An excerpt of many

Huddled by the campfire, Fenryr's eyes glimmered with the the dancing light of flames, his black cloak draped over himself and his long, broadsword, hiding the steel from view, yet his azure eyes held that same cold quality, a silent promise of shredded flesh and crushed bones. 

 

The moonless night's vast darkness rang with phantom echoes of distant howls, he'd grown used to them, the ethereal whispers, the calls and moans that sounded like they had risen from an impossible distance, perhaps at a different age, only now carried away by the gently flowing shroud of the night breeze. 

 

Camping in the open grasslands between the mountains and forests left him with a persistent gnawing at his core, alertness permitted him only moments of unconscious rest. 

‘Another poor choice of the commander.’

 Fenryr snorted at the thought. Glancing past his own minute fire, through the billowing smoke, stinging his nostrils. The acrid stench mixing with the damp earth and wet grass..

A myriad of other small flame nests encrusted the shroud of darkness above the field with dots of light, much like the sky overhead was for the past several nights and this night seemed no different, except for the peculiar absence of the moon. 

 

The nigh electric tension of the cool air seemed uniform over the camp, the silhouettes of his comrades still and huddled by the fires, from a distance some resembled boulders and peculiar rock formations, save for the occasional movement of arms as they clasped their weapons and shields, preparing, alert. Fenryr's body shivered and he jolted at the howling from the north. 

‘Just wolves..’ he reassured himself, as the long and mournful call echoed through his chest. Demons were different, their howls felt like a spike of ice driven through flesh and bone, paralyzing for those unprepared to meet the foul creatures.. 

 

‘Maybe that's why they announce their attacks.. Because they know.. Maybe they're just dumb..’

 

*

 

Flashing like steel blades in the moonlight, the saliva and blood coated fangs and claws, ripping away at his midsection..

 

*

 

  Fenryr jolted upright, his golden hair dripping with sweat, clinging to his neck and cheeks like his shirt under the coat of mail armor, chest threatening to burst, sword in hand battlecry in his throat, he exhaled sharply, lowering his hefty weapon. 

 

 Barely cresting the horizon, the purple hue of dawn slowly melted away the veil of darkness. 

 

Looking around, Fenryr caught the odd glances from his comrades nearby, some of them eating, others already packing up, a cool, blunt relief replacing the tense, edgy alertness in his chest and mind at the familiar sounds, clunking of wooden bowls and spoons. 

 

  As his racing heart slowed to a semblance of normal, he bent over for his black cloak, rolled it up and stuffed the thick fabric in his leather pack, his rations of dry meat and water would last another full day before he'd touch them, if he lived until nightfall. A thought he often teased himself with. 

 

*

 

The three officers called attendance, marking the end of what additional rest Fenryr had before they would march on. He straightened his back when his name was called, responding a weary “Here” in a hoarse, ragged voice and sighing at the end. 

 

“Fenryr, from house of Dragonsbane.” the officer addressed him again before Fenryr would follow his squad toward the west. 

“Sir.” he responded, resting his heavily notched and scratched blade on its flat against his left shoulder, turning to face his commander. 

 

The officer's silvery breastplate glimmered in the morning sun, his dark blue cloak framed his armored form and partially concealed his short sword on his left side. He matched Fenryr's height and axe handle shoulders, 

“The captain is expecting you on the northern edge of camp. Get moving.” 

The younger man ordered, pointing vaguely at the group of some twenty others gathered around the captain.

‘Just great.. He's got some suicide mission planned… as if we didn't lose enough men already..’

 

“Yes sir..” Fenryr added a curt nod to his commander and headed off with heavy, blunt thumping steps toward the gathering where the captain's armored form animatedly paced up and down before the selected troops.

 

*

 

“...High command issued their latest orders,” the slim framed captain paused as Fenryr joined the ranks with a group of three others who came from the western half of the camp. 

 

“As I was saying, I will head up this small strike force personally. We will ambush the siege units of the enemy and gods be willing, after their heavy equipment is destroyed, we will retreat immediately to south, southwest and regroup with our main force.”

 

Fenryr paid little attention to the explanations, every plan, after all, was the same on the field: kill the enemy and don't die if you can help it…and maybe keep yourself from getting injured. 

 

 He gazed down the line of weary, scarred and stern faces of his comrades, looking for anyone familiar, but finding most of the selected were young, for some this was likely their first real war and the older men seemed hardened veterans, some were probably troopers when he was still just a boy..

 

“... They have some infantry as protection, but are lagging behind the main army thanks to the difficult terrain. This is why we could afford resting in the open, our scouts confirmed their main army has slowed its advances not straying far from the slower units, but there will be a ripe opportunity for attack, on the road leading through the hills…”

 

Fenryr locked his gaze at the ground instead of watching the captain. His toes trailed the leather of his worn-in boots. 

‘Another day and another step closer… To.. I don't even care. Let's just get this over with.’

 

***