws into the ground. I carved a few more, but soon my heart grew too heavy. I collapsed once more next to my friend and wept quietly to myself, to my friend. I put an arm around his cold chest and lay close to him, weeping, hoping it would all be over. My life no longer seemed worth living without Heimdall here, and I couldn't imagine why I would want to continue. This nightmare couldn't end fast enough.

Then I remembered something. Something I'd forgotten. I reached into my pants and pulled out the bracelet I had made especially for Heimdall, the one I'd been too afraid to give him before. With painful tears still trickling down my face, I let out a quiet sob and held onto his heavy, limp arm, pulling it toward me. "Gods forsake me," I barked with broken sobs. Powerful guilt rent my heart in two, twisting my guts horribly as I encircled his wrist with his specially-made bracelet, the one that had taken me many moons to create, the one I needed to be exactly perfect. I wept as I attached it firmly, then placed his paw upon his chest, crossing the other paw over it. I took one last look into Heimdall's cold, dead eyes, all traces of his fire gone. Another round of desperate crying took me as I closed his eyes, and I lay next to him once more, heart pounding heavily. His body was cold, lifeless... I didn't want to get up, I didn't want to leave him, so I shuffled closer and shut my eyes and I gave my friend a final kiss.

But eventually I heard the cry of another Dragon in the distance, though not so far as the dead, burning mountain village. A couple more then sounded, and when I managed to open my eyes again, I saw at least three in the distance flying toward me. Part of me wanted to stay here, to join my best friend, my love in the next life, but somehow I was pulled to my feet. I didn't know if it was fear, or courage, or what it was driving me, but before I knew it I was up and running back toward the forest, away from the Dragons, away from the mountain tribe and away from the only fur I had ever loved.

I ran through the woods swiftly, mind totally blank. I never looked back to see what the Dragons were doing, and tried my best not to think of my friend. Though tears were still streaming down my face, somehow I managed to keep going. I continued on and on until I reached the Glade, stopping there to catch my breath. After only a few moments of panting, another round of sobbing came to me with a shocking suddenness; I remembered this was where we had first met. Heimdall was meditating here, listening to nature. We'd shared our first a kiss here, too, then a dozen more after that.

After cursing the Gods a few more times, I at last lifted myself. It was quiet here, deathly so. I listened to my breathing for a while longer, to the last of my sobs, to my heavy heart slamming into my chest. I was shaking and my breathing was staggered, but at least I could still stand. Soon enough I began stumbling my way back toward the Mountain River, wanting nothing more than to go back home. Even father would be a welcome sight, though I think I wanted to be alone more than anything.

When at last I reached the Mountain River, I followed it until the makeshift crossing, stumbling and splashing across with little regard for how wet I got. My exhaustion was just now catching up with me, both physically and mentally. I didn't know how much longer I could last, but I at least had to make it home, then I would be safe. Father would protect me, and mother, and Freya. They would keep me warm, comfort me, tell me everything would be fine. I would have to tell them where I was; they will have been looking for me, and frankly, I wasn't sure this was a secret I could handle keeping to myself.

In the distance, home slowly started to emerge from between the trees. My eyes were weary, heart heavy and my legs could hardly carry me. The great fire of our dais could still be seen in the faint twilight of the soon-to-be-rising sun, but as I approached, I started to realize something was off; the fire was too big, and where there should have been tents there was only flames and blackened ruins. My heart began to pound harder with every step.

A foul stench hung in the air; smoke, charred leather and burnt flesh and fur. There was a thick haze covering our village which stung my eyes and reeked of dead bodies and burning pine. All around me I saw death and destruction, and I stumbled over it half a dozen times before entering the village proper.

"Gods be good," I muttered as I walked past the corpse of a child younger than I. Eyes wide, I saw everything was destroyed; homes, statues and workshops were either demolished by the fight or burnt to the ground. Though it took me a moment to realize, my heart truly sank when I saw the Elders' Tent, the sturdiest and toughest of all our structures, had been smashed apart like a child's toy; nothing remained of it but its muddy foundation and a couple smouldering support beams.

Though I wanted desperately to look away, I could not help but gaze into the ruins of my village. Blood stained the ground and the snow, and the faces of the dead stared up at me, terrified and screaming. My body trembled and stumbled over the dead, and though I wanted so badly to cry or shout or roar, somehow I just felt numb. I didn't even have any tears left. Would I never wake from this nightmare?

In my heartbroken, horrified stupor, I slowly made my way toward the centre of our village where once everyone celebrated their love of the Gods. I saw no signs of life around me, just death everywhere. A large black lump lay sprawled across three flattened tents, and I saw after stumbling over a leathery wing it was a fallen Dragon. When I looked about, I noticed one more, then another further along, which was little consolation. As I staggered through our burning village, I quickly began to realize of all the dead I did see, many and more were missing. Escaped, perhaps, or worse, taken? I saw no signs of father or mother or Freya, but I had no idea if that was bad, or worse.

When all seemed lost, however, I heard a voice somewhere close to the dais, which was still alight. My heart leapt and I stumbled faster toward the dais. There was only a pawful of people standing around, all of whom seemed to be watching someone on the ground, each one with dark, mournful faces.

"The Gods are cruel," I heard a deep voice growl, full of pain and grief and anger. I came around the dais to see father knelt before a cairn of blackened rocks, and before him lay dozens of small barrows with sticks to mark the dead. After surviving the Dragons' attack, no doubt a true, proper burial for every lost soul would have claimed the last of them.

"They have taken from me all I have ever loved," my father growled. "My...firstborn son, my daughter. My beloved wife... They were even so cruel to have taken my last surviving son from me. He was gentle, kind... A coward if I ever knew one, but not even he deserved an end like this."

Not sure this was actually my father speaking, I forced myself to step forward. One villager glanced up to look at me and gasped, which got the attention of the others. Soon father glanced over, and in the instant before he recognized me, I saw such amazing sorrow in his eyes, a pain greater than anything I had ever seen from him before. But as he rose his eyes widened like he'd seen a living spirit, and he came to me as if doubting my very existence.

"Father," I said to him despairingly, eyes barely open now. I swayed slightly as the weight of the night came crashing into me and my exhaustion took hold. Moments before my father reached me, I felt my body go limp and I began to fall. But before I could hit the ground, a pair of hard, powerful paws pillowed me, pulling me in to a soft, warm belly of dirty white fur.

"Loki," cried father fretfully, holding me tight. He shook me a couple times which forced my eyes open. Like me, tears (plus blood and dirt) were frozen to his face, and though it was most definitely my father, new tears had formed as well. "My son," he said, nearly choking on his words. "I feared you too had been lost."

My lips trembled as I suddenly remembered what he'd said about mother and Freya; I imagined they had been buried beneath the cairn, next to the dais. I shed my last few tears for them, and when I could lift my body with the last of my strength, I could not help but give father a hug. Most times this would be unacceptable, but today my father hugged me back.

"There was a Dragon attack," he told me, standing up now. He gestured toward the others, ten or so people I scarcely recognized. They were all just milling about, gazing into nothing and probably mourning the dead. They looked half dead themselves. "We are all that remain now."

I took a few hard breaths and sniffled, trying to hold back my tears for father's sake. "Why did they attack?" Despite my trying, I still sounded like I was whining. Father paid it no mind.

"I cannot say for certain. They were swift, striking at the peak of our celebrations. No one saw them coming until they had landed, and by then it was too late. Your sister and mother..." Father had to take a few deep breaths before continuing. "They fought bravely, every one of us did, but we were overwhelmed. Some of us they killed without hesitation, some were simply taken. To what end, none can say. Freya... My precious Frigg... They are with the Gods now, with Tyr, though it would seem they care not for our suffering."

A sudden wave of guilt, anguish and grief washed over me as I fell to my knees, and I started to cry as if father wasn't even there. I couldn't even say what had upset me so, at least nothing specific. The entire night had come to a horrifying end, everyone I could say I ever loved taken from this world; Freya, my dear sister; mother, who had never stopped caring for me; and above all else, my poor Heimdall, the one fur I wanted to spend the rest of my days with. Now I had no one but father.

"It's all my fault," I wept, covering my face with paws coated in Heimdall's blood. I took in a hard breath but continued to cry. My heart was as heavy as stone, and it pained as if being torn in two. "All of it..."

Much to my surprise, father came to me. He knelt down in the snow with me and held me against his body, my head resting upon his chest. One paw stroked my back while the other cradled my head. "Shh, no Loki. This...was not your fault. None of this is, you cannot be blamed, and you cannot blame yourself."

"I left the Blót," I admitted, giving my father a squeeze. "I left the Blót, I left the celebrations, and I didn't pray to the Gods. I... I went off to find a friend."

Father's paw stopped moving.

"He is...was...one of the mountain tribe. We went to his village and we didn't pray there either, but we had a great time together. He was my best friend, father, and I loved him more than anything. And... And the Dragon's killed him!" I had never snarled so fiercely in my life before. In fact, I hadn't even realized until father pushed me slightly that I'd been gripping him hard enough to make him wince when I let go. "It isn't fair, father."

Father sighed heavily through his nose. "Nothing that involves the Gods is ever fair, son. This friend of yours, this...mountain boy... Did he have a name?"

I sniffled, wiping my nose with my left forearm, the one with less blood. "Heimdall," I declared. "He was blind, but he could see the world in a thousand different ways. That's what he said, anyway. We met in the forest and we became best friends. That's...where I always go when you can't find me."

Thankfully father was in a forgiving mood. Rather than punish me or lecture me, he gave me a curt nod and stood up, holding his paw out to me. I took it quickly and he helped me onto my feet. He led me past the mourners and toward what remained of an old, chipped shovel made of stone, stuck in the ground by the nearest barrow.

The barrows were small, no bigger than myself when I curled up to sleep. Each one had a stick in it to mark it as an empty grave. I imagined it would have taken far too much energy to search for, dig out and drag all the corpses into one place in order build a true barrow, but these would have to do. Perhaps some time later, in a quarter moon or so, we could be strong enough to begin properly burying the dead. For now, my father picked up the shovel and began making another pile.

When at last the small mound was complete, I found an adequate stick and plunked it in the centre, pushing it in with a heavy heart. I sighed and closed my eyes, still knelt before the mound. I thought maybe I was supposed to say something, but when I tried nothing came. I wanted to apologize more than anything, but even though we'd raised a barrow, I knew my message would never reach my friend. I was one of the few who didn't believe in any sort of afterlife, nor even the Gods, despite the fact I'd been cursing them since the Dragons attacked.

"Come, Loki. Pray by the cairn so the Gods may hear you."

I joined father by the pile of stones, staring at it through dry, empty eyes. "No," I shook my head. "If the Gods do exist, they are no longer with us."

Father just gazed hard at me. He gave my back a pat, then sighed heavily. The fires around us were still fresh, still crackling and burning, and the tears the others shed were just as hot. This small village of ours, just like that of the mountain tribe, had been reduced to ashes by the evil of the Black Dragons. I couldn't begin to imagine what they would want with our people, or why they would want us dead; like the Gods, we were nothing to them. It seemed this was yet another cruel jape.

"What now, father?" I had to ask. He had no answer for me.

Everything we were, everything we had ever worked for had suddenly been taken away. Only a pawful of us remained, not one of them children. Rebuilding seemed unlikely, and growing again even less so. Perhaps we would have to return once more to our ancient, nomadic way of life like before ever settling in the mountains or the forests. One thing seemed clear, though, our future was no longer here.

But of course, very little of that had occurred to me then. I thought little of my future, little of what would come next. All I knew was from out of all the fear, the grief and the sadness that I had endured, anger was rising up. As I gazed at the blackened cairn, the roar of the flames and the terrible cries of the villagers all around me, I slowly filled with such inconsolable rage, an undeniable lust for revenge. Father had always hated having such a cowardly son, so weak, so pathetic. But that son was buried now, buried beneath the barrow meant to honour the only love I'd known.

All of that was unfortunately forgotten when a loud cry suddenly pierced the cold, early-morning air. We were all alert, each of us deeply familiar with that scream; the Dragons were returning. And yet as we prepared for an army of giant beasts, only one flew over head, circling around.

"Stay close to me," growled father, gazing up at the large, black beast. It didn't take long before a few more joined the flight, and before I could argue, suddenly they landed.

The remaining villagers immediately ran back, but they didn't run away. They grabbed weapons, tools, anything they would need to defend themselves. They were all tired, beaten and bruised, and yet like father they stood their ground. Even I stayed with dagger in paw, fearing more father's punishment for running than the Dragons themselves. Only five of them had landed, but father was ready to fight once more. He stood up to the giant beasts, standing to protect what remained of us, and to protect me most of all.

"What more do you want from us?" snarled father. He held a stone hammer tightly in his paw.

The Dragon who had led the flight turned and roared ferociously, showing off half a dozen rows of razor-sharp teeth. He came closer, but didn't attack. This Dragon, black like all the rest, was somehow different; he was bigger, heavier, and had much larger wings. He seemed more thickly scaled than the rest, his skin looking more like the gnarled bark of ancient black tree, full of heavy cracks and ridges. Down his back and tail and along his sides were hundreds of spines and spikes that grew all over the place and varied in size, each one looking as deadly as his old, massive claws. Even for the eldest of Dragons, this one I could tell was the eldest, perhaps even as ancient as the Dragons themselves. He snarled fiercely, then bent to let off a rider, which surprised me to see.

The rider looked almost like one of them, clad all in black but had smoother skin. Smaller, he stood on two feet like the rest of us and carried a sword nearly as tall as himself, made from what looked to be the same material as his skin. A monster, truly, I had never seen anyone like this before. He had no wings, but instead a black cloak that covered most of his face. I could see, however, a whitish chin of fur, and a curious long tail of orange, black and white. I knew not what to make of this rider, but I knew to fear him. For now he stood by who I presumed was the leader, watching us.

"Who here defeated you in battle?" asked the ancient dragon, turning to one of his black-scaled companions. His voice was deeper than rolling thunder and twice as powerful. If ever a voice sounded as old as time, his was it.

"The big one," snarled the other Dragon, his voice nowhere as profound as his leader's. The Dragon snapped at father, which was when I noticed a deep gash across his face that had taken his left eye. Father didn't even flinch.

The ancient Dragon then laughed. "To be defeated by such an animal, and a savage at that... I should kill you myself for such a failure. Was it he, too, who had felled the others?" The Dragon slowly padded forward, head low but still not attacking. His eyes were as dark as blood, gazing wickedly at father. Father stood his ground.

The other Dragon nodded. "It was him, yes. Do not take him lightly, Nidhoggr, he is a strong Runecaster."

This ancient Dragon, Nidhoggr, considered that for a moment. "There were Runecasters in the mountain settlement, yet we lost only one. Who was responsible for that, I wonder?"

If Dragons could flush, I imagined the subordinate was doing so now. "I...cannot say."

I suddenly froze when Nidhoggr turned his gaze on me. This made father angry and nervous, myself a thousand times more. Though we shared only a glance, somehow the ancient Dragon knew, as if he could sense my thoughts and my guilt and my pain. Was this some kind of magick? Without a word spoken, he knew what had happened, what had transpired and how I had killed that Dragon, and I wasn't even sure how I knew that.

"You," he thundered, keeping his gaze upon me. Father turned to glance at me for just a moment, then back to Nidhoggr. "It was you, was it not? So young a Runecaster..."

"He had nothing to do with killing your Dragons," growled father. "He is just a child, as was my daughter! You monsters slaughtered her needlessly."

Nidhoggr was unmoved by father's pain. "A plague you people are. But I assure you, the little one did kill one of my brothers. He has the smell of Runes all over him."

"He is just..." Father glanced back at me again, confusion and disbelief in his eyes. "He is a child," he said with waning confidence. "He has only begun to cast the Runes."

The Black Dragon scoffed. "Indeed. But it is of little consequence; you will be taken, as well as this child you protect so valiantly and the rest of your pathetic clan. Though I must say, in spite of your savagery and horribly primitive existence, you have held onto the ancient runic magicks far longer than any of the other peoples. For that I suppose I must commend your kind, but sadly it will not save you."

"We have done you no wrong!" snarled father desperately. He gripped his hammer so tightly he nearly snapped the grip in two. "Why kill us? Why take us away?"

Nidhoggr spat at father's questions. "Your kind are just as basic as the animals you slaughter for food. You serve little purpose in this world beyond procreation, and as such we can do with you what we will. You need not know more than that."

"Then let us end this now!"

Nidhoggr regarded father's fury with a laugh. "You people are nothing if not endlessly amusing. My dear Baldr, take care of the big one for me." He then turned and began to pad away.

Suddenly the cloaked, black-skinned monster stepped forward; I had nearly forgotten about him. Paw on his sword's grip, he made no move yet to attack, but through the shadow of his hood I could see his eyes were set on my father, a hollow, deadly gaze.

"You would use a savage to fight your battles?" father yelled mockingly, almost a laugh.

Nidhoggr growled loudly and whipped his head around, slamming a paw into the ground. "He is not a savage!" Plumes of smoke blew from his nostrils and maw, but thankfully he collected himself. "Baldr, kill the fox and the others if you must, but leave the child alive."

"Loki," barked father, turning his head to me; I could see the fear in his eyes, though he hid it well. Sweat was pouring down his face and his back, and not because of the fires around us. "You must run."

"I won't leave you here, father," I begged, even as this mysterious Baldr moved forward. "I can fight, too!"

Gripping his weapon tight, he growled fiercely. "This is not the time, Loki! Go!"

Before I could start running, a snarl marked the start of the fight. I stumbled back just in time to see a great dark sword lifted above Baldr's head, coming down on father at once. But father was quick to deflect the blow with his hammer and leap out of the way, striking the monstrous beast in return. Though it was a solid strike to his ribs, Baldr was hardly moved, and so attacked again.

Father managed to jump back out of the way of the large sword, using his hammer not to block but to help deflect the blows, to move them away. But after a few more dodges, I noticed whatever material the sword was made from, it slowly ate away at the stone hammer with every strike. Though my father stood his ground against the fierce, powerful black monster, it was clear he would not be able to keep this up for long.

Suddenly, one of the villagers with only a wooden stave rushed the black beast, silent as he charged forward. But it was as if the monster had eyes on the back of his head, for as quickly as he had attacked, the monster turned without looking and sliced open the belly of the poor snow leopard. Blood sprayed violently over the muddy ground as his guts spilled out, and for as hard as the leopard tried to scoop them back in, eventually he did fall.

In was in that moment I suddenly disgorged everything that was in my stomach, barely able to watch as my enraged father swung his mighty hammer viciously at his dark attacker. Again and again he attacked, and yet for all his effort every blow was either blocked or otherwise dodged. But he persisted, snarling and growling as his hammer flew through the air.

At one point I thought for sure father had the advantage; two more villagers attacked Baldr, and while they were cut down with shocking ease, my father managed to strike the monster right in his ribs, right under his arm which staggered him. And while staggered, father smashed his chipped and dented hammer across the monster's face, knocking him sideways.

Unrelenting, father went in for another attack, striking the beast in the back with little success. But the beast was quick to recover, swinging his sword at father in blind rage. He snarled loudly from beneath his bloody hood and continued to swing with wild abandon, knocking father back as he tried to deflect. The beast roared at father as he staggered back, then charged.

Father quickly regained his footing and quickly uttered a few words, and while he dodged to the monster's left, sword slamming down into the ground, his hammer suddenly burst into flames as it struck the dark beast's back. As the beast cried out and fell forward, father struck again and again, more and more chips flying off his flaming hammer. And though he landed at least three solid blows, the monster was well enough to continue his attack, swinging his enormous sword back toward father, attempting to open his gut.

I had to gasp as I watched the blade slice into father's stomach, though it hadn't pierced right through. He took a few steps back and held his bleeding stomach for a moment, which unfortunately gave Baldr plenty of time to recover, despite all the blows he'd taken; there was something inhuman about this beast, father's attacks having seemingly no effect on him. Baldr then roared ferociously at father and charged once more.

Gripping his hammer tightly, father burst forward as well. With such a tight hold on his hammer, it was as if it forced the flames to suddenly spread up his arm and work across his back, which was a shock at first. But when he dodged Baldr's sword and struck the beast again in the ribs, I saw neither fur nor flesh was burnt, but instead had become the flames. Runic magick to be sure, father continued his attack, snarling with every heavy blow, but despite his best efforts, it was clear he was tiring much faster than his enemy.

Half aflame, my father leapt back, letting Baldr's sword slam into the ground, then swung at his head. He struck the beast once more clean in the face, which instantly set the hood ablaze. Baldr cried out and threw off his burning cloak, snarling as blood gushed from his nose. Much to my surprise, and I think to father's, Baldr was nothing more than a large tiger clad in Dragon scales. But he was still just as fierce.

Baldr wiped the blood from his nose onto his arm and shook his head. He stared father square in the eyes and took a fighting stance once more. Both were breathing heavily, though father looked far more fatigued than the tiger did. Despite that, father's fur still danced with flames just as strongly as before. Then in an instant, they were at it again.

Both their weapons flew through the air with staggering speed and power, father's hammer exploding with chips and flames as it deflected blows. The two seemed fairly matched, though I had to flatten my ears when I noticed father starting to falter more and more. Yet he stood his ground, fighting furiously to protect the last few villagers and more importantly, his last living son.

They matched mighty blows again and again, both beasts snarling terribly at each other. It was frightening to see father fight this monster tiger; suddenly everything he and I had done together in the training grounds seemed so trivial. Sparring with him had always left me bloody and bruised, and yet seeing him now I began to realize he hadn't even begun to get rough with me. It was no wonder he thought me such a coward, such a weakling; no doubt Tyr had suffered through even worse than I.

All of a sudden, Baldr let out a terrible cry as there was a break in their unrelenting attacks. He held his sword tightly and with a deep breath, swung it across father's chest. Father leapt back as he deflected the blow, then deflected another, but as he took a step back, his leg suddenly faltered. In the instant it took for him to correct himself, my father received a sound blow across his chest, then he was kicked backward by the mighty tiger.

I cried out to my father and ran forward, though one of the villagers tried to stop me, no doubt for my own protection. But I didn't care about that, not in the slightest. I had already lost all I wanted to live for, so my life was at least worth saving my father's. After all, all of this, this entire fight, it was for my protection. Perhaps Freya was right after all, perhaps father did care for me, if even a little bit. It made no difference, anyway, I knew what I had to do.

I managed to wrench myself free of the villager and continued toward father. But I was so far away, I knew not how I was supposed to help. Instead I watched as Baldr lifted his sword above his head and with a deep, terrible growl, suddenly thrust it downward.

Father blocked the sword with his hammer, but the strange, massive blade smashed right through the stone. Flames and chunks of rock flew all over as the sword slammed into the ground, fortunately missing my father. As the hammer blew apart, so, too, did the flames upon my father's back. He was completely vulnerable now, tired, bloody and beaten. I had never seen father like this, such incredible fear and exhaustion in his eyes. I had never seen him below another, always the one towering over everyone. He was always so strong, so fearful, so invincible. Never had I seen him like this. Never had I seen him...defeated.

I watched as Baldr lifted his sword once more, holding it above his shoulder for one final blow. "Stop!" I cried, which gained no attention from the tiger, though father glanced over. Our eyes met and I saw his death, saw his acceptance of it. I also saw pain, fear and regret, guilt and sorrow. He knew it was his time, but he wanted me to run, he wanted me to escape and be free, wanted me to live. But no. I would not be the coward he thought I was, not now. I stopped a body's length away from the tiger, and though I was afraid, I had to do this.

Without much thinking, I raised my finger and amongst the stench of death and the roaring flames around me, I began to scribe the Runes. Even now I don't know exactly which runes I was carving into the hot, smoky air, but I somehow I knew they would work. One after the other, I cast the Runes, white-hot and sizzling loudly; it was enough to get Baldr's attention.

I glanced at father and he stared at me wide-eyed. Even Baldr looked surprised. "The Gods have abandoned us, father, even Thor, our protector." I growled quietly, then glanced up at Baldr. He stood even taller than father did. "So for now, I will have to do."

With that, I swiped my right paw through the final Rune and instantly black clouds began to roll in. With it came a loud, deep, rolling thunder, deeper than Nidhoggr's growl. Suddenly, a brilliant crack of lightning crashed violently from above, exploding behind me. I held out both my paws to embrace the power of the Runes, the power of nature. Father called out to me, begging me to stop, but it was too late for that. Another bolt of lightning came crashing down, this time striking a spot less than a paw's length away, which made both my father and the tiger cover their eyes.

"Loki, no!" cried father, "You have to stop this!"

For the first time in a very long time, I ignored my father. I noticed the Dragons stepping closer, and Baldr readying for an attack. But fear was no longer with me. I held my right paw to my side and instantly a bolt of lightning slammed down into it. I felt the intense heat and raw power of the lightning as I held the bolt in my paw, brighter than the sun, and it continued to crack and thunder as I held it there. From the corner of my eye I noticed Baldr swinging his sword, and as fast as the bolt had struck, I, too, struck the monster tiger.

In a deafening fury of sparks and flames, the lightning exploded upon Baldr's chest, sending him violently backward into a pile of burning rubble. A loud cry suddenly came from the Dragons, particularly from Nidhoggr, as they spread their mighty wings and snarled furiously. One came right at me.

I turned quickly to the Dragon and without hesitation, called down another bolt of lightning, easily directing it with my left paw into the Black Dragon's chest. Though it didn't kill him or knock him back, it was at least enough to stun him if only for a moment. I then uttered a few words and scribed some familiar runes, calling upon the power of the earth once more. As quick as I could, my left paw still crackling with lightning, I slammed the other into the ground and lifted it immediately, sending up a mighty spear of rock, ice and earth.

The Dragon screamed horribly as the giant spear pierced his belly and exploded out his back. With a deadly growl, I cast several more fiery runes with barely a thought and turned my paw around to swipe it across my chest. As I did, the flames of a few burning tents seemed to leap from their places to engulf another Dragon. Giving him no time to recover or shake the flames off, I called down an immense bolt of lightning to strike the Dragon directly, which was enough to make him fall.

A third Dragon came at me, snapping his teeth and swiping his giant claws, but like the lightning I held in both my paws, I leapt out of the way at speeds I had never moved before. I barked a few ancient words then slammed my footpaw down, causing half a dozen earthen spears to rise up, but the Dragon was clever enough to avoid impalement, though it was enough to slow him down.

With that extra moment, I managed to focus enough to cast down yet another bolt of lightning, realizing quickly why our protector god chose it as his weapon. The Dragon cried out, but it would seem with his rough, scaly skin he had a natural resistance to it. Nevertheless, I moved myself forward whilst he was distracted and held a paw up toward his chest, gripping with my claws and growling to send down yet another crackling, thundering bolt. The Dragon screamed but was unable to control his muscles. I snarled and held both paws to his chest, focusing all of my energy, all of nature's energy, into the Dragon. He could not resist forever.

"Enough!" Nidhoggr suddenly boomed. With his voice a rapid burst of powerful wind pushed me a few steps back from the Dragon; the Dragon didn't move, though he was still breathing. Much to my surprise, his amazing shout also dispelled all of my Runes, leaving me horribly vulnerable and as powerless as ever. "You are impressive, child, I'll give you that. But I grow tired of this. The rest of you, take the child and kill the others. And leave the father alive."

I gasped as at least five more Dragons moved in on me, and three others on the villagers. From the corner of my eye I noticed several more. When did they get here? I asked myself, backing away. Though I tried to tap into nature's power once more, I found myself frightfully unable. Perhaps my paws were shaking too much. I looked around desperately for father but he was nowhere to be seen. The Dragons snapped their teeth at me and snarled, which made me yelp and leap back. Then I heard a terrible crying from somewhere near the burning dais.

When I glanced over, the last of our poor villagers was struck down, all bellies sliced open by the Dragons' claws. "Gods save us," I instinctively said, then a deep shouting caught my attention to my left. It was father, standing before two Dragons. Like the five surrounding me, they were snapping at him, but he just snapped back. Unfortunately, that earned him a healthy strike across the cheek, toppling him at once.

"Father!" I cried, which prompted a Black Dragon to snap at me. I tried to run to father as I watched him slowly get back up, but I was blocked. I could only watch as father was struck down again, then again, and again as he tried to fight. Like me he was determined, or perhaps just stubborn; despite all his gashes and bruises and burns, he continued to stand his ground, continued to defend a village that no longer existed. We two were its only survivors, and yet there he stood. But as usual, my father was struck down, and my heart really sank when I didn't see him get back up. Soon, I was sent rolling into the mud and snow, and when I tried following my father's example, my world suddenly went dark.

