Wings of Ice

1

Snow crunched beneath my feet while icy wind lashed my cheeks, causing my skin to burn with cold. I bit down hard, clenching my teeth together to keep them from chattering. The large evergreens that were so densely packed on the mountain did little to protect me from the elements that threatened to freeze me to death or give me frost bite.

I should have known better to travel through the Blackfall mountains— known for its rugged, wild, environment, and dangerous predators. I knew it was a risk, and though it was such a harrowing one, it was better than waiting for the thing that had been haunting me for years.

No matter my conviction to live, I was probably going to die in the blistering cold; especially since I started to feel the eyes of a predator stalking me in the swath of darkness behind the trees. I went deadly still. The wind was still whistling past me, snow still falling into my face, making my eyes sting. I made my breathing scarce. Goosebumps raised on the back of my neck as a terrified shiver ran down my spine. My heart practically stopped.

Then a twig snapped. I ran.

Making a run for it, I knew I wasn't going to make it; whatever it was chasing me, it was fast, and it was merciless. I didn't allow myself to turn to see what ancient creature might be following me, hungry to crunch on the bones of some weaker being. My lungs were burning in effort, my legs sore, and my resolve was running out. I didn't know how much longer I would last.

A loud snarl came from behind me, one of a beast playing with its soon to be meal. I yelped in pain as I felt the bite of large teeth digging into my calf muscle. I fell into the snow. Tears brimmed my eyes at the searing pain that spread throughout my left leg like wild fire. As a last ditch effort, I reached for the dagger in my belt, feeling it's smooth metal hilt in the palm of my hand. I swiftly removed it, rolled onto my back, then pulling the knife into a position of self defense.

I was greeted by one very large mountain cat. It's fur was grey and white, probably warm as it was thick. It's teeth dripped with red, tawny eyes filled with vague indifference. I soon figured out what sort of creature it was when a leanly built man with russet cropped hair and soot black eyes approached.

Werecats.

I had almost completely forgotten about the brutal race of warrior tribes that dwelled deep within the mountains. They are an allusive and terrifyingly strong bunch of people. Not much is known about them other than the fact that they are some of the most powerful soldiers to have ever been breathed into the world; to have them on your side during war is to have victory. They are victorious soldiers at the best of times, and temperamental beasts at worst.

The real question is, how did I end up so deep within the mountains? I internally scolded myself for making such and idiotic mistake.

The man stared down at me, cold amusement conveyed through his blindingly white smile, his fangs peaking out from his lips. Futilely, I tried scooting back, my crimson blood staining the snow. The man's expression dulled slightly as his partner shifted into his human form; he was similar looking  to the man with black eyes with his golden tan skin and color hair, but his features where somehow softer, more young looking. He looked to be in his teens, 18 at the latest. He also stood naked in the snow— its temperature seemingly not bothering him.

"Well, look what we have here," the older one said, looking over my body, "How did a pretty girl like you end up so far up here?"

I would hardly call myself beautiful at the moment since food has been scarce, leaving my body thin and my face gaunt.

"Go to hell," I spat, my fear not letting itself show.

"Feisty; I like it. What's your name sweetheart?" His words were like nails scraping against my skin.

"None of your damn business. Let me be," I gripped my dagger harder.

"I don't think so. You're trespassing into our territory. You're coming with us." His eyes calculating, "So why don't you just set down that dagger, will you? I don't want to hurt you more than you already are."

I stayed put; I glared at him.

"Nero," the man's voice suddenly became authoritative, cold, "Grab her. We are going back to camp. Also, put this on."

The older man pulled a leather bag off his shoulder and tossed it to Nero. He pulled out an outfit and quickly slid into it without a word. The thin cloak he was given didn't look very warm at all but he still somehow maintained composure.

Without hesitation, the boy with my blood staining his mouth yanked up my arm with surprising strength, bringing me to my throbbing weakened legs and yanked away my weapon, tossing it to the other one. I hissed in pain upon feeling the motion in my injured limb. He pulled me along by his tight grip on my bicep, seemingly not caring about how painful it was— I was most likely going to have some nasty bruises afterward.

"Let the hell go of me," I growled.

"Be quiet," Nero's voice was soft, yet hard, "I'll leave you here to die of starvation if you don't. Is that what you want?"

I went silent, trying hard to resist the urge to lash out at him.

Limping along pathetically, I was losing blood still, but it was starting to clot. They did not care in the least about my condition at the moment, they just looked more annoyed that I was slowing them down.

After a while, I just stopped paying attention to my my surroundings— I only concentrated on walking and staying alive. It was only the sounds of men barking orders and the smell of blood and sweat and smoke that made me look up from my exhaustion induced daze.

Soon I was being half dragged into a large building, what looked to be something of a leaders home or council hall, possibly both. It was made of old smooth stone and large hard pieces of wood. I was brought down a rather dark corridor, the only thing lightning the passage was the torches that lined the hall.

The older one pushed through a large pair of thick oak doors, warm air rushing out from the fire place that was lit, and I felt the delicious warmth kiss my cheeks— I shivered.

The room was dimly lit, a fireplace ablaze in the center of the wall, where a single mahogany chair sat angled toward the fire. In the chair sat a man that I could only view the back of his head. I was aggressively pushed into the room, where I fell onto my knees as the air rushed out of my lungs. 

There was a tense silence before a voice spoke, the authority in his voice making my very bones quake, "Who have you brought me now, Belrend?"