Huddled in the muddy tangle under the tree, I sense my pursuers closing fast. Holding my breath, I know they can hear my heart frantically trying to escape my chest. It's no good, they'll smell me as easily as hear me. Even my ears can hear them coming now. Crashing without stealth through the overgrown forest, the sound of their pursuit grows behind me like a wave, soft at first, then so swiftly it was passing me by, and I dare to take the tiniest breath. The roar of leaves rustling, branches snapping and the clods of earth pattering back down all stopped. It didn't fade or turn away. It stopped. The forest was deathly quiet now, each creature holding it's breath, waiting for the menace to pass.
Nothing is so terrifying as the moment one realizes that the game is up. In my mind's panicked eye I can see nostrils lifting to test the air, see the glaring eyes narrow as they tasted the scent with lolling tongues. More sniffing, then one would –
A curious yip sounded, not far from my hiding spot, but received no answer. I can hear several of them shifting about. Another few soft yips sound, and I know they have found me finally.
I thought I had run fast enough, driving two horses to the ground then going on foot, through every stream and lake I could. I thought I would have more time to complete my mission. I thought wrong. They may seem like beasts, but behind the fangs and the rage is an intelligence that isn't so easily fooled by my feeble attempts.
It's a pity really. What were the odds that all of them would be returning at the same time from the diversionary missions my employers sent the other men on to draw them away? Lady Luck turned her back on me that day, but it was worth the risk. With the fragments in hand, I could have named my price.
Too bad the Companions deal ruthlessly with thieves. Especially bad considering I have in my possession several of their precious shards of Wuuthrad. I can't see much, just enough to make out the shifting of dark forms. Any moment now. I can hear them all around my meager hiding place, fucking sniffing me out! Filthy curs! I won't die like a coward, I'll die like a man and go to Sovngarde as a Nord should.
I scramble out, expecting to be taken down immediately, to feel fangs slashing at my neck, but I am allowed to face them, I realize they give me this one thing. They can see me better than I can see them in the darkness, so I know they see when I draw my sword, a silver bane to all undead, vampires, and especially painful and toxic to werewolves. Furious growls erupt all around me, and I try not shake. It doesn't matter though, they can smell the stench of my fear.
"It is good you face us at the end. Perhaps you will die with honor, thief," rasps one of them.
"Face me as a man rather than a cur and we shall speak of honor!" Not bad for last words, but we all know them to be that -words.
A human voice spoke out of the gloom, "The Circle has decided you will be allowed combat with the one you injured earlier. You can use your weapon, but he may choose to fight you in his beast shape."
"And if I choose not fight, what then? You tear me apart and eat me?"
Can you hear an evil smile? I'm sure I heard it all around me.
"Eventually. But first, we get more sport out of it. How much longer can you run, little morsel? We'll even give you a head start. Say quarter of an hour." Grating and harsh they all barked in merriment. I can tell they almost hope I choose to run. I am done running though. I failed the mission, and now I must accept my end.
"I will fight you, and may Stendarr curse your souls to Oblivion!" More rumbling chuckles from the werewolves encircling me.
"Very good. Vilkas, you have the honor of administering the justice of the Circle. Hircine guide your claws." A towering black shadow with glowing eyes paced forward, and in the dim light I could see scars; new and shiny that matched wounds I had given the young man in a towel earlier. He had been bathing apparently when he heard and interrupted me as I was prying the fragments of Wuuthrad from the mounting plaque.
He surprised me, but I managed to get a good cut in on his upper arm before he jumped back in the other room. A moment later the lunatic had come running out naked, with a shield and a fucking chair. He almost got me, but I got in another blow to his bare torso, which dropped him and I fled out the back door and over the walls.
He now stood on the other side of the loose circle that had formed, staring balefully at me for a moment, then he trotted forward on his hind legs. Filthy. I raise my sword, battle cry on my lips, ready to die gloriously. The wolf -man, abomination stops and roars in my face, a terrible howl that rips through my gut and strips away my courage. Shamefully I feel my self drop my weapon and tears spring to my eyes. Not like this! Body and mind scream for me to turn and run but my spirit cries that I must fight.
While I hesitate, wavering in terror, the beast steps up and wraps one hand almost gently around my neck and shoulder. It's almost as if he is going to embrace me, but I know, oh I know. Petrified, I can't move. Staring into the maw of the wolf, I don't see the other fist rise up, nor do I see it fall. All I know is suddenly, I can't breathe any more. The shortness of breath I had from my headlong flight was nothing. This is far more exquisite a pain. My heart hurts so bad it feels as though it could burst, but it doesn't burst, no something squeezes it in, oh, mother -my chest can't push out to draw breath, and with each heart beat it feels as though something is slowly tearing inside me.
Afraid to look down, I finally do. My ribs are staved in around his fist, and his clawed hand is - I know although I can't see, is slowly, excruciatingly tearing my heart from my body. My vision is dimming but the pain is still so acute and growing. He smells me and grunts, "Not so easy as that." And an instant later the pain is overwhelming, if I had the breath to scream I would, but all I can manage is to flop weakly and vomit.
Everything is growing so much darker, but I can still dimly hear him sniffing. Somehow I'm on the ground but, That's my heart he's going to eat! is all I can think with withdrawing dismay. Then the final insult. My warm heart hit the dirt near my head.
"Bloody Silver Hand. Not even worth eating. At least the horses were well fed."
Greetings! In this little bit, I give you my imagining of why Vilkas hates thieves. This is set back shortly after Farkas and Vilkas take the blood, when they are younger and a bit wilder. In my head the Silver Hand have made numerous attempts to acquire all the fragments of Wuuthraad, some successful, some failing horribly. I hope you enjoy and please remember to fave/follow and review! Cheers! ~PyreIris