How much time had passed since that morning I couldn't say. All I knew was when I regained consciousness, I was met with terrible silence and darkness. My head hurt more than when father whacked me with a staff, and my entire body ached. Instinctively my paws felt around my person to make sure all was in order, and happily I discovered I still had on my clothes and even my dragonstone knife was with me, for all the good it did me.

But when I felt something around my neck, something cold, hard, impossible to break, my heart began to race. I felt around some more for any sort of clue as to where I was, quickly realizing the floor beneath me was completely earthen, though warmer than what I was used to. Or rather, it wasn't frozen. The dirt was dry, loose, yet compact and hard. When at last my eyes began to focus in the darkness, a vague light was pouring in from somewhere, which gave me the impression I was in some kind of tent.

When I found a wall, I discovered it was in fact made entirely of wood, and as I worked my way around I determined there was at least five walls and no exit. My breathing was heavier now, fear quickly setting in. I staggered about in an attempt to find something else, like a rug or a table or a hearth, but it was only me. What is this place?

"Father!" I called out, scrabbling desperately about the floor for some sort of sign. "Father, are you there?" But still there was only silence. When at last I collapsed, trembling, I curled myself into a ball and closed my eyes. Is this death? I had to ask myself. Have I found myself in the world between worlds?

Then a strange calm came over me. "Heimdall?" I tried. "Are...you there? We can be together now, my friend!" But still nothing. I tightened my little ball of white fur and leather and wool and tried not to weep; I'd done enough of that already. But my heart was heavy and like usual I was frightened. Truly everyone I had ever loved was gone from me, and as if the Gods were playing a cruel joke, they left me alive. Or perhaps I was dead, too, forced to live out my afterlife in some sort of purgatory.

But then I remembered. I wasn't that same Loki I was just days before. I still knew the Runes, still knew how to tap into their power. I could free myself from this infernal place with just the right rune, I knew I could. I sat up and thought for a moment. There was no fire here to burn away the walls, and were there I would risk burning myself up in the process. Nothing terribly destructive would help, like lightning blasting this house to pieces, and calling upon a snowfall would only trap me further. Perhaps a wind, or a storm would free me, or perhaps I could lift the very ground beneath the wooden tent.

Determined, I lifted my paw and focused. I found the ever-flowing river of nature with ease, and began to cast an earth rune. The glow of the rune did little to light my tent, though I could more easily see the thick grain in the wooden walls. I would be free of this place soon, so it mattered not. I cast a few more Runes into the dry, dusty air until I was certain I was done. I took a deep breath, focusing on what I wanted - on the effect I needed - then slammed my paw down through the last rune and smacked the earth beneath me.

Nothing happened. I gasped slightly, waiting for something, for anything, and yet nothing. I carved the runes again and did the same, then again and again, now screaming in frustration. I got up and pounded my fists against the walls, but I was too small and too weak to break them down. I snarled and collapsed once more to the dirt floor, letting out a few good weeps. Perhaps for all my cowardice, in the end I had found myself in Hel, in the realm of the Crimson King.

What happened after that was a long, dark haze. I remained in that dark little prison for what felt like half a moon, with no one but my own thoughts to keep me company. The moments of the last night before being attacked played through my mind again and again and again. Dozens of times I saw my poor Heimdall lying dead in the snow, my father being struck down by the Black Dragons and the sound of Nidhoggr's laugh as my world faded away. I knew not what I had done to deserve such cruelty from the Gods, to have everything taken away from me. Perhaps this was retribution for killing my brother, my kin, when I was just a pup. I would have wept softly had I any tears left, but I'd shed the last of them thinking of my beloved Heimdall. The Gods were cruel indeed.

At some point in my dark, lonely confinement, something stirred me awake. I groaned and shifted, then with weak, shaky arms I lifted half myself, gazing around at the pitch blackness as if something had appeared. But of course there was nothing. I called out for father again, my throat painful and dry, but no one answered. I tried a few more times but eventually I let myself fall to my side with a dull thump, gazing into the void that was my prison with cold, weary eyes.

Though all I'd done was lie uselessly upon the ground for longer than I could track, somehow my body was exhausted. My eyes were as heavy as my heart, and my tight little belly growled painfully for food. My lips were dry and cracked and bloody, my mouth and throat aching desperately for water; I'd always taken the Mountain River for granted, but now I would give everything I had left for just a drop. I sighed hopelessly and closed my eyes, groaning silently to myself and praying to my cruel Gods for something to happen, for some sort of sign that I was either dead or still alive. Anything.

And then I finally got that sign.

My ears suddenly pricked and my eyes shot open when I heard a noise behind me. I listened intensely, and when I heard another shuffle I scrambled to my feet. Of course I could still see only darkness, but it felt like it'd been moons since I felt my heart race like this. My eyes were as wide as possible as I stared at the wall, a quiet scraping coming from the wood. It hurt to breathe so heavily, but with my fear finding me once more I found it impossible not to.

The scrabbling at the wall became louder, and in an instant I was blinded by a terrible light. I groaned and covered my eyes and stumbled back onto my bum, and before I could do anything I felt some very strong paws grab hold of me and drag me out of my dark, safe prison into a world I knew nothing of. I screamed and cried desperately as I was taken, calling out to father as much as I begged them to put me down, but they were deaf to my cries.

When at last I stopped, I was thrown carelessly onto the ground of what I soon discovered was another tent, this one far more tent-like. It was airy and bright, with a large door and flaps held open with leather ribbons. Inside was a table and a large wooden basin, but not much else. Around me I could hear the clamour and noise of working people, not many of them talking but I was well-acquainted with the sounds of grindstones and wood chopping and people sparring. I also thought I could hear the plowing of fields, but there was much and more happening around me so it was difficult to know.

My mind was whirling, eyes blinded and ears still mostly unaccustomed to all the noise. It took me longer than it should have to focus on the fur standing before me, as well as the two large brutes beside him. Both were carrying long spears. I could tell the pair were both canid, but a large, short-furred species I had never seen before. Their fur was black, muzzles short and angry and brown, with a couple brown spots above their eyes. They both wore strange attire, some leather but mostly a gray plated material over their shoulders and chests I hadn't ever seen. Their pants looked leather, though.

As for the other fur, he was much shorter, a fat little beast with large, pointy ears and a powerful-looking jaws. His fur ranged from brown to darker brown, his paws and muzzle the darker and I saw some dark spots around his shoulders. He wore a sleeveless top like myself, but it was made of a finer material than my dusty, woolen thing, and his pants were leather as well. His face was hard and angry.

"Where...is this?" I asked hoarsely. The sun shining in was still too bright, which made it hard to focus on the small fur before me.

The small fur stepped forward, examining me. "Can you fight, boy?" he asked.

I didn't know why he wanted to know, but more confusingly I didn't know why I answered "yes."

"We'll see," he responded dubiously. "How well do you know the Runes?"

I winced as I tried to look at him, the fur strategically placed so the sun shone right in my eyes. "Well enough," I grunted, unable to concentrate on a real answer. It seemed to satisfy him, though.

"Where are you from?" he then asked.

"Wh... Why?"

The small fur glanced up to the big one on his right, and the big one smacked me across the face, flattening me. I groaned and held my poor, throbbing cheek, trembling and sore. This was a familiar lesson.

"I'm one of the forest tribe," I answered as honestly as I could. I found out quickly he wanted to know geographically where I was from, but since my village had been my entire world, I had no answer for him. He gave up on that question soon enough, letting me rest for a moment between violent beatings. Father had never hit me this hard.

"How old are you, boy?"

"Eight... Eight years." My throat burned mercilessly for water, but I had a feeling I wouldn't get any. I still had no idea where I was or why I was here, or why they had kept me in that cage for so long. Was I free now?

That made the small fur frown. "I can't imagine why he would want to keep you alive," he scoffed. Did he mean Nidhoggr? "Children have little use here, and out there."

I was too tired to ask what he meant, and figured I'd just get hit again anyway.

"Well, I have other duties I must attend to. Let me just say, child, you are fortunate he has seen fit to keep you alive, otherwise you'd be rotting with the rest of your ilk, wherever it is you came from." Then he looked up at his two large companions. "You two, stay with the boy. Make sure he doesn't slip away."

And with that, the small fur was gone. I sighed and let myself relax on the dusty ground, right next to the table. The air was warm, I realized, at least as warm as our summers got. There was still snow around, which I noticed as I peeked out the front of the tent, and my breath still hovered in the air like haunting spirits. For the most part, the snow that was on the ground had long since been stomped into the ground. I couldn't have been in that dark prison for two whole seasons...could I have? Was it summer now?

Before I could ponder any further questions, two small hooded furs entered the tent, both with their heads held low and wearing plain woolen garb. Their species unknown to me, they had a certain blankness to their eyes, as if all the life had been taken from them and yet they lived. One carried a ceramic jar I hoped was full of water while the other had a wooden tray of food. The food and water was placed upon the table gently, and as I shakily got up, another large fur stood in the opening of the tent.

When I glanced up, an enormous fur stood with two large wooden pails of water dangling off a stick which rested against his shoulders. His fur was mostly white, but he'd suffered dozens of cuts and bruises and injuries, especially in his face. Both eyes were bloodshot and puffed up and bruised, and I saw his lips had been cut half a dozen times and he seemed to be missing some teeth. All along his arms and ribs were dozens of almost-fresh wounds; large gashes ran across his chest and stomach and all along his back, as well as countless hard black bruises covering most his body. This poor beast hardly looked a fur now, a monster if I ever saw one, and with half an ear missing it was difficult to determine his species. The giant fur lumbered in placidly and placed the buckets of water down, then turned to me. His eyes were bloody and dead, and yet somehow familiar. As I gazed up at him curiously, I suddenly felt a horrid chill run up my spine as I realized who those features belonged to. My heart started to race.

"F-Father!" I cried, approaching him. He just looked at me devoid of any emotion; he didn't smile, didn't frown, and he certainly didn't embrace me. "I was so scared," I wept, paws shaking. "I didn't know what happened to you, I didn't..."

Father suddenly pushed me out of his way and continued out of the tent as if I wasn't even there. And all I could do was watch him in disbelief as he walked slowly into the thoroughfare of this strange village, stopping before the small fur who'd questioned me. I heard the fur barking some orders, pointing to his left, and like a dutiful slave my father obeyed without hesitation. I felt sick to my stomach. What have they done to you, father?

My attention was suddenly drawn away when I heard water splashing into the wood basin behind me. One of the small furs who'd entered was pouring the water father had delivered into the basin, and as he did the other came up behind me and began to pull up on my shirt. Naturally I resisted, shouting at the fur until one of the large black canines growled and stepped toward me. That was enough to make me freeze, the bruises on my face still too fresh.

As the canine glared at me, I slowly and reluctantly removed my top, finding it slightly more difficult to lift it past the cold hard collar I was wearing; I'd nearly forgotten it was there. The hooded steward then pushed me gently toward the basin and gave me a chance to remove my own pants. However shaky, I did manage to undo the stone clasp and let the large, baggy garment fall to the ground, careful not to reveal my dragonstone dagger. Though I was going to leave them anyway, I was given no time to remove the dozen bracelets I had around both my wrists, as well as the few anklets I had made for my right footpaw. Though flushed, I quickly realized no one in this tent was watching me, especially not the two small furs.

I stepped into the basin and let myself fall to my bum, and sure enough both stewards began working on getting the blood and dirt out of my fur. They scrubbed me mercilessly hard but didn't make a sound. They had blank expressions on their faces as if they'd done this a thousand-dozen times, and though they were both older than me, somehow I could tell they were just children, perhaps in their teenage years. I noticed they, too, had the same sort of collar on as I did, and had to somehow clean around mine.

When at last I was thoroughly cleansed, or as cleansed as I was ever going to get, they wordlessly dried me off and let me put my clothes back on; the water was dark and brown and cloudy now. They brought me over to the table and made sure I ate and drank everything. The water, as suspected, was to drink, and a bland meal of bread and fish was all I had to eat. Dutifully they took away the empty tray and jar, leaving me alone with the black-furred canines. I glanced up at them nervously, not sure what I was supposed to do. Neither of them looked at me, but I dared not risk leaving.

Moments later, that short fur from before reappeared. He looked puzzled. "Come," he said to me, and I did so cautiously. Much to my surprise, he led me out of the tent and into the village.

The village at first glance was large, stretching farther than I could see. In the distance I could see the head and wings and sometimes tails of Dragons milling about, and a few times as we walked a Black Dragon flew overhead. The tents we passed were huge compared to what I was used to, possibly Dragon-sized, and I could only imagine what went on in them. Past the large tents I saw a long series of wooden huts, each one with five walls and about the length of two arms lengths; these huts sent a horrible chill up my spine. We continued on for a good while, passing by more people and more tents and walls and structures than my village had ever seen. I continuously looked at the old, dirty, beaten-down people for anyone I recognized, but none were familiar. After a while everyone just started to look the same.

For how many people there were, there was surprisingly little noise. Of course I could hear some shouting on occasion - screaming more often than not - and almost constantly the sound of grindstones rolling and somewhere in the massive village someone was striking something rhythmically. It sure wasn't the heavy beat of a drum, the noise loud and high-pitched. It was a strange noise to me, worse than banging rocks together, and every time it rang it set my fur on edge. Eventually, like the rest of the noise, it became drowned out the longer we walked the village.

Soon enough I heard a noise much more familiar to me, that of weapons training. When we passed by a long tent, there was a field full of both young and old furs, each one with a wooden weapon of some kind and attacking one another. Elsewhere there were people simply practicing techniques, following a loud, brutal instructor who did more shouting than anything. The people training all looked tired and beaten and bloody, yet they continued hard. Further on, another large group was sitting down near a large tent drinking water, taking a break it seemed. This was where the short, fat fur was taking me.

"Stay here," the fat one instructed either myself or the guard dogs, or perhaps all of us. Either way, he kicked his way past some resting people and into the tent, presumably where the instructor was.

I looked about to see if father was anywhere, but amongst the dozens and dozens of people, I saw only desperation and despair. Even the people allowed to rest looked as if whatever hope they may have had was all taken away when they came here. No one was familiar to me, and despite seeing the Dragons take furs away from their villages - both mine and Heimdall's - everybody was a stranger. Why were they getting people to train here, anyway?

When at last the fat fur appeared, a giant of a wolf followed him out of the tent, though unlike the wolves I was used to seeing, his fur was all black. He approached with the fat one and looked me up and down, then spat.

"You bring me children?" growled the black wolf. "He is no fighter, I can see it in his eyes."

The fat one shrugged. "Not to hear Nidhoggr tell it."

The wolf grunted. He was wearing dark leather pants and a sleeveless top to match, and looked meaner than father. Much to my surprise, he wore a cold black collar much like mine. He looked like he wanted to hit me, like the sight of someone so weak disgusted him. At least I was used to that look.

"We'll see," he said, then turned to the others. "All right, dogs," the black wolf snarled, "you know the drill. Get up! Get to your positions; we train until sundown."

The sun told me it was only midday.

"You, pair up with that one there." The black wolf gestured toward a white-furred husky, who was gathering his weapon and sullenly making his way to his spot on the field. My heart leapt and stomach turned as I was handed a wooden staff and directed toward Jorn, so far the only fur besides father I recognized from our village.

He's going to beat me senseless, I told myself, hoping somehow he wouldn't recognize me. But by this point, Jorn would no doubt recognize anyone from our village, especially one he'd beaten up several times this past quarter moon.

The husky took his position back facing me, and slowly and cautiously I made my way toward him. He was standing at the furthest end of the field, in the back row only a few positions away from the corner. All I could hear as I neared him was blood flowing through my ears and the pained cries of the dozens upon dozens of other furs training close to us. Their weapons _clack_ed together noisily and their instructors growled loudly, and just before reaching Jorn, I witnessed one fur from one of the other groups suddenly being dragged away, kicking and screaming; no one but me seemed to pay him any mind. My stomach turned again, especially when I faced my opponent.

It took a moment, but after Jorn stood battle-ready, and I did the same, he glanced down at me with suddenly wide eyes. "It's you," he gasped quietly, then looked about nervously. He clearly wanted to talk more, but as I'd already witnessed, very little talking went on with the trainees. "Sorry," he said quietly - thankfully people were still getting into their positions, though we were almost ready to begin. "We can't talk right now, but..."

Jorn was cut off when our black-furred instructor snarled something at us, then we took our stances again. "Just follow my lead," said the husky, then before I knew it, my left arm received a sound blow.

I yipped loudly, and soon we were in our positions again. These lessons were familiar, though clearly far more organized and structured than when father and I sparred alone. Repetition was the key here, and no doubt father would have agreed it was a good lesson. Jorn went at me again, hitting me, but after the third bout, I managed to block it. I noticed the instructor pacing around, barking or smacking various furs, generally the ones who messed up. He looked like he hit hard.

Our repetitive training went on for what felt like a quarter moon, myself receiving several punishments from the black wolf as well as dozens of bruises from Jorn. I could have stabbed the wolf with my dragonstone knife several times, but I wanted more to keep it hidden; it was the only thing I had left of our village, the only thing left of father. When it was my turn to take the offensive, I did significantly better, though not surprisingly I was told I had to be more fierce, then punished for it. By the end it was clear the black wolf favoured picking on me, which was good for everyone else, but horrible for me. Half my cuts and bruises were the wolf's punishments, the others from Jorn's weapon; I preferred Jorn's hits over the wolf's.

By the time training was over, surprisingly I was still able to stand. Jorn apologized and the instructor insulted me for the hundredth time that day. Thankfully father had gotten me accustomed to such insults, though it was his threats which frightened me more.

I was told several times if I wasn't killed in the training, then he would do it himself. I gathered from what he said I was one of the youngest furs here, though I couldn't tell if he meant those training, or those throughout the entire camp. Either way, the wolf seemed to imply there were very few younger furs here, if any at all, and that they simply killed them instead of taking them. But why?

When our weapons were taken away and training was over, I followed Jorn as closely as I could toward the so-called feeding tent, which had dozens of long rows of seats and tables where a dizzying amount of people were crammed in and already eating. Thankfully Jorn was extremely helpful, and even let me hold onto his tail as he led me through the chaos of hungry furs, until at last we reached the server.

Over the noise I couldn't hear what Jorn was saying, but he gestured toward me several times, each time getting angrier.

"I ain't feedin' little kids 'ere," shouted the fat bear. "He's not gonna last long, y'mark m'words. A waste of good food he is. Y'want'ta feed 'im so bad, y'feed 'im yerself!"

Jorn then cursed the bear and led me to a table, and together we ate.

"Here," he said, ripping his bread in half. He looked none too pleased about having to share his food, but with my stomach growling I was extremely thankful. "There aren't any kids here," he told me as he gnawed on his stale bread. "And if there are they don't live for very long, especially in the training grounds. That's why he wouldn't feed you. I'm surprised you made it this far, to be honest."

I shoved the bread in my mouth hungrily. "What is this place?" I asked, maw full. Ordinarily I'd be offended by Jorn's remarks, but I was too tired and sore to argue, or even frown. "Is this where the Dragons take everybody?"

Jorn nodded his head. "Yes, but not everybody. When the Dragons attack a village, children are killed outright, and most women. Only the young girls survive, the ones around my age. I haven't seen a female since I got here, so the Gods only know what happen with them."

"Maybe they're taken to cook, or something..? Or clean, or gather fruit."

Jorn sighed. "Maybe. But we aren't anywhere near our village anymore. Most people here don't even know where our village is, and didn't even know it existed until now. Everything's different here, kid. And frankly, if you can't keep up, you're going to end up like..."

Jorn had to stop himself, but I knew what he was going to say. I'd end up like the rest of our village, the ones who didn't survive. The ones father had built mounds for.

"Well why are they gathering all of us? What to Dragons need with furs? I mean, they're pretty strong, and huge if nothing else. Plus the Elders say they can use magick!"

The husky just shrugged as he threw a piece of bland fish my way. He hadn't yet touched his bowl of slop; I couldn't tell what it was, but it looked gross. He used his bread to soak up a bit of the juice, though even that seemed unappealing.

"No one's really sure," answered Jorn, just as I shoved the fish in my mouth. "Not truly. But most say when the Black Dragons battle other Dragons, usually the White Dragons, they send out an army of furs as some sort of distraction. Apparently when enough of us gather, we're enough of a nuisance so their enemies can't simply ignore us. So far as I can tell, we're being trained to take down Dragons, though in reality we're being trained to distract them. None of us are going to survive this, not for very long. Our lives are nothing to them."

I should have expected that, but at the time it upset me greatly. I instantly began to wonder about father, wanting desperately to see him once more before I died, or before he died. I wanted to hug him, and though it only flashed through my mind for a moment, I wanted to tell him I loved him. And yet I remembered how coldly he'd regarded me back in that other tent. What had happened to him?

Together the husky and I finished up our shared meal, the chunky, greyish slop about as tasteless and bland as the fish, and somehow even staler than the bread. "C'mon," said Jorn, at last finished his meal. He just left everything there as he got up, and I was quick to hold onto his tail yet again. When at last we were free of the feeding tent, I was surprised to feel him hold my paw. "I'll show you where the common tent is, where we all sleep."

I had to blush slightly when his paw gripped onto mine, but I followed along thankfully. We pushed through dozens of people, each one wandering about listlessly to either eat or sleep. Though they all walked, they had little life in their eyes, Jorn included. Whatever fire they may have had, it was all but gone, taken from them by the Black Dragons. By Nidhoggr.

"What happened to everyone?"

Jorn slowed down a bit as we neared a denser crowd on the other side of the feeding tent. Without much warning, he bent down and picked me up, holding me against his chest as he made his way through the mass of people. I held my arms around his neck as if I never wanted him to let me go. Despite his lethargy, he was still very warm. "Like you, like me," the husky explained, "they have been torn from their homes, from their lives. Everything they knew, everything they were, it has all been taken. Most everyone here has lost a loved one, probably more. We've been beaten, broken. We're all slaves here, every one of us."

I gripped the white-furred dog a bit tighter. "Is that why we all wear these collars?"

Jorn nodded. At last we managed to push through the crowd, and he took a turn between a couple tents. Apparently they had more than one feeding tent - three, as it turned out - which told me there was many and more people here than I realized.

"We've been told the collars have a spell woven into them to prevent anyone from casting spells of their own, Runes included. They also said anyone who runs will be killed by the collar. I don't know if any of that's true, but so far no one I've known has taken that risk. Most don't have anything left to run to anyway."

I sighed heavily. This was a lot to take in, especially after being thrown in so mercilessly. I'd spent what felt like an entire moon in that small, black tent, then immediately thrust into weapons training. I still had no idea where we were, but the lack of heavy snow told me we were far from my home. Suddenly tears began to trickle down my cheeks.

Though I wanted Jorn to somehow comfort me, deep down I knew he couldn't. He was trapped here just like I was, though at least he was a better fighter than me. He would survive, I knew it, at least until the Dragons went to battle. It seemed unlikely I'd survive that long, though whether it be by starvation or beaten to death by the black wolf, I couldn't say. But it was curious why Nidhoggr would want me alive, or alive enough to train with the older men.

"Here we are," said Jorn, finally putting me down. Straw mats were placed evenly along the ground beneath the great tent, while other beds were hanging from the ceiling and between posts. Jorn took me to one of the few unused mats toward the centre of the tent. "You can sleep here with me," he suggested, and I was not going to argue.

We both laid down and shifted uncomfortably, myself curling into a ball in front of Jorn while he did most of the shifting. I heard him sigh and turn around, then turn around again. People were still milling about, very few talking but most still trying to find a place to sleep. A few times I heard people yelp when they were stepped on, but very little commotion was made. I sighed heavily once more, glancing around at the dead people wandering around, and the ones fast asleep. Despite everything, I did not want to become one of them.

"Hey Jorn?" I found myself saying, voice quiet. Slowly and carefully I uncurled myself and began digging into my pants.

The husky turned around. "What is it?"

"Thank you...for everything."

Jorn rubbed my shoulder gently.

When he did, I drew the knife and turned around to face him, pointing it at him. Both fear and rage flashed through his eyes, but I was quick to draw my ears back and lower the knife."And I'm sorry for cutting you."

There was a long pause before he responded, Jorn just staring at the black, lustrous knife. Finally he glanced at me. "Where did you get that?"

"It was a gift from father, for the Blót. I kept it with me when the Dragons attacked, and I guess they didn't search me for it." I shrugged. "I've been able to keep it hidden for now. Guess they figured someone as little as me couldn't be much of a threat."

Somehow Jorn was able to smile, something I hadn't yet seen from anyone in this enormous village. But when I handed the husky the blade, his smile turned into bewilderment. "I can't. It's...from your father."

"I know, but I don't think I'd have been able to make it this far today without your help. So I want you to have it, because I'm thankful to you. And also...because you didn't beat me to death."

Jorn laughed quietly through his nose, then sighed. "I was cruel to you, needlessly so. And I truly am sorry for that. You are a good kid, Loki. Pretty lame fighter, but you're good. I know I can't change what I did or how I acted, but I promise you I'll do everything within my power to keep you safe." Then he took the blade in both paws, making sure to keep it hidden.

I blushed a little as he put his arm around me and we shuffled close together, both of us lying down again. Whatever hatred either of us had for one another had also been taken away by the Black Dragons, something else I was grateful for.

The next morning came quicker than I'd have liked, except instead of waking up to the smell of cooking meat and fresh bread, it was to the loud bellow of a large, white, maned fur. I was told later he was a white lion, another species I hadn't yet seen before. Apparently white lions were much more uncommon than regular lions, though I hadn't seen regular lions before either. Anyway, he roared fiercely to wake us all up, cracking a whip to get us going. Fortunately I missed his lashes, though admittedly it gave me some comfort to see he, like everyone else, was also wearing a so-called slave collar. It then occurred to me that the only fur I'd seen so far without one was that fat fur who'd greeted me after the darkness.

"These collars," I began, holding onto Jorn's tail with both paws so as to not get lost, "why doesn't that fat one have to wear one?"

"The hyena?"

I shrugged. There were dozens of species around I hadn't ever seen before, much less learned the names of.

"I think he reports directly to Nidhoggr, if the quiet mutterings can be believed. He essentially runs the entire camp, and everyone wearing a collar has to do what he says, even the instructors. He's also the one who oversees and sometimes administers the punishments, and introduces new furs into the camps. The way he treats people, he might as well be a Dragon. Anyway, you don't want to get in his way, Loki, trust me on that. Don't even look him in the eyes, it offends him." Jorn then lowered his voice so it was barely audible, leaning down so his whiskers tickled my ear. "He acts as if he is above us, just because he doesn't wear a collar. But he's a slave here like everyone else, he just won't admit it. Never tell him that, though."

While Jorn said all of that, I was busy trying to scratch beneath my collar with one paw whilst the other still held onto his tail; with all the sweating I'd done the day before, the fur beneath my collar was thick and matted and itchy already. "What do they make these out of, anyway?" It was like nothing I'd ever felt before. "It's heavy."

Jorn just shrugged as we made our way through the morning crowd, people even more weary in the morning than at night. "I'm not really sure, though I've heard mention of something called 'iron' several times since getting here. You know all that loud banging you hear? Eventually you drown it out, but apparently that's people banging on iron."

"Why do they bang on iron?"

Jorn shrugged again. "I guess to shape it into collars? I'm not sure."

I hadn't heard of iron before, but I was beginning to discover it was extraordinarily hard to break. It seemed like it could even stand up to my dragonstone knife, or even one of my father's weapons, though taking a bludgeon to the neck was not something I was about to try.

As Jorn and I waited patiently to get our food, finally reaching the feeding tent, I had to cling to the husky to avoid being trampled. I gazed idly through the crowd as we shuffled forward, somehow noticing through the mass of hungry people my father in the distance walking by again with pails of water, though it hardly looked like him at all. Yet somehow through all the bruising and swelling and bloody cuts, I knew it was him. I called out to father, but he didn't hear me. It made Jorn look over, though, and after an audible gasp he was quick to push my face into his side so I wouldn't have to see him. "Gods," he begged desperately. I could feel his paw trembling a little.

"No, stop!" I snarled, trying to turn away. "I want to see him!" As I tried to run to father the husky gripped my arm tightly, pulling me back. If only I had my knife...

