Chapter Twenty-Five, 'Silver-Slain'

Ogini built a fire. The warlock had told him that the cursed one would not be slain easily, he was right. It had been a hard fight and he was going to take great pleasure in denying her a warrior's burial. Tonight he would do what his father failed to and end this scum's existence.

It was a full moon, all the better to watch as his adversary turned to ash before him. It would be the first full moon he'd have seen in many a year that didn't see his revenge still unmet. He howled his joy to to it. And he listened to the cries of the Sickle Ear clan from across the lake as they rejoiced in his deeds, or something similar; at lest two or three had sounded interested.

Then another voice howled, much closer. He had warned the warlock against having him followed, but what else could it be?

Again it came, it was a female voice. Young and strong, but their was pain in it. Perhaps someone was being hurt, maybe some young warrior had died today even as he achieved his victory. He'd have to inquire when next he went to town. He'd also inquire about the burning feeling in his throat and mouth, it seemed he was having some kind of reaction to the woman's blood. Maybe that's why they called them 'fireblood'.

That was no howl. There was blood lust and rage in the voice now. It was a bestial fury, this was no mourning lover. He turned as a fear took seed in him. What had the warlock meant when he spoke of how nieldic coin alone could lay low the fireblooded beast?

The axes remained where she'd dropped them, and the place where Alicea had fallen was ringed by tattered fabric and armor. But his foe was no where to be seen.
He spun to search for the missing corpse and was met by a sight from his nightmares. The wolf demon, the woman's form from so long ago. This was the beast that had slain his father. He drew his blade and snatched his shield from the ground; hurriedly deflecting the massive creature as it flung itself upon him. He hacked at it but its hide absorbed the blow without damage. Killing blow after another was deflected, dodged, or even taken outright but nothing harmed it.
Perhaps it was just the fire reflected in the eyes of this hellbeast, but he thought he could see a passion in it. A desire to avenge its mistress, or was it itself? What was the nature of the beast, and how could it be stopped before he grew to tired to defend himself and his life was torn from his body by those massive, but surprisingly clean and well cared for, claws?

Not long apparently, his mind dwelt to long on the oddity of a clean-clawed wolf monster and his shield was sundered by a swipe of the beast's claws. He batted it away with his axe, and rather than strike again she began to circle. And as he tracked his opponent about the ruined shrine, the sun rose behind her. He watched the beast rise as it lept, and an enraged woman as she bore down upon him.

His last thoughts were lost in the agony of defeat, and the pain of death.