Blood Hounds

The scream cut through the forest like a blade.

Kael ran without thinking, instincts honed by years of survival. Fenrir loped beside him, his movements swift despite his wounds. The trees blurred past, the scent of damp earth and pine giving way to something sharper—blood.

They burst into a small clearing.

A young woman stood at the center, her back pressed against a fallen log. Strands of dark hair clung to her sweat-slicked face, her chest rising and falling in frantic breaths. A dagger trembled in her grip.

Three men circled her.

They were dressed in patchwork leathers, the kind worn by mercenaries or bandits. One held a short sword, another an axe, and the third—his hands were empty, but his smile was a predator's grin.

"Easy now," the grinning man cooed. "No need for that little blade. Just hand over the pack, and we'll let you go."

The girl tightened her grip, defiance in her dark eyes. "Liar."

The man sighed, shaking his head. "Shame. I do hate a stubborn one."

Kael stepped forward, drawing his sword with a whisper of steel. "And I hate cowards."

The men turned sharply, eyes narrowing at the new arrival.

"Who the hell—"

They barely had time to react before Fenrir let out a snarl that shook the air.

The wolf sprang forward, a blur of silver fur and flashing teeth. The man with the axe barely raised his weapon before Fenrir slammed into him, sending him crashing to the ground.

Kael moved in the same breath, his blade catching the morning light. He met the short-sword fighter head-on, their weapons clashing in a burst of sparks. The impact jarred Kael's arm, but he pressed forward, forcing his opponent back.

The grinning man lunged for the girl.

She was faster.

Her dagger flashed, slicing across his forearm. He yelped, staggering back with a curse.

The fight was brief. The man with the axe scrambled away, clutching his bleeding arm as Fenrir loomed over him. The short-sword wielder faltered under Kael's assault, fear creeping into his eyes. The grinning man, clutching his wounded arm, took one last look at Fenrir's bared fangs and made his decision.

"Not worth it," he spat. "Let's go!"

The others hesitated before breaking into a retreat, crashing through the undergrowth like startled deer.

Silence settled over the clearing.

Kael exhaled, lowering his sword. His pulse pounded, but his grip was steady.

Fenrir watched the fleeing men until they vanished, then turned his golden eyes to Kael. A silent question.

Kael nodded. "Yeah. We let them go."

A rustling sound brought his attention back to the girl. She had pushed herself to her feet, still gripping her dagger, though her stance was less rigid now.

She studied Kael, then Fenrir, then Kael again.

"You're not from around here," she finally said.

Kael wiped his blade on his cloak before sheathing it. "No."

The girl hesitated, then tucked her dagger away. "Well… I suppose I should thank you."

Kael shrugged. "Don't mention it."

"Right." She glanced toward the path where the bandits had fled. "Still, they won't stay gone for long. We should move."

"We?" Kael raised an eyebrow.

She gave him a wry look. "Unless you'd rather they come back and find us standing here chatting?"

Kael sighed. She had a point.

He looked at Fenrir, who simply flicked an ear as if to say, Your call.

Kael turned back to the girl. "What's your name?"

She hesitated for only a moment.

"Rhia."

Kael nodded. "Alright, Rhia. Let's go."

And just like that, their company grew by one.