"Stay with me, Loki, he won't even recognize you! He can't help you here. He can't help any of us. I'm sorry."

I cried and tried to wrench my arm free, but Jorn was intent on keeping me there. He pulled me along until we got our food, then dragged me to a table while I screamed; I was the only one making so much noise. No one looked over, though. In fact, no one even had the energy to look annoyed except for Jorn, and even his reaction seemed subdued.

"Just eat," he barked, shoving his bowl of greyish slop toward me. I cursed at him and began eating. "Listen," he went on, munching on some bread, "we've all suffered some kind of abuse here, most commonly the solitary confinement. It's a way of breaking a person's spirit, their soul. Whether it's physical abuse or mental..." The husky paused to sigh. "Everyone has a breaking point, Loki, and everyone always breaks. That's why everyone around here looks like this, so bleak, so hopeless. It's why no one ever runs, or rebels, or even talks. Most take just a day or so to break, some just an afternoon. But your father...he took at least a quarter moon before they broke him, and even still they continue to beat him. Like everyone else, they needed him to submit. Now he'll do anything they ask of him."

I stopped eating immediately and tried hard not to cry, but it was hopeless. My father was the strongest fur I knew, the bravest, the toughest. No one could defeat father, not even a bunch of Dragons, nor even that scaled fur we saw with Nidhoggr. And yet in just a quarter moon, he had been defeated so badly he was as docile as, well...me. I had to clench at my chest to keep my heart from bursting, but that sure didn't stop the tears.

"How?" I begged. "How did they defeat him? What did they do?"

Jorn sighed. "You don't want to hear this."

"Just tell me!" I snarled, banging my fist on the table. That gained a few quick glances, but nothing more.

The husky sighed again, dipping his bread into the sloppy stew. "I can't be certain of anything, but I do know Nidhoggr insisted he be kept alive. I can't imagine why... But every night I hear screaming, a wild snarling like nothing I've ever heard before. It comes from a tent near where the Dragons are, and he's the only fur I ever see go in there. I don't know what goes on in there, but I've heard there are dozens of iron devices in there made specifically to make people submit. Probably the more difficult ones, the fighters."

Suddenly I found I couldn't swallow my food. I knew father would never go down without a fight, and that fight would surely become stuff of legends. Songs would be sung about that fight for countless generations, about the valour and the glory and the blood spilled. But there was no heroic death for father. Instead they kept him alive so they could beat him again and again. It was enough to make me sick, had I enough food in my belly to do so.

"Why?" I asked, paws curled into fists. "They should have let him die!"

Jorn, much to my surprise, looked about as upset by it as I did. He held onto my paw which admittedly calmed my nerves. "I don't know, Loki. So far as I can tell, Nidhoggr's just sick. He enjoys torturing furs as much as he enjoys killing us. That's what all of this is, truly. But we can't discuss such things out loud, Loki, as much as you might want to. No one around here talks because they've all been broken, and those who haven't been know better. Tell me, what happened before you were brought to the training grounds?"

I poked at the slop with a wooden spoon for a moment, trying hard not to recall too much of my black prison. "I was kept inside some wooden hut. It was dark, and no one was there and I couldn't see or hear anything. They didn't feed me and I was thirsty, and I don't even know how long they kept me there for!"

"That's the solitary confinement I told you about. That's the most effective way of breaking a fur. Most go insane, while the others become totally compliant, for fear of going back again. And if you're caught doing anything out of the ordinary, anything that tells them you aren't completely, absolutely obedient, then they'll throw you in again. But some can resist, and they learn quickly to blend in rather than try fighting back. It may sound cowardly, I know, but it is the only way to survive with your sanity intact. Unfortunately, solitary confinement was not near enough to make your father submit."

I clenched my fists tightly. "And so they beat him," I said, gazing into the greyish stew.

"Probably most of the instructors and most of the guards had to endure such tortures, too, just given their personalities. They're all fighters and leaders, like your father. They aren't used to submission, and would rather die in glorious battle than succumb. But if the Dragons didn't bother breaking these furs, there would be no one here to enforce us, and no one would stay in line. Because the Dragons feel they are above training us themselves, above dealing with us in any way beyond capture, they use these broken fighters as their enforcers."

"But what about that one fur I saw? Father fought him! He came to our village after the first attack, riding on Nidhoggr's back. Baldr..?"

Since I was clearly not eating my food, Jorn decided to start on the stew. He ate it slowly, though with people now slowly starting to clear out and the sun poking over the horizon, we would have to leave for the training grounds soon.

"Baldr, yes. I don't know anything about him, other than Nidhoggr protects him like his own child. Of course Baldr doesn't really need the protection of anyone but his sword, but Nidhoggr is protective all the same. His sword, I've been told, is made of the same material as his armour, which is made out of iron and dragonfire. At least, that's what the others say. It is stronger than iron, and it takes weapons much stronger than bone or stone to pierce it. He you'll want to avoid at any cost, more so than the hyena."

I sighed heavily, picking away at our food until Jorn made me eat some more so I could keep up my strength. Luckily we left just before the white lion appeared cracking his whip again. As the crowd slowly disbursed, Jorn and I made our way with dozens of others to our appropriate grounds for training. As expected, the black wolf was there, ready to begin the regimen.

To start, which was what I'd missed the day before, he had us all stand in perfect formation, dozens of rows as straight as possible. He paced around and growled at me to scare me, then hit me when I flinched. Jorn was next to me, and though he glanced over, he barely moved. Remembering what the husky had told me, I bit my lip and stood as still as possible until the wolf was satisfied. Or rather, until he walked away.

The rest of the morning was spent doing some basic exercises, which he called push-ups and sit-ups. Of course I got pushed around the most when the black wolf saw how pathetic I was. He told me half a dozen times I'd be killed in a second on a real battlefield, then threatened me some more. I just thanked the Gods Jorn was close by, otherwise I doubt I'd have had the strength to continue. This went on for a while longer, until the sun was high in the sky.

When I was thoroughly tired and beaten, I learned rather than rest, it was time for weapons training. I was handed what appeared to be a sword made of wood. It was longer than anything I had ever held, and heavier, too. Unfortunately I wasn't paired up with Jorn like before, so my punishment was extra brutal.

Not only did my partner attack me like his life was in danger - and for all I knew it was - but of course the black wolf had to hit me too, when I failed to block enough attacks. We were also, in theory, supposed to counterattack, but I couldn't make it that far in our practice before I was whacked upside the head by either a wooden sword or the instructor's paw. By the time our break rolled around, the sun was making me hot and nipped at my arms, legs and head, all of which were covered in fair-sized bruises, whelps and cuts. Thankfully the air was still cool, but there was little snow to ease my aching wounds. I was quick to find Jorn.

"You look terrible," said the husky, then handed me a skin of water. As I put the skin to my cracked lips, my heart leapt when my partner staggered by, ears drawn back and ready for a fight. And yet his eyes were dead like everyone else's. I knew then none of this was personal, that none of his ferocity came from some kind of hatred; he had been trained this way.

The rest of the afternoon was somewhat more familiar, weapons training with different weapons. I was with yet another partner, trying my best to defend myself with a staff but as always found it especially difficult. Most of the fighters here were dreadfully strong, and with no fear, no happiness, nothing at all behind their eyes, they fought me with an intensity father had never shown me. By the time the sun grabbed at the horizon, my bruises were bruised and my welts had welts. Fortunately I hadn't suffered as many cuts as I could have, finding wood won't break skin quite as easily as stone.

Dinner was the usual affair, myself grateful Jorn was being as generous as he was. Though he never complained, somehow I could see he was left still hungry, and yet he let me eat as much as I wanted. Against my better judgement, I gave the husky a hug, though he told me later I should avoid that sort of thing lest I be confined to solitary confinement. Despite his warning, I curled into a ball next to him in the common tent, and despite his warning he put an arm around me anyway. I somehow felt safe with Jorn, though in reality I knew he couldn't do a thing to help me.

Nevertheless, the husky helped me sleep, and though things were grim, he made me feel at least a little happy. Of course, it was nowhere near the same level of happiness Heimdall had given me, but in this place even a tiny amount felt like a blessing.

The next quarter moon went on in much the same way it had, myself trying to fight more strangers and receiving a sound beating every time I failed, and even when I didn't. As always the black wolf paid special attention to me, the youngest in the entire camp, pushing me harder and harder with every day. It seemed his barking and snarling and growling only became worse, and his punishments more brutal and vicious. Somehow it seemed personal, though I couldn't imagine what I had done to earn his wrath. And yet like with father, I did my best to keep up.

My arms suffered the worst, and my fingers, mostly from my opponents' attacks. My head took some very hearty blows and my ribs were constantly sore. I had a headache most of the time, but it was easy enough to ignore when trying desperately to defend myself. Of course when the black wolf got his paws on me, I would get smacked across the face at least once, if I was lucky. If I wasn't, I would get smacked anywhere from three to five times, punched in the stomach or struck across my back, and more often than not whacked hard with my own weapon. But what hurt most was how the wolf's eyes projected so much hatred toward me, whereas the others' expressions were completely void. What had I done to incense him so?

The only consolation was Jorn was with me every night to lick my wounds. Not literally, of course, but just his presence helped. Most nights, after sharing a meal, the husky and I would go to bed together and though I had a spot for myself, he and I would curl up together. I think even he wanted me close to him, about as much as I wanted him close to me. There was something warm and comforting about Jorn, perhaps because he was the only familiar person here, despite our shaky beginnings; I was glad to see the scar I'd given him had healed almost perfectly, though it was still visible.

Unfortunately, after a full quarter moon and a few days, I spotted the fat hyena in the training grounds. He came after our first rest and just wandered the grounds with his paws behind his back, calmly watching the others. As always, his two large dogs were with him looking as mean as ever. Soon enough he strolled toward our squad, not saying anything or even watching anyone, just simply observing. The black wolf seemed to ignore him. Knowing he was in charge, I wanted to make a good impression, but as always I fell short. After a few more rounds, I noticed the hyena talking to the black wolf, then they both looked over at me. My stomach turned violently.

My partner and I went a few more rounds, myself managing to deflect some blows but I was struck more often than not. I was then pulled away from the fight before receiving more, luckily not to be punished by the black-furred instructor. And yet when I looked up at both him and the fat hyena, my nerves were far from calm.

"I should have had you killed days ago," commented the hyena. He looked upset, but not at me. "A normal fur would have been dead even sooner. There is no use for children here, much less children who cannot fight. But for reasons far beyond my comprehension, I have been instructed to keep you with us. Come."

"Huh?" I looked up at the black wolf, but he gave nothing away. "Where?"

The hyena turned around as a response and gestured toward his guard dogs with a nod, and they advanced on me. I cried out and stepped back, but the black wolf grabbed my arm before I could run. That just made me scream even louder, and when one of the dogs grabbed me, I scratched at his arm fruitlessly. I pried furiously on my collar in a vain attempt to rip it off, then looked around for Jorn. I saw him in the middle of the crowd looking up at me from afar.

Jorn looked worried, then as the dog stepped away from the group Jorn suddenly gripped his staff tightly and struck his opponent hard in the face. In an act of defiance, he bolted through the crowd toward me, growling as he approached. But no sooner had he reached me, the instructor grabbed the staff and grounded the husky immediately.

"Don't do this," snarled the black wolf, pinning my friend. "He will be safe."

I called out to Jorn as I was carried away, screaming until we were out of the training grounds. If only I had my knife, I would at least have a chance. Instead all I did was cry, conceding to the dogs and to the hyena. Wherever it was they were taking me, it couldn't have been any worse, or so I imagined. Perhaps I would go where father was, carrying water or whatever else he did.

But as I quickly discovered, I was taken to a whole other part of this growing village I hadn't even realized existed until now, though it explained a lot. While still fenced in with large wooden posts, like the rest of the village, this area was home to large fields of crops of various size and proportion, though there wasn't a whole lot growing now. I was told wheat was amongst the most common crop, corn second. There was a lot of rice, too, though it was sometimes difficult to grow. I knew nothing about growing crops, but I was informed I would soon learn plenty.

Luckily it was too late in the day to start farming now, and so rather than thrust me into the fray, I was instead brought to the common area for the farmers. By this time the tears had already dried upon my face and I'd long since given up yelling. Instead I lay in bed alone, curled into a ball and missing Jorn already.

When the morning came, sleep difficult to find, I followed the morning procedures as best I could, hoping beyond hope someone on this side of the village would feed me. They didn't, but I managed to steal enough bread and chunks of fish to sate me for a time; no one felt particularly inclined, even here, to cause an uproar. Not really knowing where I was going to what to do, I followed the herd dutifully, though once they spread themselves amongst the fields, I quickly discovered I had no idea what I was doing, nor where I should be or what tool to use.

For now I grabbed the long one with the flat piece at the end which people were currently using to dig long trenches where they would plant the seeds. Back in our village, seed planting didn't happen until several moons after the Midwinter Blót, and yet it had already started here. This made me even more curious to know where I was.

Soon enough, though, I was caught by one of the instructors and quickly told I was doing it wrong. He whipped me on the back then snarled at me, the brown and light brown-furred dog just as mean as the other instructors. But then the hyena appeared, explaining to the dog I was to be kept around, though even he found that hard to believe. But nevertheless, I was at least told the proper way of farming and managed to continue with far less incidences than with the black wolf.

But at the end of the day I quickly discovered I hadn't done nearly so well as I thought I had. Apparently I wasn't fast enough, and so less seeds were able to be planted which meant less crops to harvest when they were ready. I was punished severely, surprised that a farmer could be as cruel as a fighter.

The next day proved to be no better. I was whipped every time I fell behind, and I fell behind a lot. My muscles burned from the repetitive motions of ripping up the earth, and when I tried my hand at seed-planting, I dropped far too many by accident and was of course punished for that. Thankfully the dog didn't pay any particular attention to me, but instead doled out his punishments more equally, though at times it seemed as if he 'liked' me best.

Sleep was surprisingly hard to come by here, perhaps because I had no one to lie with. During our morning and evening meals I tried to make conversation with some, hoping I would find at least one fur who hadn't been beaten into submission, someone who had to pretend like Jorn did. But people were as eager to talk to me as they were to comfort me.

After less than a quarter moon, though, someone finally did approach me, speaking more quietly than I had been. He looked familiar, though I couldn't think of why. But when I finally got a good look at him, I remembered he was one of the other boys with Jorn the day he'd beaten me up. Both days, actually. The fat grizzly bear sounded as devoid of life as everyone else, but at least he was talking.

"I'm surprised you survived," he commented. I was surprised he cared. "Have you, um, seen Jorn at all?" Though he didn't sound at all concerned, after I told him about my time spent with the husky, he seemed slightly more perked up.

"Do you know where we are?" I tried asking the young bear. Jorn seemed to have learned a lot, but this one had never struck me as particularly bright. "How can we be farming so soon?" Though the air was chilly and a bit of snow still collected near the walls, it wasn't anywhere near as cold as back in our village, plus the ground was far from frozen.

The teen shrugged. "All I know is we're nowhere close to our village. Most say south, far south in lands I never knew existed. But no one really talks around here, anyway. You gonna finish eating that, or what?"

I frowned and pulled an arm around my food pile, suddenly very protective of my gatherings. The bear had finished his meal before I even got half of mine done. When I thought about it, I remembered him looking much more plump back in our village. No doubt the small portions and hard work had slimmed him down significantly in his relatively short time here.

The bear looked disappointed, then glanced around. "Never really thought about harvest time," he commented, then sighed and put his elbows on the table, eyeing my food hungrily. "That Shepherd sure is mean, though."

"Shepherd?" I asked.

The bear nodded. "The one with the whip. Just a quarter moon ago I accidentally knocked over one of those Rune Posts, and got ten lashes from him."

My ears suddenly pricked. "Rune Posts?" I could almost feel the flow of nature already.

The bear nodded again, a string of drool threatening to hit the table. I threw him the heel of my stolen bread and he ate it voraciously. Finally he continued, starting with a shrug. "You didn't notice those posts around? They've got some of them Runes scratched into them, but I dunno what they mean. The Shepherd sure did get angry when I hit that one, so they must be important."

I couldn't imagine what they meant, or what they were for, but I would have to pay particular attention when I was back in the field. Hopefully taking a look at them wouldn't slow me down even more.

When at last I finished my meal, everyone almost simultaneously got up from their seats and made their slow march toward the fields, about as lively as corpses. I looked everywhere between the crowd for what I thought Rune Posts might look like, though so far all I saw was either regular posts, equipment or just more people.

Within moments I was at work once more, back sore before the sun was high. My paws burned and my arms were screaming for rest, and yet on and on I ploughed the field. I'd managed to avoid the Shepherd's lashes almost the entire morning, which meant either he was distracted with someone else or I was actually improving. Either way, the two lashes I got before break didn't feel anywhere near as bad having come so much later in the day, though of course it still stung. I couldn't imagine how many scars I would have by the end of all this; no doubt dozens on my back alone. But as always I endured.

Well into the afternoon, I continued with my ploughing, continuing even after grown men collapsed helplessly to the ground. I had to force myself to look away each time someone was dragged off with barely the energy to scream. I would never see them again, I knew that. I cursed the gods all the same, then again because for some reason far beyond my comprehension, they wanted to keep me alive. What had I done to deserve any of this?

By the time the sun neared the horizon, I was thoroughly beat. My body ached all over, but on the way back toward the commons for food and rest, I noticed a small thin charm dangling off the top of a sharpened wooden post. The post stood a few heads taller than me, and when the gentle breeze died down, I noticed Runes scribed upon it. My heart leapt, and amongst the distraction of the crowd, I was able to stand long enough to look at it.

Though poorly scribed, I determined at least one of the Runes represented the sun god, and another for fertility and another for fire, or more specifically warmth. The thinning crowd forced me away from the Rune Post, but the more I thought on it during my meal, I began to realize they used the power of the Runes to create ideal farming conditions, even in cold weather. It was a brilliant idea, and not even Ulf had ever mentioned scribing the Runes into objects like that, to use the power that way. No doubt if the Post was removed, like what had happened with Jorn's friend - the fat bear - its effects would be dispelled. I had much to ponder as I slowly fell asleep.

Half a moon passed before I ever saw the hyena again, and as predicted he was unpleased by my progress. Despite the fact I thought I was doing much better - I was far less sore now, and could plough and harvest and plant seeds much faster, and even received less punishments from the instructor - somehow the hyena was still upset with me. He hit me a few times and snarled, and even though I'd improved, the instructor never said a word to defend me. I could have stabbed them both, but I'd left my dragonstone blade with Jorn. Those two large guard dogs were there, anyway.

That night I went to bed more sore than I had been in a while, buffeted by the damned hyena. Actually it was his black-furred guard dogs, but he told them to do it. I wanted so badly to ring his un-collared neck, to slice it open and offer him up to the Gods, though I wasn't sure they would accept him. He was as cruel as they were, but these days I had no idea what pleased the Gods and what displeased them. Frankly, I wasn't even sure they were listening anymore.

Sleep was hard to come by as usual, though not because of my new injuries but because my rage wouldn't allow it. Though I was slowly finding a place here on the farm, with the hyena still wandering about, my fate was always uncertain, if ever it was certain at all. He seemed to hate me, though I had done nothing to him. Perhaps he was afraid he was losing favour with Nidhoggr, and I was to be his replacement. I knew not, and didn't much care, either. I would never be able to fight him, especially without my dagger, so the only option left was to run.

Jorn had told me the collars held certain magick which not only restricted the use of it, but would also kill any who ran from the village. I knew already I couldn't cast any Runes. I could scribe them easily enough, but they had no effect. Unfortunately I couldn't speak for the deadly collars, but I had to assume if Nidhoggr wanted me alive, mine would not kill me. Interestingly, the hyena had never told me himself about that aspect of the collars. Perhaps he wanted me to run. Either way, I knew I couldn't stay here. But how would I escape?

The following day was much the same as usual, except I had yet another visit from the hyena and it ended in much the same way as it had yesterday. I endured his attacks, or the attacks of his guard dogs, and like usual no one came to help me. I ran all the most destructive Runes I knew through my head as if they would do any good, but of course I was helpless. After the third day of the exact same treatment, I knew I had to act. If the hyena indeed wanted me to run, I was going to run.

When the sun went down and all was quiet, save a few terrified screams from elsewhere in the camp, I threw on my brother's old, shaggy pants and my hooded top - I had gotten into the habit of leaving them off whilst I worked, finding it far too hot in this land - and made my way back to the fields.

Enormous guard dogs were wandering about, and I saw only a few Dragons in the distance, though they were just black blurs against the starry sky. I managed to slowly avoid all who needed avoiding, at last making my way to the most bountiful of wheat fields; I had to remain undetected for as long as possible, having come too far to get caught now. Amongst the wheat, I searched and searched for a Rune Post, being as quiet as I possibly could while also trying my best not to rustle the crops for fear of getting caught. It took longer than I wanted it to, but at last I found one, holding onto it as if it was about to fly away. My heart was racing, and I had no idea if my plan would work, but if it did it was my only salvation.

I clambered up the post as best I could, careful not to get seen above all the wheat. I held onto the thin, hard charm and gazed at the faintly glowing Runes. Just as I had thought, the Runes for warmth, fire and fertility were carved into the this plate. I turned the plate around and thought back to all my lessons, then began carving in a few Runes of my own, the runes glowing faintly against the charm. So far nothing happened, but I hopped down from the post and as quickly and cautiously as possible, I made my way out of the wheat field.

But before I made it to the edge of the field, my heart stopped at the sudden smell of smoke. I threw my hood up and turned around, and where once there was a Rune Post, flames were arising. I smiled and stared at the growing flames, feeling the heat upon my face. I would have laughed if not for the shouting around me, and for a moment I revelled in the power of the Runes. My only wish was that I could wield them now, like I had when fighting the Dragons, but I didn't doubt it was still impossible; because active Runes were already present on the charm, I thought perhaps new ones could be introduced even from those limited by the collars. My experiment had paid off, but with the fire growing I knew I couldn't stick around. Already the fields were swarming with people, and in the chaos I would make my escape.

I dashed quickly through the wheat until I reached the edge, where I practiced a bit more caution. When my path was clear, I bolted toward the food tent and back to the commons, but rather than climb into bed I continued along, running and running against the growing chaos and banging alarms. When I glanced back, even above the tents I could see the flames licking at the stars, a great tree of smoke rising upward. Soon it would start attacking tents and huts, and I could only hope it would lay waste to those huts Jorn had called 'solitary confinement.'

A guard dog then suddenly barked at me and raised his weapon. Though my heart stopped as I stared up at the massive, fat beast, nothing could have stopped me from bending down, grabbing a rock and smashing it into the guard's knee. The dog snarled and dropped his weapon, and as he cradled his bloody, hopefully broken knee, I smashed him across the face and ran.

My heart was still pounding as I pushed past people stirring awake and wanting to investigate the commotion. All I could think was escape, but it suddenly began to dawn on me I had no idea how to leave this place. But still I ran, figuring this village couldn't go on forever. Eventually, after evading guards and people alike, I found what looked to be the outer walls, made of hundreds of large, wooden posts sharpened at the top. The fire, though far behind me, had grown much higher than I had imagined it would, and probably reached much further. I hoped no one would get hurt by the flames, but it wasn't until I had to stop and collect myself when I began to realize dozens of slaves would likely be killed because of me.

I took a few deep breaths and shook my head. I had no time to lament. I had given myself a small window of opportunity to escape this place at last, and though I wished I could have taken Jorn with me, there was no time for that. If I ever got this collar off, there would be plenty of time for that later.

After another final breath, I glanced along the walls, finding the exit door. Of course it was closed, and though the guards were staring in awe of the fire at the farms, this next part would be particularly difficult. There were walkways along the walls in certain sections, each one with a guard atop, and a ladder leading up to them. The main doors looked heavy and impossible to open for just one little fur, so it would seem that was out. My best bet was ascending the ladders to the walkways, but how would I get down again?

Suddenly I heard more shouting and Dragons began swooping in from the black, inky sky like phantoms. Of course they were headed for the fires, but that also meant my window was quickly closing. Without another thought, I bolted toward the walls.

I reached them quickly enough and without incident, still carrying that rock with me. I clambered up the ladder, nearly falling twice, but at last made it up. The guard, thankfully, was at the other end, and was staring at five or so Dragons flying around the fire and smoke and using the Runes to extinguish the flames. Again without thinking, I quietly approached the guard and bashed him in the knee to make him drop his weapon, then promptly grabbed his long, heavy sword and very stupidly leapt over the edge of the wall.

Now, I had done plenty of stupid things in the first eight years of my life, many of which included talking back to father, but leaping over a wall with a large moat of sharpened staves below was without a doubt the stupidest. But as agilely as I could, I dug my claws into the wooden posts of the wall and hammered the sword down for all the good it did me. It helped slow my fall, but it wasn't nearly enough. Yet through some divine miracle, I missed the first of the sharpened staves and managed to land hard on one that wasn't pointing upward, as if it had fallen over the years.

Though I coughed and gasped desperately for breath, I think nothing was broken. I tried to move but it was difficult, though not impossible. I groaned painfully and slowly got to my footpaws, balancing myself on the broken stave. When I felt well enough to move, the weapon lost amongst the wooden spikes, I gripped onto the one that should have been my death and slowly climbed my way out of the death-moat.

Taking just a moment to catch my breath, I looked up at the giant walls and just laughed, though I was yet to get away. A Dragon's loud cry acted as my cue to start running, and run I did. I ran fast and hard, but soon the Dragons' screaming grew louder. Somewhere in the black sky they were coming for me, somehow I knew it. And still I continued to run, aiming for the forest I saw on the horizon. But for as long as I ran, it never seemed to get any closer.

Again with the roar of the Dragons, my heart was pounding furiously, both out of fear and exhaustion. Run, I had to tell myself. Keep going, run! There was no place to hide amongst these plains, hardly any valleys or hills or even rocks to shield me. There was nothing else I could do but run, though it was starting to feel more and more futile with every step. The forest was still so far away.

But just as I felt myself wanting to give up, something inside me kept me going. It was the same thing that kept me going in every fight I had ever had with father, sparring or otherwise. It was what had saved me when Jorn had tried to drown me in the Mountain River. I didn't know what it was beyond sheer stubbornness, or determination as mother preferred calling it, but I knew it wouldn't let me stop. It was going to kill me more likely than not, but better be killed by my own stubbornness than by some fat hyena.

Eventually, though, I was forced to stop. I was spotted by the Dragons and without the Runes I was helpless against them. They surrounded me quickly and closed in, snarling and roaring and snapping at me, but I stood my ground.

"You're a very clever fur," said one of the Dragons. It wasn't Nidhoggr, but strangely I recognized him from the village, flying about during the day. He had a huge scar on the left side of his face, which had also destroyed his eye, and he looked older than the others. Not quite as old as Nidhoggr, but an elder for sure. "I'm starting to see why Nidhoggr wants you kept alive, but I don't imagine he wanted you alive and missing. Make this easier on yourself and come back quietly. I could break your legs if you'd prefer. It would be very easy for me."

I frowned at the Dragon, but I made no move to escape.

"Very good. I'll be sure the hyena -- what's his name again?" He looked at one of his companions. "Argon? Argorn?"

The young Dragon next to him shrugged.

"No matter," he snorted. "I'll be sure the hyena finds a suitable punishment for you. The fat fool knows not to kill you, so you can be thankful for that much. Though frankly if I was in your position, death would be the kinder option."

The scarred Dragon then turned to the one to his right and said, "You take the child, understand?"

Reluctantly, the Dragon nodded.

"And be gentle. The boy's been through enough here, he doesn't need you manhandling him."

The Dragon growled, but he nodded once more. Though he wasn't what I would have called gentle, he grabbed hold of me without managing to break me and took off with the others. I just closed my eyes as the earth fell quickly away from me, held against the Dragon's hard, scaly chest as he flew. In just moments we were back, and though there had been much damage, the fire was out. The Dragon carrying me landed somewhere past the farm, and past those small wooden huts to a large tent I hadn't yet seen before. He landed in the opening there and dropped me unceremoniously onto the hard ground, taking flight again almost immediately after. When I was at last able to gather my senses, I looked up to see at least a dozen large furs with weapons approaching, and soon after they surrounded me, the hyena was making his way forward.

He just glared at me through hateful eyes, gazing at me for a long while until finally he smacked me across the face, harder than he ever had. I fell to my side and spat a bit of blood, then glared at him.

