Page 11 of Wolf Heir
“I’ve got them.” As a naked human, he carried the weapons at a run, jumping over fallen trees in his path, winding through the bracken while she ran beside him as a wolf. When they reached the spot where the sword was buried, he shifted into his wolf form. They dug more shallow graves to hide the Viking’s weapons so they could put them to good use later.
“Ivor, where are ye, brother?” a man called out in a hushed voice.
Coinneach and Aisling moved deeper into the woods to stay hidden.
“Ivor, nay, brother!” the man cried out, having discovered the body, his upset palpable.
“What happened to him, Holgar?” another man asked in a low, gruff voice.
“A man didna kill him,” Holgar said. “A wild beast did. See the wound on his throat?”
“Ja.Come, we must join the others. We’ll carry him back with us. The people here have been alerted. No one is in any of the crofts. We canna take any slaves with us like we planned.”
“Wait, where are Ivor’s weapons? They are no’ here. We have to bury them with him.”
The men rustled through the bracken, looking for the weapons, but couldn’t find them.
“We have to leave, or our brethren will leave without us.”
“He willna go to Valhalla,” Holgar said, sounding disappointed.
“Ja.He didn’t battle anyone for the honor. He will go to Hel.”
Which, as Coinneach had heard, was a place misty and cold for those who didn’t die in battle—not a place of punishment.
“A wild beast couldna have carried off his weapons,” Holgar said.
“We canna find them. Come, we have to go.”
“If someone has them, I will kill him,” Holgar said.
Then the men moved off. In the semi-dark, the wolves could hear, smell, and see them. The Vikings, being human, could not sense the wolves nearby.
3
Aisling and Coinneach followed the Viking raiders, staying hidden and watching where they went to ensure they left their territory. She’d finally gotten her bag of herbs that evening, but the castle gates were locked by the time she had found everything she needed that they hadn’t located on their first trip foraging for them for the morning meal. Then she heard the Vikings were headed for the crofts.
She’d only had time to remove her clothes in the forest and then shift. Before she could howl a warning, she heard another wolf howl. She hadn’t recognized who it was. Then she saw wolves racing into the forest, seeking safety. Coinneach’s mother, father, and brother were nearby, but Coinneach hadn’t been with them.
She began searching for him when she saw him facing the Viking down. Even as a wolf, Coinneach couldn’t have moved from where he was standing before the Viking shot him with his arrow. As dangerous as it was, she had sprung, not thinking of the peril to herself, only knowing that she could not let it end like this. She hadn’t hesitated to rip into the man’s throat to save Coinneach.
Now, she and Coinneach were shrouded beneath the towering canopy of the ancient forest, their presence camouflaged by the dense bracken. The echoes of distant crunching leaves betrayed the Vikings ahead, guiding their stealthy pursuit through the woodland. Each sure-footed step was a whisper against the forest floor, their breaths synchronized with the rustling wind that enveloped them, ruffling their fur like an unseen guide, as she and he followed the Vikings.
As they neared the jagged edge of the cliffs, their anticipation swelled with each glimpse of moonlight piercing through the thinning trees. The mighty ocean roared below, a symphony of waves crashing against stone echoed up to meet them.
From this vantage point, they spied upon the Viking warriors who skillfully descended the craggy face of the cliffside—a deftness honed by years spent upon their seafaring quests. It was a sight both awe-inspiring and ominous, as the figures moved with a purpose that hinted at ages-old traditions and unyielding resolve.
Reaching the precipice, she and Coinneach exchanged a silent glance, understanding passing wordlessly between them, hearts beating in tandem with excitement and trepidation. The expanse opened before them—a breathtaking panorama that revealed the foggy shoreline below.
There, nestled within a secluded inlet, lay a majestic longship—its formidable silhouette casting an elongated shadow upon the lapping waves. The ship rode silently at anchor, swaying gently with the rhythm of the sea.
With eyes fixed on this scene of raw power and potential fury, she wondered what tales those warriors might spin upon returning to distant lands, what myths would be born from their ventures across this realm where a sky-kissed sea and legendstook shape. Would they speak of victory or loss? Change the narrative to one that made them seem more braw?
Coinneach's nuzzling her face brought her back to reality, a gesture both grounding and encouraging, reminding her that they had not come merely to observe what the Vikings were doing. They needed to let the others know that the Vikings were leaving.
From the cliff above, they observed the raiders reach the pebbled shore while carrying their dead comrade, and then wasted no time reaching their longboat. A carved dragon sat at the helm, the red and white striped sails beckoning them in the wind to hurry and climb aboard the Viking ship moored in the inlet before it was too late.
Before long, the men had reached the ship and taken hold of the oars, knifing them into the foamy water, their muscles straining to push on.
