A Proper Romance

by Sub-Zero879

So simple were those days, before the world creaked under the weight of the Kvaldir, before he was called Black-Struck or the "Father of the Half-a-Half-Giant." Then, it was just an adventuring man and his trials in Northrend. Those are the days she came to hear of. A human/vrykul short-story, told ex post facto in a series of tales.

4. The Tale of the Beryl Scale

The Tale of the Beryl Scale

---

With boots. That far north in the world, boots are the most essential protection a traveler may have. In my case, my fitted, comfortable traveler's pair had been traded out for a sturdy set. Hard leather, with thick bear-fur stitched to the inside, and these went halfway up my shins. Similarly packed gloves would rank second, for much the same reason.

The cold will kill you. Frostbite, hypothermia, that sort of fun. With the caution of Amber, we made sure to have all the right sort of equipment for a Northrend winter, and I was dressed appropriately. Double-woolen tunic under my jerkin, with sleeves to my wrists. Thick fur, with sheet-iron banding, bracers went atop those grey sleeves, with the ends actually tucked into my thin gloves. Thin, because my grip over my sword was essential, and we had an enchanter inscribe some warmth runes for Amber's and my own.

I was content with slacks under my riding pants, but Baldor had insisted that if I was caught in a blizzard, the cold would pierce right through and take from me both legs. As if he would know, the bloody frost dwarf. Still, the dwarves dressed me in an extra outer layer, something like a war skirt that went to my knees, and two thick leg warmers were kept in my pack as a "just in case."

See, I thought all this was useless because Amber and I recently took to using greater caution. We never left without the approval of thaumaturgists, who would use their magic to predict the weather over for the next week. Sunny, partially cloudy, they told me. All week. Should have known better than to trust a bloody weatherman.

I was about half a day out of town when the sky was heavy overcast, threatening and ominous. Fog was a rare thing, but it just so happened that day, gathering in the vales between peaks. What a view that land was though, at any part of it. True to its name, the mountain spires were literally coursing with lightning, bright veins flashing in electric blues and pristine whites. Ah, but such beauty is not without its dangers, as I recalled upon my entrance into what I call the Bowl of the Makers.

Hardly its true name, but recognizable across all inhabitants. In the center of the land was a massive span without peaks, only flat plains, and at its center was a mechanical bore into the earth. Cogs, screws, tubes, you name it, in titanic scale, spiraling lower and lower for almost a mile under the rock. No one knows its purpose, but we all knew its make. Titans, the Creators, the Makers.

Also unique in this place was its hodgepodge. From the spires that ringed the bowl, the azure proto-drakes nested in massive quantities, across every peak in the area. To the south-east and south, the Hyldnir had their villages hidden away. Massive jormungars also lived across the plains, as well as the rhinos that the drakes fed on.

As the feasting grounds of the proto-drakes, finding a beryl scale would be easy enough. The violence of their hunting and resistance of their prey would be sure to knock a few off, so all I had to do was keep out of the way and pick them up.

Satisfied that I'd made it to the bowl, my first task became finding a decent place of rest. This was intended as a two-day excursion, and night was already approaching, noticed by how the dark sky was only growing darker. There is a long list of traits for an appropriate Storm Peaks campsite, but I have no desire to share it now or bother remember the ones I've forgotten since.

So I'm going to skip forward to the next day, when I'm laying in the heart of a frantic blizzard, bleeding out of several horrible wounds, without any boots on. It should be quite obvious how poor my luck can be at times, as Fate showed her hand that weird day. The events leading to that state can be summarized as thus:

I woke up to the beginning throes of the fiercest blizzard I'd ever seen. Knowing that the fallen scales could be covered at any moment, I bolted up, skipping any breakfast or morning piss, and rushed the few miles headlong into the wide vale. I kept to the southern peaks, avoiding the jormungars, and I even found my scales in short order. Indeed I did, as they were fresh from a thrashing kill. So with heavy clouds of white mist and swirling white flakes clouding my vision beyond more than a few dozen feet, I missed the attention of the owner of these scales. It caught me by the shoulder with its maw, then threw me aside. I got my sword out, scored a few swipes against the proto-drake, but then it got my leg. Like a pup with a chew toy, it thrashed me around, sending my boots and sword off, then released me against the icy stone wall of the cliff.