"I knew keeping you here would be a mistake, I tried to tell them. I can't imagine what Nidhoggr sees in you, why he wants to keep you around. Truly I can't." The fat fur then growled, looked away, then looked back at me. "Do you know how many lives your little stunt has taken? Would you like to know?"

I didn't answer him.

"Twenty-six lives, and we're still finding bodies. Can you live with that on your conscience, little fox? Twenty-six innocent lives, all so you could make a vain attempt at escape. You couldn't even make it to sunrise."

I wiped a bit of blood from my mouth and stood up, shaky and scared. Yet somehow I managed to tell the hyena, "No, I don't feel bad. In fact, I don't feel anything for them, because not one of those people I killed were alive."

I saw a flash of anger before the hyena struck me again, as hard as the last time. But before I could get up again, I was suddenly grabbed by two of the guards which made me cry out. They held me by the wrists tightly and though I struggled, nothing was going to free me. That was when I noticed a couple guards carried rope with them, as well as their weapons, which immediately told me I was going to be tied up; it was one way to stop me from escaping again, though it seemed somewhat excessive.

"To the rock," he growled, pointing toward a large rock. It was somewhat smooth, as if people had been tied to it before. "And take his clothes."

"Wh...What?" Before I could even react, another large dog appeared and ripped off my shirt, but I didn't really scream until he grabbed the top of my pants. I thrashed about and even kicked him a few times, but once I was pinned down nothing could stop the dog from sliding my baggy pants right off my hips. All I was left with was my ragged, filthy smallclothes, covering only my most private areas. But as soon as I was pushed into the rock, stomach against the cool, smooth stone, even they had been taken from me.

I screamed and screamed and screamed some more, pinned to the rock as naked as the day I was born, unable to free myself. But then I felt ropes suddenly tighten around my wrists and I began my thrashing once more, but as always it was a fruitless attempt. My little claws swiped at nothing but stone and my feet kicked and kicked until they, too, were bound, and eventually tied in place. I was thoroughly stuck, heart racing and fear setting in. I gave one last attempt at somehow snapping the ropes, but it was useless. Instead I snarled and screamed, but even that didn't help.

"There is only one place left for you here, little fox, where you may actually be of use. But for now you will be bound to this rock, made available to all who would have you."

Then the hyena turned and I heard him walk away. "Wait!" I cried. "What do you mean? Let me go!" But no one listened. I was left there the entire night, left to ponder my failed escape, to ponder my punishment. Sleep would be impossible, though my eyes were heavy. Twenty-six innocent lives, he'd said. When I really thought about that, I suppose I did feel guilty. But at the same time, all the life had already been drained from those poor furs, I could see it in their eyes. I wouldn't be surprised if some of them threw themselves in; they say fire is cleansing, after all. But still, they were dead now because of me.

The rest of the night was spent pondering just what they hyena had meant before leaving me here. All who would have you. At the time I had no idea what that meant, and couldn't even imagine. Who would want me? I asked myself. I imagined perhaps Jorn would come see me, as we had gotten surprisingly close from our time here. But why would he come see me? What would he do? What could he do? Did he even know I was here?

I sighed heavily at these thoughts, then thoughts of father crept into my mind. What would he think of me now? I shuddered to imagine, though the father that existed now would probably not even recognize me, much less save me. I didn't know exactly what they had done to him, but it seemed he had been broken far beyond than of a normal fur. My strong, powerful, undefeatable father...a slave to that horrid hyena. It was enough to make me wretch.

The next morning came faster than I would have liked, and already my body was sore. I tried a few more times to free myself, but of course I was at a disadvantage. I cursed the Gods, then begged their mercy, then cursed them again. I even begged the Crimson King to help me, but ended up cursing his name, too.

But my day was just beginning, and my real punishment hadn't even started. It wouldn't be until sometime mid-morning when I discovered the real reason I was tied to this rock, though even then I had no real concept of what was going on. All I knew was dozens of random, unknown furs had put their paws on me, all over me, even places only my mother had been allowed to touch before, and never had she touched me like they had. I screamed and cried and cried, the pain unbearable. I thought for sure, by mid-afternoon, I was going to die on that rock, and yet I lived well into the night. I lost count of how many furs had punished me that day, but I knew I wanted no more. If the hyena wanted me to submit, I was ready to concede.

It wasn't until the next morning when I saw the hyena again; sleep hadn't found me once throughout the night, though many of the other slaves had. Thankfully it was only the hyena standing there. Not even his black-furred guards were with him, though I didn't doubt they were nearby. He stood on the other side of the rock, where only a few furs had stood to punish me, the majority of them behind me.

My entire body ached, my poor bottom and tailhole most of all. Tears were crusted in my fur and my ankles and wrists burned. I didn't know what exactly had happened to me, how those people had punished me and what they used to do it, but I knew it was one of the worst pains I had ever felt, and in a place I hadn't ever imagined something would go. Needless to say, it had been far more than enough. I opened my eyes and glanced up at the hyena, who was still just staring at me. Was he waiting for me to say something first?

"If you ever attempt escape again, little fox, know that you will find yourself bound to this rock again, and for much longer."

I sighed with exhaustion and let my head fall back to the rock. I hadn't the power to move, and were I free I doubted I would have the power to walk; I hurt enough now, all over but particularly in my nether regions. Walking would be torture.

"Do you wish to be free of this rock?" asked the hyena, as if he really needed an answer. My throat was too sore to speak, anyway. The hyena just laughed quietly. "Are you going to run again, little fox?"

"No," I said, though I was too hoarse to make out. He knew what I meant.

"Very good. And will you do everything I command, no matter the task?"

Though I paused, eventually I said "yes." I wore my shame plainly on my face, and just thanked the Gods father wasn't there to see this. At least, the father who was still my father.

"I'm going to have you cut down now, and should you make any move I find displeasing..." The hyena didn't need to finish that statement. I nodded anyway, and in a moment someone was behind me and cutting the ropes.

When my right arm was cut, after the other three, I slid down off the rock and though I tried to stand and balance myself, the pain was too great and I fell. The hyena stood above me once more with a bit of a smile, and yet a bit of a frown, too. He gestured toward whoever was behind me and soon I was picked up, being held in very strong, black-furred arms. I just groaned quietly until we started moving again, the dog following the small, fat hyena.

"I'm taking you to your new home, little fox. It will be strange at first, and no doubt frightening. Perhaps a bit painful, too, though it doesn't always have to be. You will see many people you won't know, and some you will come to know. But if you do as you're bid your time there will not be wholly unpleasant."

I didn't know what he meant or what he was going on about, but by that point I would do anything to avoid the pain I'd felt all day on that rock, no matter what it was. I said nothing as a response.

Soon enough we came around a large wooden wall and headed toward a large structure, like a bunch of large tents all put together. I heard moaning and groaning and screaming coming from somewhere, from a few different people, and as we got closer I realized it was coming from within. My heart immediately began to race. Was this where they took father to break him? Had I not been broken enough, they had to torture me some more? Had I the energy, I would have resisted. But then I remembered the rock.

"You will grow accustomed to the sounds you hear at night, and in no time you will not hear them at all. Come," he said to the dog carrying me, "the one at the end."

I tried my best to ignore all the screaming as we passed by a bunch of closed and unclosed tent flaps, all of which connected to a central pathway leading from the entrance all the way to "the one at the end." The pathway split into two others about halfway down, and it, too, was completely covered. I was afraid of my new home, unable to imagine what sorts of tortures they had planned for me.

But much to my surprise, the tent at the end was full of pillows and sleeping furs and some soft leather, plus a stone hearth in the centre and a couple wooden structures by the walls. I almost couldn't believe how comfortable everything was, and wondered why this was to be my new home. Why were those others screaming?

At last I was set down next to the pillows, and though shaky, I was at least able to stand. I just looked around at everything, quickly realizing how pleasantly warm this tent was. And I think it was somehow scented, too.

"Do you know where you are, little fox?"

Eventually this had all become too much and I was forced to fall back on the pillows and furs. It was very comfortable. Still propped up a bit of my arms, I shook my head at the hyena. Though everything was very nice, I had to be wary also; how could the hyena go from being so cruel to me to being so kind?

"Before you were in the service of myself and your instructors, like everyone always with one master and one master only. But in this place, in your new home, you will be a slave to the slaves. You will do as they command, those who otherwise have no power. Most of you slaves are lost, soulless creatures now, but some still burn for their carnal pasts, and some will never be sated. That is where slaves like you can find some use here within the camp." The hyena just glared at me for a moment. "I don't suspect you understand any of what I have told you."

I flattened my ears in admission. I had no clue what he was talking about, but for the first time since the Dragons attacked and brought me here, things weren't looking so grim. I let myself fall back onto the pillows and the furs, despite the hyena glaring at me, and let my eyes close, though I opened them quickly for fear of being hit. This was a far cry from being tied to a rock.

"You will understand soon enough," grunted the hyena, then turned to leave with his guard dog. "You will start tomorrow. Do not attempt escape again." And with that, the hyena was gone.

I let out a long, pained sigh, arms flopping to my sides. For now I just closed my eyes and listened to the pain in my body as the small fire burned and crackled. The pain in my bum was still horribly sore, a sharp pain like touching hot cooking coals. The rest of my body just ached with a terrible throbbing, caused mostly by the dozens of people forcing me harder into the rock as if I was going to go somewhere. I never saw one of their faces, but everyone had their chance to hurt me and punish me, though I doubted there was one who knew me.

For most of the day I slept, finding on numerous occasions I had woken up crying. Even with father I had never experienced so much fear and so much pain in such a short amount of time, and the pain I did feel was so much worse than anything father had done to me. Was this to be how I would live the rest of my life? A slave? I wanted so badly to escape again, having gone so far. Perhaps I would need to be subtler, but how? Besides that, where would I even go?

I had no idea what time of day it was, but I dared not leave this comfortable prison. Thoughts of the rock kept coming back to me, which frightened me and reminded me of the pain, not that the pain had gone anywhere. I felt the most tender spots on my body in an attempt to soothe them, but it was no use. Still I couldn't imagine what I had done to deserve any of this, even before I caused that fire.

"The Gods," I found myself saying aloud as tears rolled down my face, "are truly cruel. Curse them all."

"There are no Gods," I suddenly heard a voice from behind. Surprised, I whipped myself around and tried to cover myself with a pillow, pushing myself back. But all I saw was a female white-furred husky, the one who had been kissing Jorn on the day he'd beaten me up. That felt like a lifetime ago. "Otherwise a little guy like you would have never been brought here."

"It's you!" I cried. She was wearing soft leather and fur around her body, very loose like it was about to fall off, but amazingly it managed to cover all her privates. "You're the first girl I've seen. What're you doing here?"

The girl sat next to me on the pile of fur and pillows. She had a soft smile, but like everyone else her eyes were empty. "Servicing the other slaves. I can only assume you have not yet begun."

I shook my head. "The hyena said I start tomorrow. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do, but he said I'll be helping out the other slaves, so I guess that isn't so bad."

The girl closed her eyes and shook her head softly, a paw on her chest. She looked like she was about to cry. "I'm so sorry, Loki, you shouldn't be here. These monsters...have no heart. Their souls have already been condemned."

I cocked my head, though I wasn't exactly disagreeing. "What's wrong? What do I have to do?"

The girl bit her lip. "Tell me," she said, holding back some tears. That was the first time I'd seen someone show any sort of emotion since being brought here. "How is Jorn doing? I miss him terribly. I know he was cruel to you, but he is a sweet boy."

"Jorn's fine," I told her. "He's over in the training grounds, and he seems to be doing well. He helped me out there, helped me get by. Helped me sleep."

She sighed quietly. "I can't stay here long, Loki. If you go down the pathway to the left of here, the third tent on your right is mine. If the flaps are open, come in to see me if ever you need to talk, or need someone to comfort you, okay? Promise me you'll see me."

I didn't know why she was telling me this, but I promised her. She gave me another kiss on the cheek and left, trying her best to smile at me. When she was gone, I felt a horrible pit in my stomach. I didn't know why, but somehow I sensed things were not going to go nearly as well as I thought they were. Needless to say, I had trouble sleeping that night.

The next morning I was greeted by the hyena as he kicked me awake. I couldn't remember falling asleep. He told me I would be starting soon and threw down a pile of soft leather and fur much like what Jorn's girlfriend was wearing, except I noticed it didn't have anything holding it up around my shoulders, but instead just covered my bottom half. When at last the hyena left, a beast of fur came in, looking much like Baldr except instead of orange fur, his was white and black. He, too, had a slave collar on, and with shaky paws I awaited his first command. That was when everything became intensely clear.

The white tiger finished up with me in just a short while, but the things I had to do for him differed very little from what I had to do when I was tied to the rock. I tried to escape the tiger, but I remembered what would happen if I did. With shaking paws and a racing heart, I did as the tiger commanded, and though it was extraordinarily painful, I did my best to be strong and not cry out. When a few more slaves came into my tent, I was quick to wipe away my tears and do everything they asked. When night fell, I at last allowed myself to cry, finding Jorn's girlfriend as quickly as I could.

She held onto me and comforted me, telling me it would get better. I assumed by that she meant I would get used to it, or perhaps I would learn what people wanted and how to do it properly. Either way, when I thought on how long I would have to be doing this for, it only made me cry harder.

A quarter moon passed and like the white-furred female husky had told me, I did grow at least somewhat accustomed to my duties. It hurt less and less with every day, and each night I was sore, but it became duller and duller. But each night I found myself crying anyway, until on the seventh night I somehow found no tears. On the eighth moon day, my duties seemed less painful and I went about them with greater ease. I did learn much on how to carry out my orders and how to fulfill them with more efficiency, and was always learning new tricks. Tal, Jorn's girlfriend, had taught me much, though it sickened her to have to do so. Still, despite what my duties were, I was thankful for the help.

Probably the best times spent in this new place was not while I was lying and awaiting the next slave, but rather during our rest periods where all the others like me ate. Of course I stuck with Tal as much as I could, but she had a small group of friends she talked to almost every day, some of whom had come from other tents. That was when I discovered our tent wasn't the only one, but there was at least five others all of which provided the same services mine did. We all shared our breaks and ate together, our feeding tent totally separate from the rest of the camp.

Much to my surprise, Tal introduced me to some of the other males who had been given the same job I had. They were all older than me, though the youngest of them looked to be Tyr's age if he was still alive. None of them were particularly muscular though, with very slim, almost girl-like bodies. They gave me a lot of what would become extremely valuable advice on how to survive more comfortably here, though they too cursed the Gods and the hyena for my being here.

The boys were all very nice, and Tal even encouraged me to sit with them so I could make some more friends. The younger one - a skunk - had told me at least a dozen times on the first day I met him how cute I was, though he cursed the Gods the most for sending me here. He was the most helpful, telling me a good way to greet the other slaves when they came to me and even a good position to lie in, depending on the slave. He said some slaves even wanted the roles reversed, where they would lie on the pillows and fur, though I hadn't yet experienced that. He doubted I would for a very long time anyway, but gave me some advice on that just in case.

One night the skunk and I managed to get together with the other boys in secret, though it was easier to sneak around here so long as we remained near our tents. We talked for the most part, but they also taught me more private stuff they couldn't do at the feeding tent. The first lesson was how to properly kiss, since apparently I'd been doing it wrong. The skunk practiced with me and told me what to do more and less of as we kissed. His lips were soft like Heimdall's, though it felt really awkward and strange doing it the "proper way," especially since we'd just met. Even still, my face was noticeably red.

Next the boys simply showed me some of the techniques they used on their slaves, which they assured me would work on anyone. All sorts of things they showed me, stuff I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to do or have done to them but again, they assured me it would be worth it. They also showed me where most slaves enjoy being touched, soft touches so delicate it would drive them crazy. I didn't know exactly what they were talking about, but I trusted them.

After a few nights, the skunk and I got together again in secret, just the two of us this time. He said it was good to see and hear how better to do my jobs, but it would benefit me far more to practice them for real. He volunteered to be a slave, though I trusted he would be far kinder than most were. I went through all the motions I'd learned with him, doing everything he asked of me and more, stopping only when he needed to give me some pointers. My face was red almost the entire time, and though what I was doing hadn't changed from what I would do with a slave, somehow I didn't mind this so much. And given the way the skunk reacted, he didn't mind it either.

When all was said and done, the skunk smiled and gave me a gentle kiss, then rubbed my head. He told me I was cute again, then said I would probably survive a long time here if I was as good with the slaves as I was with him. I just shrugged as a response, trusting his word. He gave me another kiss, this time just on the cheek, then at last got up and went back to his tent, and I went to mine.

When I got back, I found I was still hard, though I was curious how come. I didn't feel anywhere near as close to the skunk as I did Heimdall, and yet I was getting the same strange feelings down below. Nervous and curious, I began to examine myself, and after just a short while, began to employ my own techniques. It was a very surprising finish, though it managed to get me to sleep much faster. I would have to thank the skunk later, and Tal for introducing me.

On the night of the half moon, I found myself suddenly begging for another's company; the last few nights since meeting the skunk I had wanted to be alone. I left in search of Tal, hoping her tent flap was open. I passed a large fur in the pathway, seeing some blood on him, which wasn't uncommon for the new girls who arrived. And yet it made me nervous. Quickly I rushed into her tent, only to see upon the pile of pillows the soft curves of a female husky, lying as if she was asleep. I approached her quietly, paws shaking. She wasn't sleeping I realized, and when I turned her around, I noticed her head was contorted at an awful angle. She stared up at me with dead eyes and mouth agape, and she was somehow paler and no longer breathing. Tears trickled down my face and when I felt her paw, it was cold as ice.

Now shaking all over, I suddenly wretched and backed away, eyes closed as I stumbled out of her tent. I quickly made my way back to my own tent, in just enough time to watch some large guards run down the pathway, toward Tal's tent. There was a lump in my throat and my stomach churned, but before I could disgorge again, the hyena appeared. He was grinning at me.

The next thing I knew, my tent flaps were drawn and the fat hyena disrobed himself. I begged him to leave me alone, and despite the rock, I tried to run. I was caught before I even made it to the opening, thrown onto the pillows violently. The hyena then went on about how much he hated me, how he couldn't understand Nidhoggr's fascination with me, and explained while he knew he couldn't kill me, he could at least make my life as miserable as possible. I was given no commands, but instead was forced to do half a dozen tasks for the hyena, some of which I hadn't yet experienced before. Truly, of all the slaves in this camp, the hyena was the worst one thus far.

The hyena finished up fairly quick, then spat in my face. He told me he would send me to the rock if I dared wipe it off, and so there his spit remained until he left. Immediately I began to cry, huddled alone on the ground as far from the pillows as possible. I shivered and wept, thinking about Jorn and father, and everyone else I knew who had survived the Dragon attacks. Though he hardly comforted me before this, I found myself wanting to see father, wanting to cry to him and see him make things better. Somehow he always had, even when it seemed I was being punished, father always knew how to make me feel better. But where was he?

With a short growl, I clenched my fists and stood up, finding my soft leather coverings. With too many guards around now, I glanced at the wall of my tent and gave it a hard push, but the leather was extremely taught. I tried to lift it from the bottom, but not a single bit of moonlight shone through. And so I started to dig. Giving it very little thought, I feverishly threw dry dirt and rocks all over the floor of my tent as the hole gradually got bigger, and soon I saw a bit of light. I dug and dug and dug, wearing my claws down to almost nothing, chipping a few of them on the rocks, but I was determined.

After a long while, I had finally dug a hole beneath the wall of my tent, not huge but enough for me to worm through. The moon was still high, though I knew I had little time. As carefully as I could I placed a pillow over the hole from the outside of the tent, having to feel around for one once I was out. But once it was covered, I was quick to run.

I ran and ran, clambering over walls with little grace and pushing my way past a few people still out this late. I had no idea where father was, but I started with all the places I knew I'd seen him. After a long, tired, fruitless effort, the moon threatening to hide behind some trees now, I thought of one last place to look, though it frightened me terribly: the hyena's tent.

But at this point, I couldn't imagine much more he could do to me as punishment. I had serviced enough slaves to know the rock wasn't as big a threat as it once was, though the thought of doing it for more than a day still frightened me. But even still, I knew he wouldn't kill me. I had to try.

I found the hyena's tent quickly enough, but unfortunately those two black-furred guards were always present. I listened carefully for voices, and though they were muffled, I did hear the hyena talking. It sounded like he was giving orders, and after a moment I watched my father leave his tent. He had two empty buckets with him, both dangling off a wooden stick. I was glad to see father, though it saddened me to see him so broken.

Nevertheless, I went after him, following until he reached a small river cutting through the camp. When I was sure no one was around, I finally approached him.

"Father?" I said, voice small and scared. He stopped what he was doing, though remained crouched. "Father, it's me..."

My father stood up, and when he turned around, just the sight of his slave collar suddenly made me weep. Everything came flooding back to me at once, the dead back at our village, the black wolf and the farmer, and especially the rock and my time in my new home, and Tal's dead body. Nothing could stop me from crying, and though the past had taught me never to do this, I hugged my father and cried into his stomach loudly. It was a very painful sound, a horrible weeping.

I told him everything I'd been through, every detail from the dark, wooden huts to being forced onto that rock. I told him about the slaves I had to service, about all the jobs they wanted me to do and how much pain they inflicted upon me. Then I told him about what the hyena had done to me that very night, and I just cried and cried and begged him to help me, begged him to kill the hyena. But father just continued to stare at me blankly. I cursed him and hit him, but he was unmoved.

"You should not resist," my father finally said with a deep, listless voice. At least he got down onto both knees to look me in the eyes. Like everyone else, his eyes were dead. "You will only suffer more if you do."

"Father..?" Even now I still couldn't believe what I was hearing. Was there nothing left of the father I once knew? "How... How can you possibly say that?" I hit my father again, but he caught me by the wrist.

"Please, Loki, you are...all I have left. Just accept your fate here. It is the only way to ensure your survival."

Now I began to cry for my father, or for the father that had been killed back in our village. Whoever this fur was, this giant of an arctic fox, he was not my father. He couldn't be. My real father would never have allowed any of this to happen, not to himself, and especially not to me. This father was a coward, worse than even I was; he'd given up all hope, something I could never do. I was a pitiful fighter, yes, but I never gave in. This father had given in long ago.

"Damn you," I growled, wrenching my arm free and pushing him back. Father just got up and continued to fill the buckets. "Damn you, father! Tyr would be ashamed of you!"

That gave him pause, but I was too furious and too upset to stick around. Instead I ran off, tears trickling down my face and trying to hold back my rage. I wanted nothing more than to see the hyena pay for all of this, but as long as I had my iron collar on, it would be impossible. So for now, rather than head back to my tent, I headed straight for the training grounds.

It took no time at all to find Jorn, who was fast asleep in the common tent. I shook him awake quickly, and though he was frightened at first, he was quick to give me a hug. "Loki," he said softly, careful not to awake the others. "I thought they'd killed you. I'm happy you're still with us."

Just when I started to think my tears had all dried up, again they flowed from my eyes as I explained to him what I'd been through. I then sadly told him about Tal, his girlfriend, and though he was sad, still the husky tried to comfort me. I hugged him back and we stayed that way for a long while.

"I hate him," I growled, and I wasn't sure if I was referring to father or the hyena. I then told him of what the hyena had done to me, and I could almost feel Jorn's anger. He held me tight, and short, quiet growls escaped his maw. "He has been cruel to me since I arrived, more than the black wolf!"

Jorn didn't say much after that. He and I just held onto each other until the first bit of light appeared on the horizon, and I knew I had to be getting back. I gave the husky a gentle kiss on the cheek and told him how grateful I was he was still here to comfort me. I told him to try to visit me at my tent, if he could, though as Jorn explained, only certain slaves were given access. He said he would try, however.

Another quarter moon passed and I saw very little of my father, even less of Jorn but plenty of the hyena. At least once a night he would come to me, and despite my anger toward father, I determined at least for now, I had best do as he commanded me. Even still, my anger grew each time the hyena visited my tent, though I felt nothing toward the other slaves. They, I understood, were fulfilling some desire I had no understanding of, but with the hyena it was somehow different. Perhaps there was desire, but more than that there was spite. He enjoyed hurting me more than the job itself. There was no one in this world I hated more than the hyena, save perhaps for Nidhoggr.

The next morning, I was particularly sore from the hyena's last visit, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. I only saw a few slaves that day, which would be good for my recovery. Much to my surprise, in the evening Jorn had come to me. I gave him a hug immediately and he hugged me back. The two of us then sat lazily on the pillows and managed to actually have a relatively good time. Though Jorn understood what my jobs were here, and the others who dwelt here too, he had to admit to being somewhat envious of the comfort.

Much to my surprise, at some point in our conversation I had found myself very close to the white-furred husky, closer than we had been. Though he gave me no hints or offered any cues, my right paw ran gently up his left side, the two of us lounging on our sides and facing each other. He looked at me surprised.

"You know," I started, "since you're here, I could do some jobs for you, too. If you wanted. I mean...I wouldn't mind. It's about the only thing I'm good at."

"You're good with the Runes," he reminded me.

"The Runes do me no good here."

Jorn sighed quietly. "Loki..." He gently grabbed my wrist and gave my paw back to me. "I appreciate your offer, but that isn't why I came here. Firstly..." The husky then presented to me my dragonstone dagger, which made me gasp. I grabbed it delicately.

"Why..?"

Jorn smiled at me. "I had little use for it, truth be known. I figured it would do you much more use now than it ever had in the past." He then ran his fingers over the large scar I'd given him with this same knife, back at the Mountain River. He then smiled quietly.

I held the knife close to me, then quickly hid it under a pillow, the one covering the hole leading outside. Just to be safe, I covered it in dirt, too, in case the hole was discovered. "Thank you," I said, giving him another hug. "I know you don't want me to do anything for you, but... Well, I'm just really grateful you're here! I don't know how I would have survived if you'd died back at our village. If you ever change your mind, if you want something from me...I'll do it for you. Okay?"

Jorn laughed quietly through his nose. "Sure, Loki. Okay."

We then headed back to the pillows and continued to talk, though there wasn't much left to say. He and I talked fondly of his girlfriend Tal, and though he was still sad over it, he said he had long since accepted her death. Jorn then told me the real reason he'd come to see me was just to see how I was doing, all things considered. I didn't hide the truth, but I admitted they could have been worse. He then told me his training was going well and with little incident, at least involving himself. He told me there were actually worse fighters than me, though unlike me they didn't last long. He felt like his training would soon be over with the black wolf and he would move on with the more advanced fighters, the ones who trained until they were called out to battle. That made me nervous, as those soldiers were used only as distractions against the enemy Dragons. Most didn't come back.

"I don't want you to die!" I cried, holding onto him again. If he left me, there would be no one else in this camp to console me when I needed it most.

"I won't die, not for a long time, Loki. I promise."

Deep down I knew he couldn't promise me any such thing, but it was still nice to hear it. Eventually, though, Jorn had to go, as we'd spent far more time together than I ever had with any other slave, the hyena notwithstanding. Though I couldn't see outside, I guessed he would be arriving soon, as he always came around dusk. I gave Jorn one last hug, and gave him a kiss on the cheek before he left, and he just rubbed my head softly and smiled, then he was gone. I sighed heavily, then took my spot on the pillows, still fully robed. He liked watching me undress first.

That night went as predicted, and so too did the following few nights. I felt like I was getting better and better at this job, though the pain was still the same and I hated every bit of it as much as I had the first day. Though I didn't fully understand why these slaves wanted me so bad, and why they made me do the things I did, I did understand for whatever reason, it was necessary for them. Whether or not I believed that I couldn't say, but given how desperate some of them were when they got here, I was somewhat inclined to believe it. Despite all of my anger toward father, I knew I had to accept things for what they were if I hoped to survive with as little injury as possible.

Four nights after Jorn's visit, I sat upon the pillows in such a way that I appeared naked without actually being naked, the furs and leather strategically placed upon my body and myself twisted in a particularly "arousing way." I was told numerous times I had to "be more sexual," though I had no clue what that meant or how to do it. Apparently the way I laid on the pillows could sometimes help, and making noise like the others here was never a bad idea, though I couldn't sound like I was in pain. There was still a surprising amount to learn about how to do this job, and each specific job any slave could request at any time. The other girls and boys here continued to help me a lot.

