A/N: Hate this quest. Abso-freaking-lutely HATE IT WITH A FIREY PASSION. And, despite the description I might have given in chapter 1 or 2, I don't hate the Wild Wyrm-hunting quest. I love it. For every 15 boring slog-quests where you run around killing idiotic monster X, Y, and Z, you get an awesome quest where you get to feel like a proud-warrior-race-dude every time you complete it.

Okay. Is this worg going to freaking find the damned iron dwarf?!

I mean, come on; THIS WOLF HAS CHANGED ITS DAMN MIND SEVEN TIMES ALREADY.

I sighed loudly as I followed the Ethereal Worg around the Valley of Endless Winter. I could feel my patience, and my sanity, slipping away, slowly, as the indecisive wolf trundled around in small circles. I was about to yell "Screw it," when the thing finally perked up and charged off in one direction. I hastily called up the Aspect of the Cheetah and ran after him at a frankly irresponsible speed. The wolf ran on, even past a particularly hungry looking Jormungar that started nipping at its heels.

I shot an Explosive Shot into the thing, along with a quick pair of Steady Shots, and, when it fell over dead, continued chasing the wolf. The damned beast ran even through a herd of Stoic Mammoths (which weren't exactly stoic when I saw them, but who gives a rat's ass), and stopped a few of them in their tracks. As I ran past, Zeinth, my pet worg I'd tamed a few months previous, let out a loud howl, and the mammoths must have misinterpreted it, because while he said (yes I speak the language of my pets, shut the hell up), "Run swiftly, brother," the mammoths must have interpreted it as "Kill swiftly, brother."

Yes. The language of the worgs, grunts, yips, howls, barks, whimpers, and all that jazz, is easy to misinterpret when it comes to the words "run," and "kill."

"OH, COME ON!" I shouted as I ran particularly fast from the angry mammoths who thought we were hunting some of their own. I dropped a Frost Trap to slow them down, but I knew if one of them got a hit on me, that was it. I'd be stunned, and they'd beat me and my pet within an inch of our lives before we knew what the fuck.

Didn't give us good incentive to stop running, did it?

The mammoths eventually either lost interest, or figured we weren't worth the effort.

The worg was still running onwards, but we'd finally managed to catch up to him. He had a determined look in his eyes, and all I could think was, finally. It had started to slow down, and was looking more focused than ever, zooming in on one spot. I grabbed Arrowsong and began knocking an arrow, signaling my pet to follow the worg while I stood back. The two started rummaging in the snow, and I could feel myself tensing up for the iron-dwarf spy to jump out of the bank and try, futilely, mind you, to kill them both.

I looked down for a moment and when I looked up the Ethereal Worg and Zeinth were sitting proudly in front of me.

Holding an old mammoth femur between the two of them.

I believe I lost consciousness for a few minutes, because when I woke up I was swinging from Hodir's Spear in Dun Niffelem in a Ripped Ogre Loincloth screaming disjointedly about cake.