I had asked the girls once why I was the only boy here, before Tal had introduced me, and they immediately flushed and stammered over words. I didn't understand their hesitation, and even more so I didn't understand their explanation. But then one of them simply said that in life, males crave females and vice versa, that was the nature of things. She said no child could be born without that sort of relationship, which I did somewhat understand. She then said that sometimes there are males who don't want females, but instead want other males. She couldn't say why that was beyond that they were touched by the Crimson King, but thinking back on my time with Heimdall, I knew that to be true. Had I been touched by the evil King, the Master of Hel and Stealer of Souls? If so, I was happy for it, as Heimdall had made me very happy. He was the only fur I knew I couldn't live without; my life within the Dragon camp was far from living.

Anyway, as I lay upon the pillows as "sexually" as I could, or as the girls had explained it, as "pleasing" as I could, I sighed and awaited the hyena's arrival. I heard him coming toward my tent, his footpaws unusually heavy upon the floor. Perhaps he had eaten too much that night. Either way, I was ready for his punishments and his tasks, though no amount of preparation ever seemed to dull the pain. I looked away from the door, sickened already by the thought of him, but when he finally entered my tent, an entirely different aura filled the room. I couldn't explain it, but somehow without looking, I knew it wasn't him. Nevertheless, this new presence set my fur on end and made my stomach turn and forced me to glance over, and immediately I began to shake.

"Gods," I said, far more tense than my type of slave was supposed to be. "Not you."

Before me stood a monster of a wolf, black of fur and even larger than father. He stood with only dark leather pants on and a large satchel slung over his shoulder. His arms were crossed and he looked even more intimidating than ever. I had no idea what jobs he would have me do for him, but I knew they would be extra nasty, extra painful and extra degrading. This black wolf hated me, and punished me dozens of times a day on the training grounds. And now at last he was able to come see me, to punish me some more in the most vile ways.

I backed away from the wolf, sweating and nervous. I didn't even want to know what he had planned for me, though something in the back of my mind was begging me to get it together. I knew this routine like the back of my paw. I had to calm myself and not look the slave in the eyes. I was to bow my head and kneel, and await his commands. And if not his commands, then do whatever he forced me to, which generally started off at the pillows. And so like a good slave's slave, I knelt before the black wolf, still shaking as I remembered every beating he'd given me.

"Stand up, Loki," said the black wolf, much to my surprise. There was something strange in his tone, but I forced myself to ignore it. I stood up with my head still down, thankfully covered by my soft leather. I dared not speak, nor even make a move. But when the wolf continued to stand there, arms now at his sides, I couldn't help but glance up.

His glare was enough to kill, so I looked away immediately. Not knowing what to do, I continued to stand there, listening to the monster's breath. By this point I knew what most furs liked when they came to see me, and so with great hesitation, I at last moved my paw forward, up toward the black wolf's nethers, but he stopped me just as my fingers touched upon his pants.

"No," he said in his deep, commanding voice, moving my paw away. "I am not here for that. They say you caused the fire that burned down half the fields."

I swallowed hard, wondering if I should speak. I decided against it.

"Is this true? Go on, answer me."

I nodded timidly, venturing to glance at him. Again I looked away.

"So you know the Runes then." The wolf grunted in such a way that may have suggested he was impressed, if not somewhat dubious. "In all my years, I have never known one so young to have mastered the Runes. Show me, little Loki, show me the Runes. Draw one for me."

"I-In the s-sand...sir?"

"There will be no need for that. I am not here as your master, nor your enemy."

This time when I glanced at the wolf, I didn't look away. "You...aren't? Then why did you punish me so often? I still have bruises from you!"

The black wolf sighed. "I wanted you to be strong, truly. Perhaps my tactics are old-fashioned, but in my experience it is the most effective way of toughening even the most fearful of furs. I must admit, you were not easy. I...hesitate to call you a coward, for no coward would do half the things you have done. No coward could have survived like you had, in spite of your present location. You are not a fighter, that much is certain, but what you lack in skill you make up for perseverance, cunning and strength of will. And dare I say it, in mischief."

This conversation was sounding strangely familiar.

"Now. Draw me the Rune you carved into the stone charm."

I hesitated, then nodded. In just a moment I knelt down and with my claw, drew the rune the wolf wanted in the dirt floor. I then drew a few others that would cause a fire to burn hotter and grow larger, ensuring greater destruction.

"Impressive," he said.

"Is this all you came here for?" I asked shyly. "To see me draw runes?"

The wolf didn't answer me. "Show me more," he said instead, still standing above me.

Still unclear of his intentions, I dutifully drew the Runes into the floor, starting with my favourite and going on with a snow rune, a lightening rune and a half dozen others that could easily be paired with a force of nature, or easily be used on their own. When I thought about Heimdall, I drew a few runes for healing and rebirth, sighing as I finished the last one.

"How many more would you like?" I asked sombrely, his memory still lingering.

"Just one more, but this one I want to see you carve into the air, as if you were about to cast it. Go on."

I glanced up at him, then scoffed quietly. "It won't do anything." Then I stood up and took a few deep breaths, clearing my mind. Going for something harmless, I decided to scribe a rune representing water, or more specifically rain. I began to wonder if I could somehow conjure up a raging torrent, but was quick to clear those thoughts as I scratched a glowing bluish line into the empty space between the black wolf and I. Instead I thought of a gentle rainfall, drops pattering upon the roof almost noiselessly. Of course I knew nothing was going to happen, but just in case I stuck with something peaceful. When I was finished, I looked up at the black wolf.

He had a smile on his face.

"What else?" I asked him, brushing the rune away with the back of my paw.

"Only this," he said, swinging the satchel from around his shoulder. It landed with a hard thump. "The hyena won't be coming to see you tonight; I created some distractions for him."

I perked my ears. "Really?" I said more excitedly than I meant to. "What sort of distractions?" I was more curious to know why he even bothered, as the hyena would just come the next night and the night after, and probably be more brutal once he learned of this.

"Just a few slaves attempting another escape at various places around the camp, emboldened by the one fur who survived outside the walls. And I must admit, your actions have even stirred my long lost soul." The wolf shook his head, as if amused by the situation. "There was no such attempt of course, but I knew it would be enough to rouse the hyena from his tent and distract him for long enough so I could see you."

"But why?" I asked. I definitely appreciated the black wolf doing this for me, but he would not be able to distract the hyena every night. Besides, why would he start caring about me now?

"We are all slaves here, Loki, you know that as well as I. These collars bind us, though they pretend to give us ranks. I discovered quickly the only way to survive here was to do as they say. The coward's way out, I suppose, but it allowed us to cling to hope, the ones who had not been totally broken. Unfortunately, that hope can only last so long until it starts to vanish like the evening sun. No one had ever attempted an escape since before I'd been brought here, and even the instructors before me had never heard of any escapes. Until you, Loki."

I found it very hard to believe that I was the first one in years, possibly decades to have attempted escape here. Life was so dreadful, horrifyingly so, I couldn't imagine anyone who would choose to stay.

"That is why I cannot call you craven. And though most slaves here are dead, soulless creatures, many and more have truly been emboldened by your actions. Of course your capture served to remind everyone escape is impossible, but even making it as far as you had had once seemed equally as so."

"Why are you telling me all of this?" I asked, glancing down at the satchel. I looked back up. "I'm still stuck here, and so are you, and so is everyone else. I failed, and so will anyone else who tries."

"Your friend Jorn," continued the wolf, having seemingly ignored my words, "he came to me not long ago. He begged me for help. I nearly struck him for approaching me after hours, but I saw a fire in his eyes; I had not seen a fire like that since before the Dragons took me. He told me about you, Loki, told me that you know the Runes better than anyone he knew or knows. I had had my suspicious that that fire was not naturally caused, but I didn't imagine it was you who had caused it. And so when your friend came to me, I had to see for myself the child who could cast the Runes. Tell me, how many Runes do you know?"

"More than you," I ventured to say.

That made the wolf smile. But when he raised his paw and scribed a glowing, red-hot rune into the air, I couldn't help but stand in awe. He then wiped it away like a wisp of smoke, still smiling at me, and as suspected nothing happened.

"You are special, Loki, I saw that when I first met you. I couldn't explain how or why I knew, but somehow I did. The hyena later confirmed it when he told me Nidhoggr himself wanted to keep you alive, though even he couldn't say why. Which meant the key to your slave collar had to be equally as unique as the fur the collar holds."

I perked my ears again and cocked my head a bit, mouth agape. I found my paws were shaking and my stomach was turning, begging to my cruel Gods that the wolf was going to tell me what I hoped he was.

"Most every slave collar has a single key to unlocking them; mine, Jorn's, even the slave girls who dwell here with you. The hyena has hidden that key someplace, quite possibly in his tent, but that is guarded at all hours by more furs than I could take alone. That is why he does not wear the collar, though he knows he is still a slave to Nidhoggr. But your key is different because your collar is different, and your collar is different because you are different."

"So...what're you saying? Why are you telling me this? Any of this?"

The black wolf reached around to the back of his pants and revealed a long black stick with what looked like strange red etchings on it, as if it had somehow been scribed with Runes. The long piece of jagged iron glowed faintly in my fire-lit tent, held before me like an ancient relic left by the Gods. Was this the only thing in the world that could free me from my bindings?

"Is...Is that..?"

The black wolf nodded. "The hyena is clever, and yet his position has made him more dimwitted and slow than he realizes. One of my swifter companions took this straight off his person without him realizing it, when he told the hyena of the escapes."

I wasn't so naive to think the wolf would free me for nothing. But it was clear he wanted me to perform no special tasks for him, do him no favours that I had become unfortunately accustomed to doing. So what else could he want?

"What's in all of this for you? I know I'm just a kit, but I know how things work around here, I've seen enough. Do you want me as your own personal slave, use this key to make me do whatever you want? What? What is it?"

The black wolf just laughed quietly through his nose, shaking his head again as if I was being foolish, like I had somehow amused him. "All I want from you, Loki, is freedom. Not just your freedom, not just mine, but all of ours. You are the only one who can do that. I know it's a lot to put on a fur so young, but the task can fall to no one but you."

This was a lot to take in. I had to sit down. "Me..? Why me? Because I know the Runes? Because for Gods-know-why, Nidhoggr wants me alive? He stopped me before back in my village, and he'll do it again. All I'll end up doing is angering the Black Dragons, then the hyena will put me on that rock again!"

The black wolf sighed quietly. "Do you really want this life? Being a whore to the other slaves?"

I didn't know what a "whore" was, but I assumed it was the name of my job. "No, I don't want this life. But the life I do want is gone! All of it taken away. There's no going back; everyone I knew and loved is dead."

"What about Jorn?"

The wolf gave me pause.

"I can continue training him for as long as possible, but eventually he will move on, and he will die out there. The day he leaves this camp, you will never see him again, I promise you. But if you can free him, and all of us, then we can start a new life. Do you understand what I'm saying, Loki?"

I just stared defiantly at the black wolf.

"Your old life is dead, yes. I cannot pretend otherwise. But the same goes with everyone else here. We have all lost loved ones, lost our homes and everything we thought we owned. But outside these walls is another life, far better than this one. It may not be as idyllic as your old life, and peaceful and free of strife, but you will not live as a slave. You will be free, and you will be able to love again."

I got what the black wolf was saying, but when it all came down to it, I was still just one small arctic fox up against an army of Black Dragons. "It isn't possible," I said. "I can't defeat all of the Dragons, not on my own. Who will help me? Will you rise against your masters, and possibly other slaves just so you can leave this place? To be honest, your life here doesn't seem so bad."

The black wolf growled, which made me jump. "I am not doing this for myself, Loki, and nor should you. After the blaze, many of the slaves are starting to realize this may not be the end of the road for them, and they will fight with you. Fight with us. But if we are to stand any chance, we will need a powerful Runecaster behind us. You may not realize this yet, little one, but the power of the Runes can be extraordinarily devastating."

I knew the Runes could be used as a powerful weapon, father had taught me that. And the fight against the Dragons proved it. In fact, I was able to take down most Dragons who came near me, save their leader Nidhoggr. He used a magick far more powerful than mine, or at the very least knew Runes that countered all my spells. He would be the real problem.

I flattened my ears and sank into my shoulders. "I don't know..." I said timidly.

The black wolf sighed heavily, which was mixed with a growl. "I hold the key to your freedom - all of our freedom - and the hyena will soon learn what had happened. He may be on his way back here as we speak. And when he discovers what has been going on here, I promise you will never get another chance to escape again. I will be killed and he will be merciless. That, little Loki, is your future here should you deny yourself and the rest of the camp their freedom."

This time I sighed heavily, scratching at my turning stomach. I knew what he was saying was true. I knew if I didn't free myself now, the hyena would never forgive me. He would torture me and probably invite his dogs in to do the same, and anyone else he wanted. In fact, he'd probably just tie me to the rock forever until I died, and even then he wouldn't stop anyone from abusing me. My soul would be lost, and probably be taken by the Crimson King for condemning so many already lost souls. Whether I liked it or not - and I didn't like it - I had to do this. It was too late to back out now, thanks to the black wolf and his partner's sticky fingers.

Once again I sighed, standing up. I closed my eyes and took a few very long, drawn out breaths, until I was as ready as I was ever going to be. I looked the giant black wolf in the eyes with as much determination as I could muster, then gave him a nod. As he approached, my stomach roiled and turned, but I stood still. I felt his large paw grip at my heavy iron collar as if to choke me, while the other rattled against something on the collar's side, no doubt the key unlocking the bindings. In just a moment, I took in a sudden breath and felt the iron fall away from my shoulders.

Suddenly it was as if I could breathe again and I almost felt weightless. My shoulders had literally a great weight taken off them and my movements felt that much swifter. I rolled my arms around to stretch the poor muscles that had been dragged down with the iron, though admittedly with the collar now on the floor I felt that much more naked. But it was worth it, as I could practically feel the flow of nature brushing through my fur once more, gently caressing me and soothing my soul.

"Inside that satchel are the belongings the hyena had taken from you," said the black wolf, making his way toward the closed tent flap. His ears were perked, and it was then I realized there was a great uproar happening somewhere outside. There were dozens of voices screaming and shouting, but the one that stood out most, not surprisingly, was an enraged hyena. The black wolf gave me one last look, a gentle smile upon his face. "I will begin spreading the word." With that, the wolf turned and marched toward the exit, nearly pushing into the hyena as he came into the pathway.

"He's all yours," muttered the black wolf as he left.

"What?" snarled the hyena, then whipped his gaze down toward me. The hyena snarled again. "You little," he growled, marching toward me with haste. His two guard dogs were close behind him. "Was all of this just a clever rouse so he could fu--" The hyena stopped himself as he entered my tent, staring at me from across the room. His two dogs entered, but I was no longer with fear.

Suddenly everything came into perspective. All of my fear, my anger, my misery, it was gone just like the collar which had bound me to this hyena's will. Everything he once threatened me with, all the punishments and the beatings, and the damned rock, all of it was nothing now, meaningless. I was as afraid of this fat creature as I was of the wind, or the dirt beneath my paws. I could have laughed if I wasn't locked in a deadly stare with the angered, surprised hyena. He hardly knew how to react, whether or not he should attack me or run.

But as I stared, my expression neither angry nor happy, I noticed a sudden flash of fear in his eyes. His paws were shaking, face sweaty. He tried to intimidate me with his bared teeth and deep growling, but it had no effect on me now; I saw through his pathetic attempts like it was clear mountain water. I remained as motionless as the mountain by our village, face as hard as stone. As the hyena's fortitude weakened, still I continued to stare at him, collar by my feet and still only wearing the soft leather he loved seeing me remove.

"Gods forsake you," he growled quietly, then looked up at his dogs. "Kill him," he trembled, "kill him now!"

The two giant dogs gripped their spears tightly and took two steps toward me, but my voice became thunder. "No!" I cried, paw already etching greenish runes into the air. They hissed and sizzled and before the dogs could take their third steps, I pushed my paw through the runes and stomped my foot on the ground.

Just as my foot pounded the earth, two long spears of rock immediately burst upward, piercing the guts of the two dogs. They dropped their spears and held onto mine, but they found themselves immobile. I growled and in one very swift movement, touched my paws to the ground beneath me and thrust them upward, sending several more spears into the would-be attackers, killing them at once. Then I glanced at the hyena.

The hyena was shaking beyond his own control now, backing away yet unable to run. As he turned, though, my paw drew a few more runes and suddenly large roots came up from the ground to entangle the hyena's legs, gripping his limbs tightly and dragging him back inside. I growled quietly as I stared at him, forcing him to stand, arms now entwined, too.

"Stop this!" cried the hyena. "Please stop!" As I made my way back toward where my dragonstone knife was, I suddenly caught a whiff of a familiar stench, then glanced back. The poor hyena had soiled himself, something I hadn't done since my life in the forest village. I almost pitied the hyena. Almost.

Once I had my knife, I simply stared at the wretched beast known only as "the hyena." Tears were streaming down his face and he had soiled himself from both ends now.

"I won't make you wear the collar," he begged. "I never meant to harm you! Th-They begged me, they wanted you, the slaves. They wanted you here, they wanted your body. It wasn't me. I had to do what they said!"

"Who?"

"It was Nidhoggr," snapped the hyena. "He told me to put you here."

I began to scrape the end of the knife all over the hyena's body, though I left him with his clothes; I had seen more than enough of his naked body to last me a lifetime. Several lifetimes.

"Nidhoggr," I repeated, letting out a long breath, the Dragon's image seared into my mind. "Nidhoggr, Nidhoggr, Nidhoggr. It was all him."

The hyena began begging me some more, but his words were slobbery and incoherent.

"You tortured me. Beat me. Did things to me... You are less than a fur. You are a beast, lower than cattle. No one in this camp will be sorry to see you gone."

"Please, it wasn't my fault... I had to."

Without saying another word, I carefully placed my knife down with the satchel and looked back to the hyena. I approached him, then squeezed my paw into a fist to tighten the roots' hold on him. It made him squirm and squeal and bark, but he didn't deserve a death as quick as his guard dogs. I wanted to show him what I could really do. And so without another word, into his chest I began to scribe the rune to Father Thor.

The hyena snarled as the bright, white sizzling rune burned at his chest fur, three simple lines that would end him. A couple more I scribed, but always burned Thor's rune, always on top, now a scar on his body. It would scar his bones when it was finished with him.

When at last I had scribed all that needed scribing, I simply pushed on his chest and on cue, an enormous clap of thunder shook the entire camp, almost deafening.

"No..." he said, looking up. Sweat was pouring down his fur, and as the cracks in the leather walls lit up and another terrible crash of thunder boomed, he began struggling even harder.

The third thunderclap shook the tent viciously, and violent winds began to stir outside. Soon the leather started to tear and peel apart, until at last the roof was gone entirely. Directly above was the epicentre of the blackest clouds I had ever seen, writhing and spiralling. Small bolts of lightning shot out from within the centre, its blinding forks spreading across the entire camp. Then one large bolt came crashing down, demolishing the whole right side of my tent.

I took one quick glance around to see the people had fled, save a few stragglers unable to keep their eyes off the black, dragonstone sky. The hyena was shouting something, but over the wind and the thunder I could hardly hear him. It was more begging, though, somehow I knew. Then I put my left paw on his chest, over the rune, and said a few quick incantations, holding my right paw out to my side, curled into a fist.

Finally the hyena stopped, though his tears continued to trickle down his face. He was as pale as a spirit and eyes denied his fate. He still wanted to live, the poor creature, and still thought there was a chance. Perhaps he thought Nidhoggr cared enough to save him. I could have laughed.

When at last I uncurled my fist, pads pointed toward the sky, I glared at the hyena and suddenly a large bolt of lightning came crashing onto my paw. It was hot, unbelievably so, and pushed my arm down a bit, but I managed to maintain it and my paw on his chest. The crack of thunder was ear-splitting, yet somehow I was largely unaffected. When I glanced down at my arm, I saw the bolt of lightning had long since retreated, but instead left my forearm twitching and glowing and crackling, as if the fur itself had become lightning.

Small bolts sparked outward and arced off my fingertips and leapt from fur-tip to fur-tip and claw to claw. In the black chaos of my runic storm, I was entranced by this new arm given to me. Like father's flaming cudgel, my arm had somehow been imbued with Father Thor's lightning. I didn't even know how I had done it, and wasn't entirely sure what to do with it now. Perhaps I had said the wrong word or drawn an incorrect rune. Either way, I was both frightened and curious of my own arm, trying harder to think of how I was supposed to reverse it.

But when the hyena snarled something at me, his arms and legs noticeably looser, I growled quietly and looked back, taking my other paw back from his chest. I just stood with lightning slowly crawling up my arm, snapping and cracking loudly as it approached my upper arm. I found it hard to glare at the hyena when I had no idea what exactly was happening to me.

Suddenly from out of nowhere the hyena's arm came flying at me, his restraints breaking apart. I took a hard punch to the face which sprawled me, and in moments he had cleared the roots from his legs and immediately began to run.

I growled loudly to myself, getting up and ignoring the pain in my cheek. I stood up and gave him one look before giving chase. Though he ran surprisingly fast for such a fat fur, I found somehow I moved with even greater speed than I ever had. I rushed through the air in seemingly massive strides, almost moving like the lightening itself. The whole world was frozen as I bolted toward the hyena, reaching him in just a few long steps, and as I approached, I leapt toward him, crying out as I held my right paw out to attack.

Without him realizing until it was far too late, I struck the hyena hard in the back, knocking him to his stomach. He tried rolling around to push me off, but I was persistent. He kicked and scratched and snapped at me until he was on his back, but I had had enough of this. No more, I thought to myself, then suddenly thrust my right paw down onto his chest, hitting the rune like a bull's-eye.

Just as I pushed my arm seemingly into his chest, an enormous clap of thunder exploded overhead, which gave the hyena pause. His eyes went wide, teeth bared and fur standing on end. A moment later, a giant bolt of lightning came crashing down upon us both. I could feel it on my back, my arms, everywhere I felt its glorious heat. But the hyena...

Unlike myself, he screamed for just a short moment before his fur began to evaporate like water, skin turning red and blistering and soon burning away and charring. His eyeballs melted from his skull and skin around his face cracked and burned and chipped off until there was nothing left but blackened skin and bones. His poor skeleton was still gripping my arm, and even now he looked terrified. At last I lifted myself from the horrid mess that was the hyena, just as the clouds began to calm.

I took a very long, heavy breath, sighing just as hard. As I stared at his black skeleton, the Rune's marks still left in his chest, I began to realize how unsatisfying that was. I began back toward my ruined tent to gather my things, feeling empty inside. When I reached into the satchel and pulled out my top, I realized then, none of this changed anything; mother was still dead, and Freya, Heimdall. The hyena had hurt me and tortured me, and made me do things no child should ever do (to hear the other girls tell it), and by all rights deserved what he got. And yet it seemed like a hollow victory.

I sighed again, then disrobed. Quickly I threw on my old clothes and slid my dragonstone knife between the fur and leather holding my pants up. There was no one around now, not even stragglers. Had I done it? Was that all it took, killing the hyena? The black wolf, perhaps, had taken out the guards by the hyena's tent and had already begun freeing the slaves. Was it truly that easy? I needed to find him.

But before I could go anywhere, I noticed a few furs emerging from the surrounding tents and broken walls - I had done more damage than I realized, and hoped I hadn't killed any slaves. Soon the numbers grew as they piled out of the woodwork like insects from a burning log, all to check out what had happened. Most were interested to see the hyena, some wanted to see me, the little Runecaster. I started to blush.

Suddenly one of the slaves began screaming, then more as he held up the hyena's skull, saying something in a foreign tongue. The people danced and cheered and prayed around the hyena's burnt skeleton which admittedly brought a slight smile to my face. The others just gave me quiet nods and said a gentle prayer, then stepped aside.

Then the black wolf appeared, still collared like the rest. He held a spear in paw and pushed his way through the crowd. "You did well," he said, looking down at me. Then he glanced around. "You were more destructive than I imagined."

"I'm not a master of the Runes, not yet."

The wolf cracked a dubious smile. "We must now find the key the hyena has hidden; I imagine his dogs know where it is. The others believe in you now, Loki. They will fight."

"Is he really dead?" I heard a familiar voice cry. Jorn then stumbled toward me, looking up at the hyena's skull, which had been placed upon a wooden spike. Then he glanced at me and gave me a big hug at once. I blushed and hugged him back. "You did it," he sighed, giving me a squeeze. "This is unbelievable."

I didn't want to let go of him, so for now I mashed my face into his soft belly, squeezing him as hard as I could. A few tears were in my eyes as we hugged, though I wasn't really sure why. I felt tired already, my heart as heavy as ever. When at last we stopped hugging, my gaze was inexplicably drawn to the two large dogs, impaled by my earthen spikes.

"They didn't need to die," I commented. Their blood had trickled all the way down to the ground, their faces twisted and horrible. I quickly realized like everyone else, they had to wear the collars, too. "They were slaves, too. They had homes, families. They had their lives taken away by Nidhoggr and his Black Dragons, and now me."

Jorn's paw was right there on my shoulder, already taking a bit of the load off. I hugged him again. "I don't like this," I said, a couple tears finally trickling down my cheeks. "I don't want to kill anyone else. I can't..."

"It's okay," said Jorn, rubbing my back. "You won't have to kill anyone else, I promise."

"S-Sir?" a rather timid-looking cheetah said as he approached the black wolf. "We've taken the hyena's tent with little incident. Had to kill one of the dogs, but the others were quick to disarm. We'll have the key, soon."

"Excellent. Loki, this could not have been done without your help. Every one of us--"

An enormously loud cry suddenly silenced everyone, a noise each of us were deeply familiar with. It was the sound of a Dragon attack, and by the sounds of the cries, there were dozens of them.

My heart began to race and I clung to Jorn tight. He held me close, and thankfully he had a weapon with him. I offered him my knife again, and he took it graciously, no doubt realizing I wouldn't have much use for it.

"Even if you don't use it," I told him, though the Dragons' cries were getting louder, "at least keep it with you. It'll just... It'll make me feel better knowing you have it! 'Cause if I die, I want you to have something so you'll remember me when you're free. Okay?"

Jorn smiled and laughed through his nose, then gave me a gentle kiss on my head.

"All right," snarled the black wolf, turning to all the frozen slaves. "This is what we've been training you for, to take out the Dragons. If you don't have a weapon, find one or hide. If you are a craven, if you fear death, then be gone! This camp will become a battlefield, and only those who wish to fight should remain with us, or risk getting in the warriors' way. Now is the time to fight, Dragonslayers, win your freedom!"

Most slaves hurrahed, even ones without weapons. I knew what was coming, I could hear it all around us. The Black Dragons could have been amongst us already for all I knew, their scales as black as night. But now was not the time for cowardice. Part of me hoped to see father on the battlefield, though I wasn't exactly counting on it.

"Come, Loki," said Jorn, paw on my shoulder, "we must--"

The white-furred husky was suddenly cut off by the thundering roar of a Black Dragon, landing on what remained of the so-called pleasure tent. He roared again and several more landed, and quickly there was chaos.

I grabbed onto Jorn for fear of losing him, but as the Dragon came toward us, I almost instinctively began to cast the Runes. Having just used lightning, I had very little time to come up with something else. A sudden bolt of lightning came crashing down onto the Dragon, causing him to falter and cry out in high-pitched pain. Then from out of nowhere, spears flew, only a few sticking, but that only made him madder.

Elsewhere the Dragons roared furiously and began their attack. Fire flew from their maws just as the elders' once said it would, and the air immediately filled with the smell of burnt fur, flesh, and the sound of horrified cries.

All around me was chaos. I clung to Jorn desperately as he ran, though I wasn't sure he knew where he was going. A few people attacked, which was frightening and surprising, but Jorn took them down easily. Neither of us knew why they had attacked, but could only surmise they were with the Dragons.

Eventually the two of us reached the area with all those wooden huts, "solitary confinement" as I had heard them be called, but I had to stop. "Jorn, where are you going?"

"We can't fight them," he said. "I know it's what we've been training for, but..." He was shaking uncontrollably, and nearly fell over. I held onto him tighter.

"You can't just abandon everyone," I cried. "You won't be able to live with yourself if you do. We're all fighting for one another." The black wolf couldn't have said that better himself.

"I know," he huffed, trying to catch a breath. "It's just... They destroyed our home, Loki, and everyone there. They'll just do it again, except there won't be any survivors. How can we possibly hope to win? They're just...just slaughtering us, you can hear them!"

Now I frowned at the husky, the sound of death screaming all around us. "If they make you so angry, why not fight back? Kill a couple! It'll make you feel better. Besides, I..." I started to blush. "I'll keep you safe. I promise."

Jorn remained silent for a moment, breathing heavily. He gripped his spear tightly and gave me a hard look. "You're right, Loki. This is my fight as much as anyone's. And y'know what? I'll protect you, too. We'll be unstoppable."

I had to smile at my friend, then gave him an encouraging hug. Together we stood and after a few breaths, we re-entered the fray.

Jorn took down another large fur as I began carving more Runes into the air, more to produce lightning. Again the sky darkened, even more so than it already had. The clouds writhed and churned and blotted out the stars and the moon and soon large bolts of lightning stretched across the sky, providing short bursts of light for all attackers.

Just as a Dragon landed nearby, I watched as it bit off the head of one fur, then gave me a horrible glare. The beast charged, but thankfully Jorn was quick enough to push us both out of the way, landing on the ground with a hard thud. Without much thinking I cast a couple runes which sent up some faithful earthen spikes, but somehow I was surprised that the Dragon had dodged. He roared loud enough to topple my spikes, but was silenced when Jorn threw his spear at him.

The Dragon howled as it pierced his skin, but the spear had easily fallen out. Jorn stepped in front of me as if I needed protecting while I got back to my feet. Weaponless, Jorn took a sound blow to the side of his head, throwing him at least six body-lengths away. I cried out, then gave the Dragon a much less intimidating glare than his own.

I squeezed my paws into fists which made some lightning crash down between us, forcing the Dragon to jump back. He snarled at me angrily, but another burst of lightning cut him off, this one striking even nearer. Before the dust could settle, the Dragon lunged at me, but I managed to dodge - just barely - and get back to my feet before he could attack again. With as much speed as I could muster, I sent up some earthen spikes and while the Dragon weaved through those, I forced another bolt of lightning from the sky, striking the Dragon on the back.

The Dragon cried out, and though I saw I had severely damaged his wings and some of his scales looked bloody, he was far from done. He came at me but I avoided his teeth, then avoided another snap and another, thanking the Gods for making me as lithe and agile as I was. The Dragon was giving me very little time to concentrate on the Runes, and even less to cast them. I knew I could at least scribe a few whilst I dodged and barely avoided death, if only I could think of some to scribe.

After dancing with the Dragon for a while, he at last lashed me with his tail, sending me to the ground immediately. I struggled against my bloody ribs to stand, but while I was only on my paws and knees, the Dragon was ready to go. When I glanced over, his maw was open and I noticed a frightening heat forming within his belly. All I could do was stare, and possibly wet myself.

But just before the blaze could end me, something hard and heavy and huge had slammed into me, pulling me away from what would have been a fiery death. When we stopped, I felt the familiar warmth and softness of white chestfur against my paw, and I looked up to see a bloodied Jorn holding onto me. I could have kissed him, but the Dragon was still right on us.

When Jorn let go, he and I stood before the Dragon, just as he took in another breath. Though the husky took a step to protect me, I was quick to step in front of him. My deft fingers scribed at least a half dozen runes, and upon the final one, I pushed my paw through and looked up to see a large stream of fire heading straight for us.

With a slight grin, though praying to every God and even the Crimson King this had worked, I held out both paws and let the flames engulf me. The fur on my arms stood up against the flames, waving in the incredible heat as if they were a part of the blaze itself. I curled my paws into fists which brought the swirling flames closer to me, and swung my arms around as if to keep the fire upon my paws and arms, keeping with the fire's rhythm. I then took a step forward and let my body flow with the fire, spinning to keep them under control and somehow managing it quite well.

When at last I had control of the fire, I stood before the Dragon in the battle stance father had taught me what felt like a lifetime ago. With my arms ablaze, the fire had unfortunately burned my hand-made top to nothing, as the flames were crawling all up my back and even down my tail a bit. They even reached up the back of my neck and over my shoulders and slowly spread down my chest, and my forearms were completely covered. My fur had become the flames itself, blazing hotter than ever. When I glanced around, the Dragon seemed surprised, and even more so the fighters all around me.

But I would give the Dragon no quarter. Immediately I cried out, tensing the muscles in my paws to raise the flames off my body even higher, even hotter. As I approached the beast, who had also prepared to attack, I spun myself around somewhat artfully, but still moving with the flames as if to fan them larger. They spread out from my body and as the Dragon came down to snap, I unleashed a ball of flames into his face, staggering him. Long enough, anyway, so I could dodge to the Dragon's left, then concentrated enough to send out a stream of fire from my right paw, swinging it up toward his belly as if to stab him with my paw.

The thin, hot spear of fire struck the monster in the belly, searing his hard flesh and spreading outward. The monster screamed at me and thrashed backward, trying to slash me with his whip-like tail, but I leapt back to just barely dodge it. I then sent several more balls of fire toward the Black Dragon, squeezing my muscles to make it as hot as possible.

While the flames burned across his sides and back, I scribed one quick rune and held a paw up to the sky, forcing a white-hot bolt of lightning to come crashing into me. The earth shook and exploded around me, yet as it blew the flames away from my fur it seemed to charge it with its power. I growled terribly as the Dragon recovered, spun around and from my paws coursed the thundering stream of lightning, striking the beast precisely where the fire-spear had.

When all the lightning had been taken from my body, I growled deep enough to give even my father pause, then quickly pushed my fist onto the ground. I gave the Dragon one last glare before finally lifting my paw up, pulling hard as if I was dragging the earth with me. And as my paw rose, so too did several large spears of rock and earth, rising up quickly and piercing the Dragon's belly. He screamed in pain and thrashed about as the earthen spikes raised him further off the ground, high enough to show his dying carcass to the other slaves. The Dragon's blood poured down the spikes to soak the earth beneath.

When at last I stopped enough to catch a breath, there was a great silence amongst all fighters, then at once the slaves began to roar. The battle continued quickly thereafter, the energy of the slaves palpable. Every one of these slaves had had their lives destroyed by the Dragons, taken away so easily and so swiftly, and had submitted to their might. But now they saw the Dragons were not invincible, they were not the superior power they had always claimed to be. The Dragons were as fallible as we were; they felt pain and sorrow, and like us would one day feel the Crimson King's cold, dead claws on their shoulders. Just like the one I had skewered.

Jorn and I stuck together as best we could during the fight. I continuously cast deadly runes to bring down any Dragon who dared attack, either with earth runes or with something slightly more creative, like water and lightning. Fire was a constant ally of mine, though better for distraction as the Dragons' hard scales were naturally resistant. But the husky and I endured, and it thrilled me to see Jorn making good use of the dragonstone dagger.

Jorn moved as swiftly as I did in battle, dodging attacks and leaping away with just enough time to counter. The weakest spots on a Dragon, not surprisingly, was their softer underbellies, though they were still heavily scaled. Of course their eyes were their weakest, but striking one in the eye required more luck than anything. But as Jorn showed me during the fight, the bottoms of their feet were also weak, and so was the insides of their mouths. Of course, you'd have to be stupid to be going for their mouths, unless you were sure you weren't going to get your head bitten off.

With no idea how the other slaves were faring, Jorn and I continued our fight, both of us already exhausted but unable to stop. Yet whenever I felt myself waver or wane, the husky was always right with me to keep me going, his warm paw on my shoulder. And if ever I saw my friend falter, I was right behind him with a paw on his back and a quick, gentle rub. Very strangely, even in the heat of battle I felt a sudden and unusual urge to kiss the husky as I had Heimdall, especially after he would protect me or lift me up. Even more strange was my urge to do things for him that I had done for the other slaves before the black wolf came to me, despite how painful they were, but of course this was hardly the time nor place to think on such things. I had to focus.

As we continued our fight, Jorn and I felt unstoppable. When I covered a Dragon in my flames, he was there to either slice a large gash between scales, or to throw a spear into their bellies. Two, three, four Dragons we took down, never using the same tactic but still equally as efficient. I found the earth runes, or more specifically the rocky spears, to be especially effective, as most Dragons didn't suspect attacks from directly beneath them. But some were becoming wise, which forced me to evolve my techniques, which was where the other runes came in, such as fire and lightning. Though water was for the most part associated with cleansing and purity, I found when paired with the fire rune in a particular way, searing hot geysers could be very deadly.

Eventually, though, Jorn and I had somehow become separated. I cried out his name amongst the chaos, but an attacking Dragon was quick to cut me off. I threw fire in his face but he just threw it right back. I dodged, but I felt its heat burn a bit of my fur. With a growl, I clambered to my feet and scribed a few earth runes, but he was quick to leap into the air, avoiding the spikes. I needed something new. Unfortunately I was too busy dodging his deadly claws as he flew at me, breathing fire and screaming, until landing right behind me, almost on top of me. He swiped at me, but was as surprised as I was to see his paw blocked by a rock that certainly wasn't there before.

When I glanced behind me, a bloody, black-furred wolf just nodded at me, then continued with his attacks, drawn away by another Dragon. I used this time to cast an earth rune, a pillar of earth pushing the Dragon off me and I scurried away. But the Dragon was right on me.

Again and again I dodged attacks and pushed his fire away from me, but I felt myself starting to falter. I had no idea where Jorn was, but I had to find him. But before I could come close to having a chance, the Dragon struck me in the face with his tail. I felt myself flying through the air as the pain ripped through me, until I landed with a hard thud. My head was spinning faster than the battlefield, and I found it hard to catch a breath. The Dragon just roared at me from afar, and with very shaky legs I stood up. He pounded his feet on the ground as if to intimidate me, but I was too out of it to be affected. Then the Dragon charged.

In that moment of clarity, seeing death coming at me on all fours, I quickly produced some rocky spears, but that only hindered him slightly. But it was enough. I stood in my battle stance and cast a few more earth runes, then a few others not associated directly with nature. I then pushed my paw through the final glowing rune and with a loud growl stomped my foot on the ground.

Instantly the earth opened up beneath the Dragon, and though he tried to take flight, the earth shifted like some kind of monster, opening up a massive black maw and suddenly reaching its frightful teeth upward, snapping on the Dragon's legs. The Dragon screamed, but the monstrous, living earth pulled the Dragon down, even more long, sharp and jagged arms reaching up to latch on tighter, slamming the Dragon into the ground with significant force. Though the Dragon was trapped beneath these earthen claws, struggling to get free, I wasn't quite finished yet. I snarled loudly and pushed my arms downward, forcing the claws to drag the black-scaled beast down into the earth, and I could hear his scales and bones breaking as his body twisted in a way it was never supposed to twist. Soon the Dragon's horrified screams were silenced, eaten by the earth. The other Dragons took notice.

At once five of them roared and came at me, pushing the other slaves aside violently until they encircled me. Behind them the other Dragons focused their attack, which meant these five wanted me to themselves. Perhaps I had killed their brother. They snarled and hissed and snapped at me, until finally one attacked.

Without much thought, I threw myself to the side, but had to move quickly to avoid another's attack. As I leapt back, I scribed a few runes, then barely dodged a few more to scribe some others. When a third came at me, enormous roots suddenly burst from the ground, grabbing his feet and paws, tightening. But before I could do much more, I was struck in the side by something unseen, which sent me rolling toward yet another Black Dragon. But fortunately I was swift enough to avoid getting killed, and thankfully I was too focused to even bother wetting myself.

A few more came at me, giving me little time to think. I cast a few runes then pushed both paws into the ground, sending up dozens of rocky spears, exploding from the ground all around me to form a ring. I may have gotten one or two of them, but nothing fatal. But again they were right on me. One of them from behind blew fire, which was easily diverted, but another screamed with so much force it blew both my spears and myself away, sending me rolling once more toward one of them.

The Dragon above me snarled and slammed a paw into me, stunning me, and though I was gasping desperately for breath, I knew I had to do something. I said a few quick incantations, not knowing how long cast runes lasted for before having to be cast again. But I said them anyway, and thankfully a loud boom echoed above. Moments later, a great bolt of lightning came to crash down on me, but instead struck the Dragon. As he howled and screamed, I reached a paw up and scribed a couple runes into his chest scales, which ensured the lightning would not stop striking that spot until the magick wore off.

When at last I managed to find my feet, I saw I still had four more Dragons to deal with, and even then there was still dozens of others fighting the slaves who would have loved to have a go at me too. There was chaos everywhere, and the thick, dark air reeked of blood and sweat and burning fur. But it mostly smelled of blood. I had no idea how well the slaves were doing, if they had managed to bring down any Dragon with their limited weapons, but I had to think about myself now. And Jorn. He was still nowhere to be seen, and despite my anger toward the Gods, I couldn't help but pray to them Jorn was okay.

Again I found myself surrounded, the other Dragon having finally succumbed to my runes, and these four were more wroth than ever. They snapped and swiped their claws at me, blew fire and used a few Runes which I managed to turn around or otherwise avoid. The lumbering beasts were infuriated, their ire rising with each attack avoided.

My heart raced and sweat was pouring off my back as I lunged and jumped around, barely avoiding attacks and getting no time to think on any sort of counter. My muscles burned to relax, to stop for a moment and rest, and my lungs were close to bursting. But if I stopped for just a moment I knew that would be it for me. I had to keep going.

At one point in my jumping around, somehow from behind I didn't notice an attack, perhaps because of my exhaustion. Either way I was struck hard, hitting the ground even harder. The air was taken straight from my lungs and I rolled around in pain, breathless, until it felt as if the whole camp had gone dark. I could no longer hear the terrible cries of dying furs, nor smell their blood wafting through the air, and of course I couldn't see any more bloody corpses. Everything was just...dark.

But then I heard a voice. A familiar voice, yet entirely unfamiliar too. "Don't just lie there, silly," the voice said. I tried answering, but I didn't have a voice. "C'mon, Loki, get up. Father doesn't like it when you rest without his say-so."

To Hel with father, I heard myself think.

"Don't say that, Loki. Everything he does, he does to protect you."

A lot of good that did me, I thought angrily. Whoever was speaking to my in this darkness could evidently hear my thoughts. What do you know, anyway?

"Much more than you, it would seem. C'mon, Loki, prove father wrong and just get up, okay? For me?"

I don't even know who you are.

An image suddenly came out of the darkness, vaguely glowing with fur as white as snow. He looked like a younger version of father, much leaner. Then it hit me harder than father's staff. "Do you see now?"

Tyr..? What's going on? Am I dead?

"No, Loki, but you will be very soon if you don't get up and fight."

This is impossible, I told my brother, or at least his spirit. There are dozens of Dragons and I'm the only one who can bring them down. Why am I the only one who knows the Runes?

My brother shook his head. "It takes many seasons and more to learn the Runes, Loki, you know that. Most people don't know them anymore; our people were some of the last to remember them. But you have a gift of the Runes, Loki. Truly. Here, this is the very first Rune I learned. You see?"

Before me Tyr carved a Rune into the darkness, and I saw it clearly. It was the one I had cast for Heimdall to make it snow, but I saw little use for it now. I don't care about the Runes you learned, I yelled at him. Even if I knew every Rune ever made, it still isn't enough. There are too many Dragons, and still only one of me. How can I hope to win?

Tyr just kept smiling at me. "Oh Loki, you've always been too quick to give up. But I still love you, and father loves you, and mother and Freya love you. You are surrounded with love, Loki, and that's all you need to defeat the Dragons."

I had to scoff at my brother. I loved Heimdall, but it wasn't enough to save him.

"Fate works in mysterious ways. There was a reason for his death, just like mine. Trust me, little brother."

A reason? What possible reason could there be to take him from me? He was the only one who ever made me happy!

"I cannot answer that for you, Loki. Even in the next life there are things I do not know, and will never know."

He died because he couldn't see, and because I wasn't strong enough to protect him. We almost made it to that forest, Tyr, we almost did. But...those Gods-forsaken Dragons... Even in this strange dark world-between-worlds, my anger toward the Dragons was intense.

"I know it seems impossible, Loki, but if you think on all the things you're fighting for, all those important to you, victory will always be assured; father had taught me that even as a kit. You can get through this, I promise. But first you have to get up."

I groaned loudly, and soon pain and air came flowing back into my lungs. My head hurt and my ribs and most of my limbs, but I think nothing was broken. I was able to stand, despite my breathlessness, coughing and gasping for breath. When at last I opened my eyes, fire and darkness blazed noisily around me, blood running past my paws like dozens of red rivers. I looked up at the Dragons, the vision of Tyr still stuck in my mind. Then I began to scribe.

As I scribed, I suddenly remembered my time with Heimdall, having told him how I felt and expressing it in the best way I knew how. I remembered our kissing, our holding paws, our bodies so close together. I remembered the gentle snowfall I'd created, but most of all I remembered the warmth, the happiness, such elation I had never before experienced. And of course I remembered the sorrow, the pain, the grief when he was taken from me. The darkness I'd found. The anger and wrath. I needed all of those things now. I knew that.

When at last I had scribed my last rune, I pushed my paw through and the black clouds began to shift and change. The Dragons looked up to see a few snowflakes falling, but in moments there was more, then more until it threatened to white out the sky. I created more thunder and lightning despite the snowing skies, growling quietly as the storm picked up. I squeezed my paws tighter into fists, forcing winds to pick up and the snow to thicken. I had only seen a few snowstorms like these before, but I wanted more. With another rune cast, the strong, whipping winds began throwing hard pellets of ice into everybody stuck within my storm. When the battlefield became too white to see my paws before me and my tail and pants whipped violently in the wind, I knew the storm was perfect.

I ran forward and immediately began casting more runes. My fingers moved faster than ever, almost separate from my thoughts until I was done. When I approached a Dragon, I swept my paw low which caused a large wave of earth and rocks to slam into his side, knocking the beast over - he hadn't even seen it coming. He snarled and tried correcting himself, but before getting the chance a bolt of lightning struck him hard in his side, then right in that tender spot I forced a large rocky spear straight through him, letting his own weight push it further through. Wanting the Dragon to suffer, I just left him with the one large spire, dangling there as he slowly bled to death.

When I turned, from seemingly out of nowhere the soft glow of fire came at me from two spots - the others must have heard his cries. But before they could burn me alive, I was quick to recast my fire runes, and in moments I became their fire. I ran toward the Dragon on my left, making a pathetic attempt at a war cry as the flames covering my back, chest, arms and head grew. After dodging his claws, I threw the fire right in his face, then forced up a spear of rock to pierce his skull from beneath. I used the last of my flames to burn away whatever life he had left in him.

As the storm raged, my thick white fur protecting me from the pellets of ice, I cast a couple runes and soon the ice pellets began sticking to my fur. But rather than fall off or melt, my fur seemed to absorb the ice, much like the fire had, and soon I was coated in it. Thankfully, unlike the fire, the ice wasn't going to destroy my pants.

It was when I began after the next Dragon when I noticed the ice was shifting with me, as if it, too, was alive. I looked at my paw, and as the ice crawled over my pads, I realized it wasn't just coating me, but becoming a part of me. It startled me to say the least, and again I had to wonder if this was caused by an improper incantation or a poorly scribed Rune. But when a Dragon suddenly came at me from somewhere in the storm and struck my right arm clean off, none of that mattered.

I didn't even notice it at first until after I leapt back and tried to cast a rune with my right paw. I cried out suddenly, then quickly used the other to cast the runes, which caused ice to cling onto the Dragon's paws and pull him down into the earth, then three rocky spires ended him at once. I looked at my gaping wound with the ice and the snow whipping past, but saw there wasn't any blood. In fact, the bones and muscle and skin and fur all looked to be ice through and through. My seven bracelets made it easy to find my arm in the storm, and I just stared at the lump of ice that was my paw, and when I held it I suddenly began to fret.

I cursed more than a few times, mind swirling with all the Runes I'd learned. I had never seen the healers at our village reattach and entire limb before, as they usually just healed up large cuts and scrapes and helped you when your stomach was upset or if you had a fever. They also brought babies into the world, but that wouldn't help me either. But as I moved the end of my forearm closer to my arm, I was shocked to see it forming sharp crystals, growing outward as if reaching for the lost limb. Infinitely curious, and figuring I had nothing else to lose, I pushed both severed ends together and almost instantly I felt a sharp pain run all up my arm and I was able to move my icy fingers once more.

I cursed with joy now, just staring at the limb. There was hardly even a scar from where it'd been sliced off, no indication it'd ever been lost at all. I had no idea why that happened or how it'd worked, but I was beyond thrilled. My heart was racing still but I was nowhere near as scared. Then I began to wonder if it was simply because it was formed into ice that I was able to reattach it so easily. Had it been my normal flesh, perhaps it would have been impossible. Or...perhaps there was a Rune meant for this sort of thing. Had I somehow cast it without realizing? Either way, I turned around in order to seek out more Dragons, feeling somewhat more empowered by this discovery.

As I took off through this icy storm I'd created, more and more ice was gathering on my body, yet when I looked at my arms and my legs, I noticed it wasn't just collecting in random clumps, but forming something like ice crystals all along my body, like enormous pieces of fur. My back felt heavy with these icy spikes, yet they weren't a burden. When a Dragon suddenly pounced on me, thankfully leaving my limbs intact, I instinctively swiped my claws at it and managed to open a significant wound in its belly. The Dragon cried out and went to attack, but I held out my large, icy arm and was smacked at least ten body lengths away. Fortunately the heavy snowfall had created a soft blanket for me to land on.

I quickly got up, seeing the Dragon's steamy hot blood from where I stood, and looked down at my right, bloody arm. My paws were a bit larger than usual, but more amazingly the ice had turned my entire arm into more of a weapon than just an icy appendage. My claws were large and looked sharper than my dragonstone dagger, and the tops of my forearms were covered in large spikes. Was this what father was talking about, being a Runecaster? Could I take on the form of any part of nature? Had I done it already with the lightning and fire? I was eager to test out this new discovery of mine.

I ran back toward the Dragon, who at this point had probably taken down dozens of furs without even being touched, and just as he snapped his teeth at me, I leapt out of the way and sliced open his leg. As he howled and thrashed about, I cast a rune then stomped on the ground, causing the earth to tremble and the Dragon to lose his balance. Fortunately, being an arctic fox, I had excellent traction in the snow, meanwhile the Dragon could hardly stand. I rushed forward and with my icy claws I ripped open an enormous gash in his belly, then spun to slice open his throat. His blood came pouring out and the Dragon just stumbled around until he fell, blood still spurting out.

I then took off past dozens of furs I was surprised to see still alive and toward a group currently trying to take down a Dragon. They were tripping over corpses, both the furs and the Dragon, but because of my storm neither could see what they were doing very well. The furs were stabbing at the Dragon while the Dragon swiped at them with claws and tail, yet there was always more to replace them. With a growl, I readied my claws.

The furs were surprised to see me, probably in this strange, icy form I'd taken, but were surprised again to see the Dragon taking in a fiery breath. But I had quickly become adept at this, and as the stream of fire came toward me, I cast a rune or two to grab the fire, spin, and send it hurling back toward the Dragon. As the flames burst, the furs cried out and one threw his spear, and I made my move. At first I clawed open a gaping hole in its side, then avoided a hard tail-whip. I struck the Dragon in his front leg, spraying blood all over myself and the wet, snowy ground, which caused the beast to finally fall sideways. He landed with a hard thump, and as I cried out with the other furs, caught up in the moment, I clambered up and went in to make the kill.

But before I could slice open the Dragon's neck, a very sudden and very loud boom came from out of nowhere, shaking the earth and everything upon it. Whatever that deafening noise was, it hadn't been caused by me. Again it sounded, then in a black flurry came another Dragon, larger than the rest and screaming horribly. This Dragon, somewhat obscured by the snow and ice, bellowed once more up toward the sky, and almost immediately the black clouds broke and my storm quickly vanished. He roared again and I watched as half a dozen furs were thrown half way across the battlefield, then to his left about ten more. He slammed the ground with both front paws and dozens of rocky, earthen spears came shooting up, ending the life of at least a dozen furs at all once. He then blew fire to kill another group, then sliced the heads off of at least three furs at once with his tail, seriously injuring many others. I stood in horror as he cut down the slaves with such terrible ease, until they at last backed far away. No one stood even close Nidhoggr.

Finally the monster Dragon spied me, and gave me the most wicked glare I had ever seen. He came thundering toward me, and as fast as the lightning he'd dispelled, I was off the half-dead Dragon beneath me and running for flatter ground. I took my battle stance and already my fingers were scribing runes. Up from the earth came more spears than I had ever created at once, but Nidhoggr avoided them all, even smashing through some as it to tell me they were but twigs off a great fir. I growled and cast down lightning, but he was unharmed. Running out of options fast, I cast some runes to make the earth quake, then it ripped open to swallow the Dragon whole, but he had only to bark a few deep growls and the earth crumbled and filled back in beneath him. Before I could do much else, he snarled at me and slammed a paw down beside me, causing me both to fall over and my icy fur to quickly melt away. I was just a small arctic fox now, without a weapon to use.

"Again, little fox," boomed the giant of a Dragon standing before me, "you have impressed me. But all you have succeeded in doing is destroying your fellow slaves. There are thousands more of us, and only thousands more of you. Tell me who started this little rebellion of yours."

I frowned at the Dragon, already carving some runes. But as flames began to flicker upon my paw, Nidhoggr easily snuffed it out. "Now, now, little fox. Answer me."

Still I refused, and after Nidhoggr sighed, I noticed a bit of commotion behind him and that monster tiger of his, Baldr, came forward with the black wolf. The black wolf was beaten and bloody and looked half dead. But he was still standing. Amazingly, the tiger was just a bit larger than the wolf, especially with his deadly black armour on.

"Is that him, little fox?"

I shared a glance with the black wolf, then back to Nidhoggr. I didn't say anything, but somehow he knew. Nidhoggr gestured toward Baldr and immediately the tiger sliced open the wolf's throat. I cried out and ran forward, but the Dragon's massive paw stopped me after only a few strides. Tears were in my eyes as I stared up hatefully toward Nidhoggr. He looked pleased with himself.

"You have made a right mess of your safe little camp here, savage. You have condemned these slaves to homelessness, though they will still live out their miserable lives here. Your harvests are gone, food stores destroyed. Your water is tainted with blood and ash. All for a failed rebellion."

I growled at Nidhoggr for all the good it did me.

"There are few options left to me now. Either I kill you now and end this, or I take you with me and with any luck, these pathetic excuses for life can go...procreate, and do whatever else your kind does. Destroy the land more likely than not. Or you can continue to fight this meaningless rebellion and I destroy every last one of you and take you anyway. The choice is entirely up to you, little fox, but make it quick or I shall decide for you. You will not like my decision."

I had no way of trusting Nidhoggr or his word. The stubborn part of me wanted to keep fighting, but as he'd proven before, I was powerless against him. Though the massive beast was right in front of me, a well-timed bolt of lightning could perhaps stun him for long enough to get in a good attack. The other Dragons I could take down easily enough, most of them didn't seem to know the Runes like Nidhoggr did, at least not nearly as well. I ran through my head dozens of runes that I thought could help, and tried to imagine just how I would do it. If he was unaffected by the lightning, I had to have another set of runes ready to go. But what? What was effective against a monster so strong? Fire would doubtfully work. Ice, perhaps, or perhaps I needed to turn my fur, my whole body into stone. Or maybe dragonstone. But I didn't know any runes denoted to dragonstone, if there even was any. Had I my knife, I could use that...

Suddenly Nidhoggr growled, and soon I saw Baldr reappear, this time carrying my white-furred friend, Jorn. He struggled and cried out, many times smaller than the tiger but still just as fierce. He stopped when he saw me standing before an impatient Nidhoggr.

"What will it be, savage?" bellowed the giant Dragon.

"Loki!" cried out Jorn. "Don't go with them! You can't give up now!" He struggled a bit more, but stopped when a long knife was held to his neck.

I had to gasp. "Jorn," I called back, taking a step forward but Nidhoggr kept me there. "I... I can't let them hurt you." The tears that had welled up earlier suddenly began pouring down my cheeks. "If I go with them, you'll be safe."

Nidhoggr scoffed. "Indeed. This is what makes you savages so easy to control."

I growled again. "I'm sorry, Jorn. I can't do this anymore." Somehow I could feel the morale of the other slaves quickly dwindling. Their only hope, their so-called savior, was giving in like he always did. I was no warrior, no fighter. I was nothing like Tyr, like father, like Freya. The only one who still believed in me now was Jorn.

The husky struggled and thrashed about in Baldr's arms, snarling wickedly. "No, Loki! You can't! I'll be with you! We'll be undefeatable!"

I had to close my eyes. "I'm sorry Jorn. I...I don't want to see you die. I care too much about you."

Finally Jorn stopped thrashing about, the knife back at his throat. He was shaking and crying, but I think admitted this fight was futile. "Gods forsake you!" the husky suddenly snarled, and I hoped he wasn't talking to me. "If you go with them, Loki, do you really think he'll let us all go? Nothing will change!"

I turned away from my friend, head held low. "But at least you'll still be alive."

Nidhoggr scoffed again, a look of disgust on his face. "Throw the savage away, Baldr, and take this one. Upon sunrise we will make for the Cathedral."

"Aye," growled the tiger, then threw Jorn down. Jorn cursed and shouted, but he stayed where he was, next to the dead black wolf. I couldn't hear much of what he was saying, but I could tell he was crying. I think he begged me not to go, to fight back, to do something, but when I was scooped up in Baldr's massive arms, it was too late for that. Until suddenly the sound of thunder rumbled across the night sky.

Nidhoggr perked his head, and so did every other Dragon and every other slave. This was not a natural thunder, as the clouds had already disbursed. But more were rolling in quickly, covering the moon and stars once more. And soon a few drops of rain began to fall, then more, until it became a downpour, the sound of thunder constantly rumbling until a particularly loud crack shook the demolished camp.

Nidhoggr growled and looked at me, but it was clear I had not caused this, and neither had he. The black wolf was dead, and there was only one fur left I could think of who could create such a storm.

Across the battlefield, upon the ruined remains of a series of tents stood my father, high above the other slaves. He was holding onto an enormous hammer made out of the so-called iron, holding it high as another bolt of lightning came thundering down, shaking the camp once more. My heart somehow leapt and sank at the same time, then I just watched as father roared across the battlefield and leapt from his ruined perch.

He came down and landed on the muddy ground with a thud, then immediately spun and smashed his great hammer across an attacking Dragon's face, sparks and lightning flying everywhere. The Dragon staggered and let out a terrible cry, then father struck again, only this time his attack brought down an enormous bolt of lightning from the sky, killing the Dragon at once. Father ran forward, toward myself and Nidhoggr, felling another Dragon with his mighty hammer.

Nidhoggr growled loudly, watching this along with me and every other stunned slave, Jorn included. "Baldr, go finish what you started."

"No!" I barked, but the tiger had already put me down and taken up his sword. He unhooked the dark blade from his back and ran toward father, snarling wickedly as he approached. But father was ready for him this time.

As the tiger approached, father swung his hammer and the two weapons crashed together with amazing force, pushing the two apart. Again and again they swung at each other, each attack accented with the thundering sound of lightning until they were pushed far enough away from each other to take a breath. Both were breathing heavily.

But in just moments they were at it again. Father ran forward with a war cry far fiercer than my own, grinding to his left to avoid an upward slash. He then lifted the heavy, two-handed hammer with all his might, swinging it through the air as if it was nothing to strike the beast of a tiger in the gut. Baldr was sent backward, but despite everything he hadn't lost his footing. He just snarled loudly and regained his senses quick enough to block father's next attack. The two went at it again for at least a dozen more strikes before taking another short rest.

Father then barked something quickly as Baldr went in to attack, leaping backward to avoid a slash then threw his hammer high above his head. Though he missed the tiger while slamming it down, a great bolt of lightning quickly followed, crashing down with an amazing boom and sending out an explosion of ice, snow and earth. Fortunately father was swift enough to lift his weapon and block another of Baldr's attack, then another until he sent down another bolt of lightning.

It seemed with each attack, Baldr was becoming even fiercer. He snarled wickedly and swung his sword with wild abandon, making it even harder for father to predict his moves. I could tell he was tired, but unlike father something kept him going. I didn't know what it was, or where he was getting this energy from, but I noticed a particularly dark glare in his eyes. He fought as if he was losing control.

Seconds after avoiding another ferocious attack, father called down more lightning, then swung his hammer while Baldr was distracted. He struck the tiger in the side, right in the ribs, and as he stumbled backward father was quick to strike again. I could tell with each strike, Nidhoggr was becoming more and more agitated, growling and grinding his paws into the ground, but of course inside I was cheering my father on. Again father struck the monster tiger, this time in the gut, then one final blow to his face. Baldr finally fell, and father stood over the beast panting, blood running down his face and body. Deep rolling thunder accented his victory.

"This changes nothing!" snarled Nidhoggr, stomping forward. He was even more angry now than he had been about losing some of his own kind. "You think my Baldr can be so easily defeated?" The ancient Dragon laughed. He then gestured toward one of his other Dragons, who tossed something over to the half-dead tiger.

Baldr groaned and shook his head, growling and shaking. He looked over to the object that'd been thrown at him, which to me looked something like a shrunken Dragon head. Baldr shared a terrible glance with Nidhoggr, and the Dragon nodded. Baldr then immediately reached for the Dragon head and placed it on his own, clearly a helmet. He growled once quickly, paws shaking and one clutching at his scaly chest. He then growled again, eyes closed tight and this time he let out a terrible roar, blood and slaver spewing all over. Then the tiger stood up, leaving his sword.

Father growled then went at the tiger again, but somehow in the pit of my stomach I knew this was going to end badly. I called out to father but his war cry was too loud. Instead I just watched as he swung his hammer again, holding it so tight it seemed to squeeze lightning from the head. And as he swung it down, Baldr very swiftly readied himself for the blow and deflected it with his paw, moving it aside as if it was a training weapon. Completely unaffected by the hammer's lightning, Baldr snarled and swung around to father's back, slamming his paw down. Father fell instantly, slow to get up again. Something was seriously wrong here.

Baldr went in to kick my father in the gut, and though father blocked it with his forearm, he was still sent rolling. But with the distance he gained, father was able to stand once more, however weaponless. He held onto his arm for a moment before readying for another of Baldr's attacks, which he was just barely able to dodge. Father hit the ground hard and cried out when he landed on his injured arm, and no amount of shouting from me was helping.

Father got up and though he was without his hammer, called down some lightning anyway, striking the tiger. Though he was clearly injured, Baldr just seemed to shake it off and roar. He thundered toward father with teeth bared, and as father got up, the two clashed.

Fists and claws were flying, both landing some sound blows except father took the brunt of them. He blocked as much as Baldr, and yet he still got injured. Baldr was unrelenting, seemingly taken by another force. A darker force, somehow I knew. Though father was skilled, nothing was going to help him, especially now. I had to do something.

I growled quietly and though I was still standing next to Nidhoggr, I began to scribe some runes.

Over and over father dodged or blocked Baldr's merciless attacks, his right arm all but useless now. He received more scratches and cuts as the fight continued, clearly a losing battle. He then received a nasty head butt, and before he could recover the tiger snarled wickedly and slashed open a huge cut across father's chest with his claws. Father stumbled back with blood pouring down his chest and stomach, and as Baldr raised his paw for the kill, I unleashed my runes.

I snarled and stomped my foot on the ground, causing the earth to tremble slightly except this time, the earth pushed upward as it quickly trailed toward the tiger. When it neared the tiger, I growled again and thrust my paw down, holding onto that tendril of nature as if I was gripping the earth itself. I then threw my paw upward, and from beneath Baldr a mighty explosion of earth and rock pushed the beast away. But I wasn't done yet. As Baldr stumbled back, snarling more fiercely than me, I spun and used nature's force to drive the unearthed rocks toward the tiger, pushing him back even further. Panting, I let myself relax, just before Nidhoggr could flatten me.

I turned to the Dragon. "Stop this. All of this. I... I don't want to fight anymore. I don't want to kill anymore. I'm tired and sore, and I've taken so many lives. Dragon lives," I spat, "but lives all the same. I'm ready to go with you now."

"L-Loki..." groaned father, who was down on his knees. He reached toward me, face bloody and clutching at his chest. "Don't go."

I stepped toward father, ignoring everyone around me now. Jorn was nearby, too. "I'm sorry father. I know I'm a coward, but...I'm not a warrior, I'm not Tyr. I don't like fighting, I don't like blood. I don't like killing. It's all horrible to me, everyone knows it to be true. So I'm sorry. Sorry I had to end the battle like this, and I'm sorry...I had to be your son."

Tears began trickling down father's face. "No, Loki, don't say that. I must apologize. I was supposed to protect you, my only son, my only living child. But instead I gave up. I was the coward. You needed me most and I was...too afraid to help. My actions were despicable. But you have shown so much courage and strength in this camp, more than I ever thought possible from you. You have made me proud here, Loki, and your mother and Freya, and Tyr would all be proud of you too. I love you, Loki, more than you've ever known. Please...forgive me."

I didn't even know how to react to my father in that moment. I felt tears in my eyes; this was a very strange side of father I never knew existed. Perhaps he was only saying all of this because he thought he was going to die, though somehow I got the sense he meant every word. Perhaps he thought I was going to die. He put his shaky paw in my shoulder and pulled me in, hugging me as best he could in his condition. "I forgive you father."

Then Jorn approached.

"Loki," he said softly. "You don't have to go with the Dragons. We can still fight."

Father finally released me, and I turned to my friend. "No, we can't. The only hope for these slaves' freedom is if I go with Nidhoggr. Maybe that's cowardly, but...my life is not worth the lives of all these people. That's the only way I can help them now."

Suddenly Jorn stepped forward and gave me the biggest hug he ever had. He held me so close, so tight. His stomach fur was soft and warm against my cheek, and I hugged him back.

"I'm going to miss you," I said, the tears finally streaming down my cheeks. I gave him a harder squeeze. "You've been my best friend here and I... I really love you! You've been more than a big brother to me, and I never would have survived without you. You kept me going; all I had to do was think about you and I knew I couldn't give up. And you're always so warm!"

Jorn laughed quietly then sighed and rubbed my back. "I love you too, Loki. I know we had a rough start, but I think I'm really going to miss taking care of you. You're such a brave little guy, and a persistent bugger too. But that's what makes you strong." The husky then got down onto one knee and moved his lips closer to my ear. "Come back to us, all right, Loki?"

I took a deep breath then nodded. "All right," I said. "I promise."

A powerfully deep growl suddenly interrupted my moment with father and Jorn. Nidhoggr, though he'd been surprisingly patient, was starting to lose his patience. He stepped forward, a large, bloody tiger standing close to him, helmetless. "Enough of this. You have made your peace."

Though I released my friend, in a final act of defiance I rolled my paws around Jorn's shoulders and held him around his neck, and he pulled me in with paws on my lower back. My cheek rubbed softly against his until I felt his lips gently caress my ear, then he gave my cheek a tender kiss. I pulled back a bit and though I couldn't explain what had come over me, I let my lips press lightly against his. He was shocked to say the least, but it made me happy to feel him kiss me back. We shared a final glance, blush blazing in both our cheeks, before I was suddenly yanked away by Baldr.

I made no fuss as he carried me away, eyes locked with Jorn's and feeling incredibly warm. Father was gazing at me too, but somehow I was transfixed by my friend. At last I was thrown onto Nidhoggr's hard, spiny back, Baldr right behind me as his cold claws kept me close to him. The tiger made me sick to the stomach, but at least I was able to take one last look at Jorn before Nidhoggr spread his giant black wings. Then we were airborne.

At first I held on tight, having never been farther off the ground than father could lift me. My stomach leapt and my claws dug into Nidhoggr's spines, but he didn't seem to notice. Every time the Dragon changed his angle or dipped down, my stomach would churn horribly and I feared I would fall. Yet the horrid tiger behind me made sure I stayed put, far more attuned to Nidhoggr's twisting movements and writhing muscles. As we flew higher and higher, I saw light in this distance, the sun finally rising. I sighed heavily, and for now just held on tight.

By the time the sun reached midday, we had landed somewhere near a river and a forest. Nothing was familiar to me, but there was a clearing at the forest's edge the Dragons rested at. It looked as if it had been used dozens of times before. When at last my footpaws were allowed back down to the ground, I stumbled to find my footing. There wasn't much here besides Nidhoggr, Baldr and about ten other Dragons. I sighed again, then wandered toward the river. Baldr was right behind me.

"Do not run off," he said, voice deep and gravelly. I hated this tiger, this behemoth. There was something wicked about him, though to see him he looked just like a normal tiger. Well, a normal tiger wearing a suit of cold black armour.

"I have nowhere left to go," I commented, falling to my knees at the edge of the river. I stuck my paws in and shivered as the icy water cooled my pads. Then I stuck my face in, taking a long drink. I sighed once more after shaking the water from my fur and just sat at the riverbank, listening to the river.

Baldr sat beside me. I frowned.

"That husky is special to you," he said, not stating it like a question but not saying it with complete certainty either. I just frowned and looked away.

"I did not mean to cut your father down like I had," he continued, expressionless. "Oft times when I am pushed too far, I reach a dark place difficult to recover from. Nidhoggr can take me out of it, but I have little control over myself when I am in that place."

"If you're asking for forgiveness, you won't find it from me." I turned even further away from Baldr.

"He will live."

I frowned harder.

"What is the boy's name? The one you love."

Heimdall. "Jorn."

"It may shock you to learn, child, that Dragons can love, too. I have loved."

I didn't care one iota about Baldr's sordid love life.

"She and I were separated long ago, but our love burned strong. The townspeople said I was cursed and tossed me out, though they let her stay; she was one of them after all, and I was always an outsider. I truth, I have not given her much thought for far too long, but I have never forgotten her. Fai is her name, a northern tiger like me. She was the most beautiful in all the northern lands; soft fur, dark stripes, thick coat, stunning eyes. Shapely, though I suspect one so young would not understand such things, at least not yet. I was heartbroken when I was forced from town, but I was also comforted."

"How?" I found myself asking.

"Though they say I was cursed, that I brought a dark presence with me into town, I left Fai in the end with a child in her belly. I have not seen my child, and I suspect I never will. But Fai is strong, and I am even stronger. I know in my heart I gave her a boy, and he, too, will be strong."

And carry a dark presence, I almost said, but I held my tongue.

"I wandered for months after leaving Fai, starved and weak, but of course I found myself in that dark place before I felt the Crimson King's chilled claws. And I kept going until I was found by Nidhoggr. He fed me, and released me from that place. He told me I was special, though I didn't believe it at the time. He has shown me what I can do with this darkness I hold inside me. It is a curse, I know that now, but it does not rule me."

I just grunted and stared into the water. The only people I had left in this world was father and Jorn, and neither of them I would ever see again. I had promised Jorn I'd return to him, but I feared if I tried anything like running, Nidhoggr would not think twice about killing every slave, and more importantly Jorn and father. I had to tell myself this was for the best, that this would keep them safe. I sighed heavily, keeping that final kiss with Jorn constantly in my mind. I wanted to kiss him again.

The love I had for Jorn - for as much as a kit can grasp the concept of love - was nothing near what I felt for Heimdall, but it was intense nonetheless. I knew he didn't like kissing other boys, not in the way I did, and yet he had kissed back. Was it possible he liked girls and boys? Either way, considering how the husky and I had first met, he made me surprisingly happy, though remorseful knowing we'd never be together again. Thinking back on the kiss, on his warm paws on my back, he even made me a little tingly, like how Heimdall had when he and I kissed. Even sitting beside Baldr I felt that funny hardness in my pants, curious how it seemed to come and go like that, and how it felt strangely good when thinking about kissing (or when actually kissing).

I sighed once more, turning away from my reflection and resting my head on my forearms, which rested upon my knees. I bit my lip and buried my face to hide the tears that had suddenly formed, still thinking about Jorn. I wanted so badly to see him again, to touch his fur and to hug him and kiss him, and even smell his particular scent. And though I had no idea what Nidhoggr planned on doing with me, I felt like escape would be impossible. Perhaps he would create some armour for me, too, and I would be his personal slave like Baldr. That was an even more upsetting thought, though at least it offered a better chance at escape. I figured at least he wouldn't kill me, because if that was his goal in the end, then why keep me around?

"We will be heading out soon," said Baldr, who was glancing back at the resting Dragons. They were eating something, though it appeared neither Baldr nor I were going to be so lucky. The tiger stood up and brushed himself off. "Come."

Taking once last look at my pitiful self in the water, I stood and followed Baldr toward the Dragons. The black beasts paid us no mind, until one suddenly flung some bones toward us, then a few others. Baldr was quick to pick a few up and he began ripping off the bits of flesh the Dragons had evidently left behind. I'd always thought they ate all the bones, too, but perhaps they saved these bones especially for Baldr. The tiger turned and offered me some.

"It's raw," I said with disgust, wrinkling my nose. I had never eaten raw meat before; mother had always told me not to.

"It is not so awful," said Baldr, still holding out a rib bone of some description. I didn't even want to think about what poor beast it had come from. I hesitated, but when my stomach growled painfully, I was quick to grab it - I had hadn't realized until there was food just how hungry I was.

I sniffed the shredded remnants carefully, then after a breath or two I finally took a bite, ripping it off with some amount of force. As suspected, it tasted awful, but I had no choice. I cleaned the bone off in no time and received another from Baldr, feasting on the Dragons' scraps. I cursed Nidhoggr once again, but continued eating.

After our pitiful meal, Baldr and I were back in the air again with the Black Dragons. We soared over a great forest and over several villages. I looked to see if they had been destroyed, too, but we were too far up. The villages, I noticed, weren't made of leather and hide and wood, either, but instead looked like real solid structures, and were much larger than my burned forest village. I had no idea this land I lived in was so immensely vast; looking out it seemed to stretch on forever with forests and flatlands and hills and what Baldr described as swamps. There were dozens of rivers and lakes and ponds we passed over, and the tiger explained to me at our second resting point that there were incredible lakes of salty water that lead all the way to the edge of the world.

We rested a third time that day around nightfall, this time in a cave near some small mountains. Well, the Dragons slept in the cave, Baldr and I were designated to the mouth of it. But thankfully it wasn't raining or snowing, though the air was chilly.

Sleep, not surprisingly, was hard to come by. I curled into a small ball of fur and leather, thinking about Jorn and remembering how we'd cuddled close at nights. I would never have that again, somehow I knew, and thinking about it only seemed to make sleep that much more elusive. By the time morning came, I was groggy and tired, but forced to fly anyway. At least that woke me up a little.

Our journey continued on for a few more days after that, repeating the same basic pattern of stopping, eating, resting, then flying, until we came to some enormous, snow-capped mountains that looked vaguely familiar, though of course I had never seen them from so high up. Baldr said somewhere in the great forest below us was my village, and that our destination lay somewhere within the vast mountain range north of the forest.

Though the clouds and the winds and the snow had picked up greatly over the mountains, Nidhoggr and the others made their descent anyway, flying through the treacherous skies without much care for my safety. I was buffeted constantly with snow and ice, and nearly fell off a dozen times, though Baldr's grip on me was firm. Luckily I wasn't in control of where Nidhoggr was going, otherwise we would have undoubtedly slammed into the side of a mountain by now.

After what felt like a long, cold, snow-coated flight through the mountains and storm, we at last landed and I was able to open my eyes again, still shaky. We were in the middle of some dark, ancient forest, even more ancient than the one I'd grown up in. When I clambered off Nidhoggr's back, Baldr explained this place was nestled in the northernmost part of the vast mountain range close to my village, which apparently stretched distances I could scarcely imagine. At least, that's how he phrased it.

Though the sky above was dark, I could somehow tell through the thick, heavy clouds it was still day. Looking up, I could see the tops of the great pines twisting and whipping and snapping violently against the blackish sky and the raging storm, and yet here on the forest floor there was an eerie calm and a gentle snowfall. Not a sound could be heard barring the noise of our footsteps, crunching and scraping against the thick bed of dry needles.

Amazingly, despite the massive girth of these ancient pines, they still allowed plenty of room for the Dragons to travel easily between them. Some of the trees even looked to be as large around as my home back before the Dragons burned it down, if not bigger. I was in awe of this forest, seemingly untouched by any fur. When I closed my eyes and ran my paw along a tree's rough bark, I felt a great amount of magick flowing through it and all around me, as if the forest itself was alive and caressing me. A place like this had to be as old as the Gods themselves.

Further ahead in the distance I noticed a particularly dark spot amongst the trees that stood up nearly as high as they did, though it was difficult to tell exactly. No shapes could yet be seen and certainly nothing solid had yet formed, but something was definitely there. Whatever it was, somehow I knew that was our destination, and it made my fur stand on end. I didn't like this place, and the more I walked through the forest the darker the magick felt.

Soon enough we travelled deep enough into the forest where any amount of daylight that may have seeped through the raging storm above was swallowed up by the trees. No one said anything and Baldr rode on Nidhoggr's back, leaving me to walk on my own in the dead silence, walking next to the ancient Dragon. The vague, dark object in the distance was becoming slightly more clear with every step, and though I had no idea, I would have guessed it was some sort of massive building, like a tent so large it could fit several villages in it and more. It was hard to imagine a structure that big, but what else could it be..?

We walked for a long, long while before even coming close this colossal tent, the structure still quite a ways off; it was far more immense than I had originally imagined. Though we weren't quite there yet, I could start to see a few more details on the building and it became clear this was no tent, but instead a building made of stone. Black stone.

With Nidhoggr now leading the way, eventually we followed him into a vast clearing and suddenly the sheer size of the black stone structure became horribly clear. Great towers of rock rose up to scrape at the sky while a dark set of stairs led up through a pointed archway and toward a set of the largest doors I had ever known. All around the building was stone statues of Dragons and monsters I had never laid eyes on before, and massive walls with pointed windows and spires, and a roof that looked like it could rip open the sky. I did not want to enter this place; any hope I had of escape was quickly dissolving with every step I took toward it.

Though it made my heart race and despair began to set in, I followed Nidhoggr up the stairs and without even touching the giant doors, he was able to open them. They opened with a horribly loud creak as if a child was screaming, and inside was a hall so large I imagined it rivalled that of the Gods'.

Giant pillars rose up to hold the vaulted ceiling in place, while large pointed windows of coloured glass depicted scenes of Dragons and fire. The hall itself was unlit, though from somewhere a dark light was blazing, and it felt cold and musty and even more ancient than Nidhoggr. Along the walls were dozens of shelves with massive tomes upon them, and up on what looked like a second tier was even more. I had no idea where Nidhoggr would sleep while in this place, but I imagined there were passages not even Baldr knew about.

At the end of this great hall I saw a strange device, though I had no clue what it was at the time. It was up on a round dais and included a large, round arch with another slightly smaller one pointing in the opposite direction. Within the centre was a stone-like contraption with more round pieces and mechanisms I couldn't come close to understanding. It just looked like a weird statue out of an even weirder dream, but I couldn't imagine the person who could dream up something so bizarre.

But eventually we walked past the dais and around a corner, Nidhoggr revealing a large set of stone steps big enough for Dragons to traverse but far too big for a normal fur. But I managed, sighing heavily as we descended, somehow knowing I would never make it out of this dark place. Down and down the spiral steps took us, until another great chamber was revealed. This chamber was nowhere near as grand as the first, but I saw dozens more books and a table with objects on it, most of which I didn't recognize. Black marks marred the walls and at one point it looked like the stone itself had been melted. I imagined this was where Nidhoggr did most of his experiments, and I didn't even want to think about what he planned on doing with me. It was enough to make me cry.

"We will rest here," said the ancient Dragon, turning to the other Dragons. Then he looked at me. "You will stay with Baldr; he has taken a liking to you, Gods only know why. It must be this pity you furs are so fond of. It is fortunate for you, little fox, since most furs are not allowed to rest with Dragons. There are special chambers for that."

Nidhoggr then huffed and the Dragons mulled about - a couple went back up the stairs - until they found a good spot to lie down. Baldr hopped off Hidhoggr's back and approached me, leading me toward a wooden bed of sleeping furs and a large woven blanket. It was in the corner of the chamber, but I was willing to bet it was far more comfortable than the supposed "special chambers."

Baldr sat on the bed, and much to my surprise, he removed his left claw, except a normal tiger paw was revealed beneath. He then removed the other, then his large spiky shoulders and upper arms, then undid some straps upon his shoulders; quickly his black scales were coming apart, showing me a dark body of small chains. Then most surprising, Baldr began peeling off the chains like it was clothes, and he was completely naked underneath it all.

"You seem surprised," said the tiger. His extremely muscular body was covered in scars from head to toe, and a few spots of fur were completely missing. "It is just armour, like the clothes you wear but made of metal."

"Is it made of iron?" I asked a bit more excitedly than I meant to.

Baldr smiled at me. "No, little one. Dragonsteel, they call it." He then shrugged. "Nidhoggr tells me it is a material made from ores within the earth, and us furs are centuries away from being able to harvest it for ourselves. We only use iron now because the Dragons have shown us how, but most furs in this world still use tools of stone and bone."

"How does it work? Where do you find these ores?"

"That, I cannot say. It is a new to me, too, though I have spent much time with Nidhoggr. He favours me, yes, but he still knows I am a fur and oft times treats me as thus."

"Do you like being with him?"

Baldr had to think about that. "I cannot deny the advantages it brings, though I am at his mercy and every whim. I have done things for him that I will not speak of to a child, though I suspect you have been through equal treatment with the other slaves. Nevertheless...there are some good days, some bad. I do not have a choice in the matter."

I frowned. "Well okay then, if you did have a choice, would you leave him?"

Again the tiger paused. "I do not know."

"Maybe you could see Fai again? And your child!"

Baldr sighed. "Perhaps. But I will not get far even if I tried. And I have tried, long ago before I realized the futility of it."

"Why does he like you so much?"

"He says I have the soul of a Black Dragon, but I know it is just this darkness within me that he is sensing. I suppose it makes me unique to other furs, but I am still a fur. The Norns have for some reason paired me with Nidhoggr, and I have accepted that fate long ago."

A strange part of me was starting to feel bad for the monster tiger, though I had to remember the awful things he'd done. He nearly killed father twice, and would have killed me too given the chance. He seemed like a normal fur, yes, but even I could sense his darkness, and had seen it first hand back at the slave camp. I sighed heavily.

"So...do you know what Nidhoggr plans to do with me?"

Baldr glanced at me, giving away nothing with his expression. He then pulled the blanket and furs up and covered himself, at last closing his eyes. When I frowned at him and stood up, he turned away from me. I hit his shoulder and arm a few times and barked at him to tell me, but he just ignored me. I frowned harder then turned away, finally sitting on the stone floor at the foot of the bed. Eventually I curled myself into a ball, though sleep was not easy.

Unsure if I had actually slept, I rose to the sounds of Dragons yawning, which sounded a lot like roaring. Baldr kicked me when he got up, but apologized when I yelled at him. Despite that, my back and neck were sore from sleeping on the stone, though I suspected they would soon be the least of my concerns.

Eventually we ate; more of the Dragons' scraps. Nidhoggr was pacing around, talking to the others in his Dragon tongue. He seemed...excited. That did not bode well for me, though of course I had not yet been told why I'd been brought here. He called Baldr over and the pair talked for a moment before he returned. Right away he began to don his armour.

"What's going on?" I asked, scratching my naked belly. Though I had just eaten, I wanted more than just scraps. I tried not to think about Nidhoggr's plans, knowing if I made myself too scared, I wouldn't hold my breakfast for long.

"They are preparing," was all he said, now in all his chains. He began to put on the scale-like armour next, strapping in the various bits and pieces until he looked half a Dragon. Strangely, I didn't see his helmet around anywhere.

"Preparing for what?" I had a horrible sinking feeling in my gut when he said that.

Baldr just looked at me without expression. "You will see, little one. It may be best you do not know."

I frowned. "Why not? What's the worst that could happen? They're gonna do it no matter what, so just tell me!" My fingers twitched, nature's power extremely strong in this place, and the entire forest. But for now I refrained.

But Baldr just ignored me. He stood up, gave me a hard stare, then continued toward the other end of the chamber, where the spiral stairs were. The Dragons had already left.

"Come," said the tiger, stopping about half way there. Feeling especially stubborn this morning, I crossed my arms and stood there. But no sooner had I defied the tiger, he had come back and picked me up. I hollered and kicked and hit, but it was useless to resist. The damned tiger dragged me up the stairs with some amount of effort, the steps obviously made for Dragons.

And soon we were back within the great hall, Nidhoggr and his companions sitting before the strange dais. Baldr just threw me onto it, then took his place beside the ancient Dragon.

"What is this?" I snarled. "What're you gonna do to me?" I clenched my fists tight, but the Dragon was unmoved. When I glanced down at the device in the middle, which looked half made of stone, half iron, I noticed a pretty, deep red stone placed atop a few stone spikes, as if to show it off.

"I call it a Transcarrier," said the black Dragon proudly. "It is an experiment of mine that, if successful, will allow me to finally win this war against the other Dragon tribes."

"How does it involve me?"

"It has so far been unsuccessful, but after many moons of research and study, I believe I have come up with the proper incantations, and the proper Runes to use. And of course the Sanguine Opal."

I looked back at the stone. It was deep, blood red with even darker speckles floating around in it, and was shiny and smooth. Though there was hardly any light, it sparkled beautifully in the darkness of the cathedral. Though it was just a stone, somehow it frightened me, as if it was made from the blood of thousands of dead furs.

"What are you going to do to me?" I finally asked, ears drawn back. I wasn't sure I really wanted to know, but my curiosity got the better of me.

Nidhoggr grinned, which was never a good thing. "In essence, I'm going to send you to Hel."

I gasped in alarm. "Wh-what? How..? Why? I... You can't! It isn't possible. No mortal can-"

Suddenly the Dragon laughed, as if I was so foolish for doubting him. "Ordinarily the only way to cross the border into the realm of spirits is to lose one's connection to his physical self. That is how it has been since the dawn of existence. But I have found a way to bypass those requisites. If you must know, little fox, I am going to transport both your soul and your physical body into the spirit world, or more specifically Hel."

My paws were in fists again. "Why? Why Hel? And why me?"

"You are just the experiment, little fox, to make certain my Transcarrier will work. And since you asked, I will share with you my plan. It is a simple one, really. If successful, I will Carry myself and my Black Dragons to Hel and defeat the Crimson King. They say if you defeat the King, his power and his massive army of the dead will be yours to command. But of course these Gods of ours no longer trifle with this mortal world, and so I will take the fight to them. Or to him, rather."

This time I laughed, though I wasn't sure if it was out of fear or madness. "How can you even be sure Hel exists? Or even the Gods? And even if they do, you cannot hope to defeat the Crimson King. His army is made of the souls of the dead, of all the thieves and murderers and cowards who have lived since the world was created. He won't fall to you like a common fur."

That last statement made Nidhoggr growl and slam a paw, which shook both the dais and the cathedral itself; dust and debris crumbled from above. "Do not underestimate the power of the Black Dragons, little fox. Many have done so, and many have fallen. I can tear your little world apart if I wanted, so you will be wise to hold your tongue."

I unclenched my paws and stared Nidhoggr square in the eyes. "Perhaps you would be wise to do the same." And with that, I moved my paws up and scribed half a dozen Runes in just a moment, then immediately my fur burst into flames. Nidhoggr snarled loudly and his Dragons rose, but I was quick to rush past him, moving like the wind. I thrust my paw downward and let out an immense gust, pushing myself up off the ground to soar over the Dragons' heads, and as I spun and twisted, I threw fire from my paws.

Of course they were unaffected, but it was enough of a distraction so when I landed, I could make a dash for the exit. I sailed toward the door as if I had become the wind itself, then used a few earth runes to bash the doors open. Though it took a bit of doing, at last the doors cracked open enough for me to slip out, leaving the Black Dragons behind. I could near them screaming, but no sooner had I exited, they were on me.

The Dragons soared above me, unable to find a good spot to land and cut me off. I moved swiftly between the giant trees, realizing quickly I would have to come to a clearing sometime, likely by the mountains. But I pushed those thoughts aside, deciding I would worry about that later. Instead I focused on my escape, drawing immense power from the forest.

But then I heard a familiar snarl, that of a monster tiger. He was after me, and when I glanced back I saw he was quickly gaining. I had no idea someone so large could move so fast, but I had the Runes on my side. I ran and ran, dispelling the flames as I moved with the wind. Unfortunately, the further away from the cathedral I got, the less wind there was blowing through the forest, and soon that darkening calm surrounded me. Before I could get much further, a sudden wall of earth and roots shot up between trees, cutting me off. When I went to go around, more was erected. I was trapped, and in moments Baldr was here with me. I turned to face him.

"Stop this foolishness," he growled. The tiger was panting, though still seemed battle ready. "Escape is impossible; you are only delaying the inevitable. Make this easier on both myself and you by returning immediately."

"No!" I barked, paws ready for a fight. I hated fighting, but I would not allow myself to be used like this. "I'll never give in, not like you did. You'll have to drag my half-dead body back in there if you want me to return."

Baldr sighed. "Very well," then he drew his sword.

As the tiger charged, I growled and quickly scribed some runes. From the earth sprouted some large roots which Baldr cut through easily. As his sword came down, I swiftly dodged to his left and soared backward until I was a fair distance away. I then forced up large chunks of rock and earth, again and again but he was able to avoid them. As his sword swung at me again, I instinctively thrust my paw up and created a rocky shield, then leapt forward as the second strike broke right through.

I forced up some more roots to entangle Baldr's legs, but he easily escaped. I then set my fur aflame once more, using the wind runes to fan them larger. I thrust my paws down into the earth, immediately igniting the dry bed of needles and using the wind to blow the blaze toward Baldr.

Baldr snarled and danced about as the flames blew toward him, but he used his enormous sword to scatter the needles and the fire with them. He snarled again and came at me, but I punched him in the gut with a chunk of earth. As he stumbled back, another struck him in the ribs, then another pinned him to a tree.

My paws clenched tightly at the thick tendrils of nature, its power flowing around me. I squeezed my paws tighter to force the earth to push even harder into Baldr's chest, growling as I approached him. He had dropped his sword and now gripped at the earth and rock now pushing against him, but he was trapped.

Baldr growled, then snarled, then closed his eyes tight and gripped the stone harder. But I pushed it into his chest even more, cracking his armour. The tiger was furious and began thrashing about, but I would not let him free.

"Come with me," I said to him. "You don't need to be here, you don't need Nidhoggr. Together you and I can escape him, maybe even defeat him if it comes to that. We'll go see your kid."

But Baldr would hear none of it. He just continued to punch and swipe his claws at the rock and earth holding him against the tree. Somehow I could tell he was battling with something, not just me. Perhaps this was his darkness. Perhaps it was trying to take control, and he was trying to escape it. I knew there were Runes that were denoted to both the light and the dark, but I had never learned how to use them. Then again, I hadn't learned how to set my fur aflame nor turn my body into lightning either.

Before I could get a chance to try, a loud, thunderous roar echoed from somewhere undeterminable. Then behind me, an explosion of dirt and pine needles gave way to an ancient Black Dragon, whose face was twisted into that of pure anger. He roared at me, and immediately my runes dispelled and Baldr was free. Fortunately he fell along with my rocks.

Fear immediately set in, but I couldn't give up now. I scribed a few more runes, but no sooner had I cast them, Nidhoggr snuffed them out. When I tried once more, the Dragon came barrelling toward me, smacking me hard with his paw.

I flew at least ten body lengths before I finally hit the ground, and even then I rolled a great distance before finally hitting a tree. I coughed and gasped for air, curled into a ball and grasping my stomach, hurting all over. Nidhoggr approached me and when I looked up at him, he growled and struck me one final blow.

When I was at last able to open my eyes, momentarily dazed, I looked about to get my bearings, though the pain made it difficult. I tried to move but found it hard, paws bound to something. Through my pounding head I saw a pillar of rock no bigger than me to both my left and right, and my forearms were stuck inside them. My paws immobile, I could no longer cast the Runes. With a short growl, I looked up to see the Dragons standing before me, Nidhoggr looking particularly angry. Baldr was there, expression nondescript. He wouldn't even look at me.

I tried once more to free my paws, but it was impossible. Instead I kicked at the Transcarrier in front of me, all of it in vain. The Sanguine Opal shined atop the strange stone device, mocking me. I growled once more, then at last gave up. "So what now?" I asked with a sigh.

"We will begin the experiment," said Nidhoggr, who began to scribe some runes along the edge of the round dais. They were runes I had never seen before. "You will be the fifteenth attempt, but I am confident. Unlike the others, I have at last acquired the Sanguine Opal. It is said a blood sacrifice must be made to open a gate into Hel, and this Opal represents the blood of a thousand Dragons. You will never see another like it."

I growled futilely. The ancient Dragon was almost done scribing his runes, which made my stomach turn. I had no idea what would happen to me, but unfortunately I didn't share Nidhoggr's confidence. Instead I watched each black rune spell out my destruction.

"There are only a few results I can predict," continued the Dragon, down to his last few Runes. "Either you will be unaffected and we must try again, or the Transcarrier will tear you apart. Those have been the only results thus far. But I am sure you, little fox, will be the exception. You will be plucked from this world and carried into Hel." Finally Nidhoggr scribed the final rune. "There you will no doubt find eternal torment."

Suddenly, the two crossing arches above me began to shift with a grinding moan, dust spewing from where they moved. The spikes holding onto the Sanguine Opal then squeezed tighter until all three tips pierced the shiny rock. As the arches slowly sped up, blood seemed to pour down the spikes from within the Opal, running down into the device where a strange glow began to emanate. A few Runes lit up on the Carrier, glowing red, and some more components and pieces began to shift and move, and the Opal lowered until it was inside. The arches were spinning very fast now, so fast I could barely see them, and their movement kicked up a spiralling wind.

The grinding noise of the machine rang through my ears and the gusting winds didn't help. I snarled and tried desperately to pull my arms free, but again it was useless. I cried out to anyone who could hear me, but my voice was drowned out by Nidhoggr's booming roar. He was chanting something, snarling every word loudly as if calling to the Gods. I couldn't understand the words he spoke, no doubt some Dragon tongue, but not one of them helped settle my stomach. This was it, Loki.

Suddenly, as the Dragon shouted the incantations like thunder, my twisted stomach began to twist the other way. I wanted to hold onto my poor belly, but of course I couldn't. It was an intense feeling, nothing painful but extremely prevalent. It twisted inside me and began to spread outward, reaching up my chest and into my arms and down my legs and into my feet. I cried out, tears streaming down my face. Was this what it felt like to be torn apart?

A few loud booms then sounded, Nidhoggr slamming his paws into the floor to emphasize his incantations, and soon everything began to rumble. There was a strange light coming from the Runes he'd scribed along the dais, enough to obscure everything beyond the spinning arches. My stomach twisted harder, either caused by the Transcarrier or from my intense nervousness. Either way, the feeling increased and almost burned, still spreading outward. Strangely, I began to feel lightheaded, dizzy almost, except my limbs and body started to feel the same, as if I could just float away.

Then an immense pain did fill my belly. I cried and thrashed about to escape it, but that was just as impossible. The pain crawled through my veins, up into my chest and into my arms, down my legs toward my paws. Even my teeth and eyeballs and ears and claws all felt this inescapable pain. I cried out, but my voice was lost somewhere within the blinding light, and I felt lighter than air. An amazing wind came at me, threatening to blow me away until I realized it was more like I was falling or flying. I curled myself into a ball and just closed my eyes tightly, crying out from the pain and praying to every God this would end soon.

An enormous crash of thunder suddenly stopped everything. I felt whole again and all the pain was gone. I was no longer moving, and felt solid ground beneath me. Not a sound could be heard save a few fading rumbles, until at last there was nothing. Not even a breeze. I was shaking hard, but at last managed to open my eyes, seeing some blackish earth beneath me. I gave the earth a squeeze, determining it was real enough, then in uncurled myself.

On my paws and knees, still shaking, I blinked my eyes a few times to get a better look at my surroundings. All around me was a dark forest, completely unlike the one surrounding the cathedral. These trees were nowhere near as tall, though still just an ancient looking. Their bark was almost black, and their leafless branches reached up like horrible claws scraping at the dark sky. When I looked around myself, I noticed I was in the centre of a large, circular clearing, as if the trees here had been ripped up before I got here. I sighed, then at last stood.

I took a few wary steps, finding the earth to be surprisingly warm. It was loose, too, like the ground after our village harvested roots. The sky was dark, and yet filled with an amazing swash of glowing stars, unlike any that I'd seen before. There seemed to be many more stars than I was used to seeing, too, and they glowed an eerie colour, like the deep purple of our native pasque flower. I tried to find some constellations, or anything to guide myself, but nothing was familiar within the bright, glowing gems. I saw only a few clouds above, each one a swirling, bloody red and dragonstone black. Fear quickly began to set in, but I had to move.

Surrounded by dark trees, I took off to where my instincts told me was north, though of course I had no idea. There was two moons floating high above, both full and extremely strange; one had a deep reddish hue and was more than twice the size of the other, which was bright like our normal moon. These moons, however, did not seem to follow the same pathway the normal moon took, plus when I started the attack back at the camp, it was only a half moon. This had to be Hel, or at least another plane.

As I continued toward the trees, the dark flora becoming more and more frightening with every step, a sudden rumbling came from out of nowhere. I stopped dead in my tracks, heart racing and looking about nervously. Nothing was there, but I dared not continue. I took in deep breaths and tried to focus my senses, remembering father's lessons. I listened to the empty air, gazed at the motionless ground and just waited. I was all ready to cast the Runes if it came to that, though there was something twisted about the arms of nature here.

After a long moment, though, nothing continued to happen. I let out a deep breath, then at last allowed myself to move. I turned and took a few more steps toward the forest, until I felt the rumbling again. I snarled and turned quickly, but again there was nothing. I was panting now, paws squeezed into fists and nerves tense. There was something out there, I knew it.

With a frown, I very cautiously turned back around, but when I did, it triggered more rumbling. Right in front of me I saw the earth shift and quake and immediately I ran back, just in time to have the ground explode behind me, showering me with black dirt. I scrambled to my feet and turned back around, already scribing some runes. But when I looked up, before me stood a monster taller than even the Cathedral trees, dozens of fur-like arms writhing at the sides of some wormy beast. I just stood in awe and shock and horror, then the monster screamed.

I had to cover my ears, and when I looked back up, I saw instead of a face and mouth like a normal person, its entire torso - which was atop the massive worm-like body - split open to become some twisted maw full of teeth and two wild tongues. I cried out but managed to move myself fast enough to avoid it crashing down on me, then I collected myself just enough to finish scribing those runes.

But when I finished, the giant monster was gone, dug back into the earth. I felt that rumbling soon enough though, and I ran back toward the forest. I ran and ran until the ground lifted and the monster suddenly exploded outward again, sending me flying toward the trees. I scribed the last few vital Runes and shoved my paw through it, then slammed my fists into the ground.

Unfortunately, instead of aiming those rocky spikes directly toward the monster, they twisted upward in directions I couldn't control. I cried out as the beast attacked, trying a few more runes only to have them fail me completely. Whatever place this was, it made runecasting impossible, or near enough so they were ineffective. When the monster came at me a second time, I finally took off into the forest.

The trees' branches were long and sharp and stiff, black like charcoal and hurt to scrape against. But even still, I weaved through them as best I could, praying there would be no more monsters. I had no idea if the wormy one was still coming after me, though I did hear a few more loud roars and a bit of rumbling. Then I heard the sound of trees creaking and branches snapping, and when I allowed myself to look, I saw a different monster chasing me now.

The new monster, from the brief glance I took, was large and sturdy like a Dragon, with twisted broken wings and spikes all over the place. Though I didn't look long, I thought I saw at least four arms and some legs, and its Dragon-like head looked almost to be ripped in two and in the maw it contain the face of a regular fur. On its long neck a vertical maw opened, lined with teeth and again a nasty, barb-covered tongue. It was tearing through the trees like they were twigs, screaming as it chased me.

My heart was racing so fast it threatened to explode. My face felt torn up by the charcoal branches and I was certain my footpaws were cut and bleeding. But I had to keep going, I couldn't face these monstrous animals. I ran and ran and ran, fearing to use the wind Runes for fear of their adverse effects; I could end up killing myself before the monsters did.

At last I came into an opening, the trees thinning instantly like a wall. Far in the distance I saw some mountains, but between here and there was a great expanse I could never cross before the monsters caught me. But as the ground began to rumble and several more beasts exploded from the earth, I took off toward the mountains anyway, away from the forest.

As I ran I decided to cast some more runes, sending up dozens of earthen spikes in a vain attempt at slowing the beasts down. I didn't look at these new ones, but I sensed they were somehow smaller than the first two, but certainly faster. I threw fire every which way, growling as I tried my best to set the dark grass aflame as I ran, though it didn't stop one of the beasts from lunging at me.

With my arms alight, I threw forward a long stream of fire, just as the spider-like monster came down at me. It had eight legs like a spider, but instead of a head it was the body of a fur who had shed all his hair save patches on his face. He screamed at me and pushed one of its spider claws into my chest, gripping me and tossing me away, just as I burned its belly. The monster screamed and stumbled about until another exactly like it came at me.

I threw fire at the second one, noticing while it looked the same, this one had the body of a female, also mostly furless. I sent out another fire stream then slammed my paw into the ground to produce another rocky spire, but instead of piercing the monster it just thumped it away. It was enough, at any rate, to get up and continue running. I then turned, and though most of my Runes were failing me, I growled and cast a few more, then pushed my paws toward the ground. As the monster spiders recovered, I lifted my paws and felt those twisted tendrils wrap around, pulling up a massive wall of earth and rock; not pretty but enough to slow them down. I took off once more.

Though there was lots of rumbling and screaming and exploding earth, somehow I managed to avoid the endless rain of monsters. There were several flying ones that looked nothing like birds nor Dragons, yet somehow they flew. I was now certain I was in Hel, and began to wonder as I took cover behind a black rock what would happen to me if I died here. After all, I was already in Hel, where would my soul go? Did I even have a soul? Unfortunately I was given not much time to ponder such things, as one of the air monsters had found me already.

As I ran, I hadn't even realized until I took cover from a monster's stream of fire that I had at some point entered a land of rocks and canyons, which meant plenty of hiding spots. I could always hear monsters screaming and thundering from somewhere around me, but never knew where they were. Many of them liked to pop up from the ground to scare me, while others simply destroyed whatever cover I'd managed to find.

I was beyond tired now and sore all over the place, particularly my feet. I could hardly think of runes to cast and the ones I did use were only effective half the time. I kept thoughts of father and Jorn and Heimdall constantly in my mind, praying for the strength to endure this. I took a few more breaths and when another stream of fire finally stopped, I took off once more.

From rock to rock I leapt, avoiding attacks and detection as best I could. Somehow I doubted I was anywhere near as hidden as I sometimes felt, but that hardly mattered now. I just had to continue, fending the beasts off as best I could. I was not going to die here, despite the hopelessness of my situation. But when I ran toward another rock and rolled behind it, I suddenly lost my footing and discovered a cave, which I was now rolling down into.

I could hear the monsters banging and howling and scratching at the cave's entrance, a few blowing fire in but from down so far, I seemed to be safe. I cast a quick few runes to ignite my paw, which fortunately didn't burn me. I looked around and continued forward, the long windy cave my only salvation at this point.

I continued walking for what felt like a day, never stopping and always scared. When I found I could walk no further, I allowed myself to rest. I sat with my paw still ablaze, the flames starting to crawl up my arm but I ignored it. I closed my eyes and tried to catch a breath, heart still racing. When the fire clambered up the back of my neck and rolled across my shoulders, I suddenly let out a loud cry.

I covered my face with my burning paws, unaffected by their flames. I just curled myself into a ball and let myself weep, those images of the giant monsters forever burned into my mind. I tried my best to ignore them, to stop hearing their screams, but it was impossible. I cried out in frustration and blew flames all over the place, but it was no good. Never before had I seen such horrifying monsters, Dragons having been the largest beasts I'd laid eyes upon before today. But these things, they were beyond the stuff of nightmares, beyond the imaginings of even the most disturbed people. I didn't know if these monsters truly existed or if I had just gone mad, but I did know sleep would not find me here tonight.

When at last I woke from my restless slumber, I set my paw ablaze once more and stumbled through the dark, dank cave. The walls were black like dragonstone and warm to the touch. I tried not to think about whether or not this cave was alive, fearing that may be the case. Instead I focused more on moving, and my hunger. I knew not what I could eat here, figuring I'd rather die of starvation than be caught by one of those monsters. They would probably torture me, far more than the hyena could have possibly hoped to. If this was Hel, I would likely see him again.

It would take another whole day, or what felt like a whole day, to find the end of the cave, and I was weaker than ever. My paws shook just by being held up and my legs could hardly support me. My stomach clenched and pained noisily for food, but of course I had none. Tears had stopped trickling down my face, though every night I couldn't stop myself from crying. Though the rumbling and roaring had stopped, I would never forget their twisted faces, their horrifying bodies and terrible screams.

The world outside the cave was significantly different than the world outside the start of it. There were more black trees, but they were far more spread out and looked charred. There was still dozens of black rocks, but now I was closer toward the mountains. The air was hot and burned my eyes, and the ground nipped hard at my pads, but I pressed on.

I stumbled through this scorched land with barely a thought in mind beyond finding food. The only beasts I came across that could be worth eating were too fast for me to catch, and of course the Runes were too unreliable. Besides, I hardly had the strength to lift my paw much less grip onto Hel's twisted sense of nature. So instead I starved, crossing a large plane of black, sharp rocks as glowing, fiery water cracked and divided it.

I was even more thirsty than hungry, especially here where even the air burned, but I discovered quickly when I poked the glowing water with a stick that it was nowhere near drinkable. It was like liquid fire, and it flowed everywhere. I sighed heavily and looked up to the sky, knowing the rumbling sky was covered in billowing black clouds but hoped for some sign anyway. I saw nothing.

Eventually I came to a jagged rock and I stopped to rest beneath it. I sat cross-legged and tried to focus my mind on other things, trying to push aside the visions of monsters and focus more on breathing and steadying my heart rate. I also tried to get a sense of the flow of nature here, but it was in chaos. Everything was. When at last I managed to suppress my hunger, I decided it was time to press on, though my strength had already dwindled so much. I managed to stand up anyway, propping myself up on the rock for a moment before continuing on. Then I felt a rumbling.

Instantly afraid, I began to run. As predicted, from where I stood another giant beast exploded, spewing the liquid fire and black rock all over the place, fortunately missing me. My heart was beating rapidly once more as I ran, only managing to notice that the jagged rock-like monster was covered in spikes and glowed almost the same hue as the liquid fire. As it thundered toward me, I suddenly bolted to my right, toward a few trees and rocks where I hid.

But no sooner had I hidden myself, another monster found me. I cried out desperately and ran, my lungs close to exploding. I ran between some trees and continued toward the black mountains, unsure why I was drawn to them. I could hear and feel the monsters behind me, screaming and thundering and crashing through everything, unstoppable beasts.

I continued to cry even as I ran, not even bothering to cast any runes by this point. My legs felt like they were about to fail, and my arms just swung uselessly at my sides. My eyes were barely open and I had hardly any breath left, much less any strength. I couldn't help but think they were playing with me now, trying to frighten me, trying to make me run. And so I did, on and on until I was out of that small, shriveled forest of trees and rocks. Now just a large, fiery expanse stood between myself and the mountains, and I was instantly reminded of that mad dash Heimdall and I had to make when the Dragons attacked. I thought I saw at the base of the mountain a large, twisted structure of black rock and dragonstone, but I had barely the time nor the strength to really look at it. Instead I ran, until after only a short distance my right leg finally gave in.

I stumbled forward and cried out as I nearly fell over, but by some divine miracle I stayed up on my feet. But no sooner had I regained my footing and continued toward the mountains, I had slammed into something hard. I fell to my rump immediately, ignoring the pain in my cheek and looked up at the monster who would now end me. But much to my surprise, it was hardly a monster at all.

Before me stood a giant of a fur, all clad in armour not unlike Baldr's, but had a dark, dark hue to it, like fresh blood from an open wound. His helmet did not resemble that of a Dragon, but it did have two large horns on it and covered most of his face. He wasn't smiling, but wasn't frowning either. He just stared down at me, as if trying to figure out who I was. Neither of us spoke, but when a few of those monsters came rumbling toward us, the fur looked up.

I was about to start running, and yet this strange fur showed absolutely no signs of fear. He didn't even twitch. And so rather than getting up, I instead crawled behind the giant fur, cowering behind him like a child; I was in no condition to ponder what father might think of this.

"What is this?" spoke the giant fur, his voice deep and ancient. The beasts stopped immediately, then looked as if they bowed.

"A bit of sport, your grace," hissed one of the snake-like monsters.

The fur looked back down at me, turning so he could see me better, then turned back to the monsters. "You want this child?"

The snake monster hissed, then finally nodded. "It has been too long..."

"Then he is all yours."

I gasped, then stumbled out from under the fur's reddish cloak. I began to run, but without my strength I easily tripped and fell over a rock, falling hard. I glanced up at the fur who was pointed toward the monsters, and the monsters quickly advanced. Their maws were enormous, toothy and twisted, and I couldn't imagine the pain of being torn apart by them. I began to cry, trying to cast some runes but my paws were too shaky. Then as I watched one of them lunge at me, my eyes went wide and I saw my short life flash before me.

I had heard of this happening to furs on their deathbeds, but I had never suspected this actually happened. But as I stared into the snake-like maw of the monster, I saw my mother and Freya and father, and even Tyr, too. We were all together, and we were happy. I was happy. Father was happy. Perhaps I would go see Tyr. Surely Freya was with him now, and mother as well. I also saw Heimdall, and remembered the day we met, and they day we kissed. Oh, that kiss...

But just as I began to recall my time with Jorn, and that kiss, the giant fur suddenly sifted, held onto something at his side and just as the monster came down, the fur attacked.

He was even faster than father, even faster than Baldr. He drew his sword so fast I could barely see it, and he sliced open the neck of the monster with ease. The monster hissed and fell to my side, writhing desperately and finding it hard to breath, blood pouring from his neck. He looked confused, if I could read the faces of monsters.

When this fur glanced at the other monster, who looked like he was made of rocks, the beast backed away. "You wanted this boy, so come and get him!" roared the fur, totally unafraid.

"B-but your grace..."

"Attack him!" the fur boomed.

Though he hesitated, the spiky monster attacked. As he approached this powerful fur, the fur readied as if he was being attacked. The monster roared and snarled and came at me, but again the fur swung his sword. He sliced into the leg of the monster which made him stumble and fall, but the monster was up again. Though the monster lunged at me, the fur ran forward and leapt up, but the monster shook him off.

The fur growled, and yet I noticed him grin, too. He ran back toward the beast just before he could lay a clawed, stony paw on me and again leapt up, this time landing on the monster's neck. He thrust his sword down into the beast and rode him like a wild animal, until at last he thrust his sword up and took a good slice.

The monster screamed and stumbled about, and before he could stop and say something, the fur silenced him with a sword to his neck. Like the first beast, the monster fell and slowly the life slipped from him, blackish blood oozing onto the charred ground until he stopped moving. I looked up at the fur, thankful yet curious.

"What is your name, little one?"

I cowered before this awesome fur. I had never known anyone so powerful. "L-Loki," I said. "Son of Odin and Frigg."

The fur smiled warmly then held a paw out toward me, helping me to my feet. "You have nothing left to fear now, little Loki. You are named for the Gods, I see, something you mortal furs are fond of doing."

Mortal furs? "Who...are you?"

"I have had many names throughout my lifetime, little Loki, but you likely know me as the Crimson King."

I had to gasp and back away, eyes wide and heart beating hard. "N-No... This can't be. I'm not... So this is...really Hel?"

The King looked around at our surroundings, neither pleased nor disappointed with what he saw. "Yes, it is. Tell me, how did you come to this place? No mortal has ever crossed the border between life and death with his body and soul intact, and certainly has never travelled into Hel. You should have been killed before even coming near the Scorched Planes, and yet you nearly made it to my castle.s"

I sighed queitly then began to tell the Crimson King of what Hidhoggr had done to me and my people, and everything that had befallen me whilst staying at the camp. I then explained the forest and the cathedral and the Transcarrier, then told him about Nidhoggr's plans to attack. Everything just came flowing out, and I couldn't even stop myself from crying. But when I was done, the King held out a paw and pulled me close to him, picking me up and carrying me against his chest. As his paw soothed my aching back, he turned to the mountains and continued toward what he'd called his castle.

I had no idea what plans for me the Crimson King had, and couldn't begin to imagine the things yet to come. But he did tell me an ancient prophecy would soon be unravelling, and while the road ahead of me would be long and rough and full of trials, I would one day play an integral role. Of course I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but as the Crimson King fed me and bathed me and healed my broken body, he assured me my future was bright. In that moment, it didn't much matter to me what role I would have to play. I was safe now, taken in by the only God who cared enough about me to protect me. I would do anything for the Crimson King for as long as I lived, and I was going to live for a very, very long time.