Fortunately, it did already have itself a meal, so once the proud beast happily defended his territory and thought me dead, it flew off to recollect its carcass. I wasn't dead though, not quite yet, but to be honest I didn't have much hope for a different outcome in near future.

So there I was, laid out and approaching death. I say it quickly because it happened quickly, but then I was alone again, left to the merciless cold and my own scattered thoughts.

So no boots and no weapon, but I thank Lady Urd for at least keeping my packs with me, strapped to my back and hips. Little hope or not, I refused to croak over something so stupid, and I struggled with my one good arm to work off my pack and get inside. The blow against the cliff was the worst of my injuries, I'd say. It dazed me, made me sluggish. My leg and shoulder were lamed, but I could still crawl, and my fingers worked on both hands.

My priority was immediately the cold. Not only was I out of my boots, but I had wounds open to the chill. Boots remain number one. See, without boots, if my feet are warm, the heat melts the snow into my socks, fatally wetting them, and I lose my feet. However, without boots, if my feet are cold enough to not melt snow, my feet are already lost.

I did give a halfhearted look around to see if I could find either of them, but it was impossible in the limitation of the storm – which seemed to be getting even worse, howling wind and relentless thunder increasing in savagery. Seeing nothing, I searched my pack for replacements. Those flimsy gloves might have kept my fingers from falling off, but that rune had its limits and they were far from toasty. My hands were going numb, even as I looked.

Most immediately, I found those leg warmers Baldor forced onto me. I promised myself that if I lived through this, I'd kiss his frozen, frosty cheek when I next saw him. Thick, heavy fur tubes, the both of them. I tucked my feet into them, wrapping them over my socks, then hunted for a way to tie them closed. I found my bandages, one thin roll, and recalled that Amber carried the usual stock as our resident surgeon.

For a fleeting moment, I debated cursing the heavens and the gods and Fate for their sense of humor, but I remembered deliriousness was a trait of hypothermia and decided I needed all the sanity I could muster. The cold still felt cold, and that was important to me. So I forsook handling my wounds and tore the bandage into strips, swiftly tying the leg warmers shut into make-shift and awkward boots.

I would live for another few minutes, at least, but I was at a loss as to how to protect myself. Trying to throw my blankets over me and hope my weakened body could weather this storm might have worked, but of course, in my haste, I'd left them at the camp I made earlier. I did the math of how far that camp was, but I noticed how already my blood was freezing over on the outside, like the most painful scab you can imagine.

I was in a bad state. That much I knew. My pack had nothing else of use, other than the cover it could offer from sticking my arms into it, but it felt ridiculous that I might die to the storm while still possessing my wits and a good amount of energy. Snow shelter was out of the question, camp was out of the question. What could I do?

Checking my leg again, I saw that the heavy skirt the dwarves forced over me had been savaged but kept the wound from going deeper than flesh. A broken or fractured bone would have been a real end to me. I couldn't walk with it, but without anything else, I began to crawl. I got my cloak over my shoulder as best I could, I made sure my head gear was firm over my ears and nose, and I moved towards the icy cliff again, to shield me from the omni-directional winds, then crept along it, in the way I hoped my camp was.

To be honest, I lost strength in my dogged pursuit of any sort of shelter. I don't remember much of what precisely happened then, or how far I got, but I remember experiencing tunnel-vision: a dark, solid rim around my sight, and the color without the pale tinge of the storm or obscuring waves of snow. I thought it was my end, but I persisted forward.

Then I remember a body. A woman's. Probably dead to the cold, I assumed, by its state pressed against the icy wall. It was a long, hard trip to get from her feet to her back. I remember splashes of blood, of tears across her back and a mostly ruined cloak. Too weak to continue, I grabbed her cloak and forced myself over her body, pulling that cloak with me.

With nothing else, I managed to wedge myself in the nook between the corpse and the wall, with the cloak as a buffer against the chill of the latter. It was a pleasantly thick cloak, so with the final moments of consciousness, laying deathly still with the sound of the storm very far away, I hoped just a bit that it would be cover enough that I would wake again.

Then the blackness consumed me, and I was left in Fate's hands. Lady Urth may be a spiteful witch, but there are no other hands I'd rather be left in...

Allow me a moment to collect my thoughts here, while the Fellion of then was out cold. What comes next is among my favorite memories, so even if I cannot recite them well, I will at least do so in their entirety. A difficult task in itself. I reached a critical condition then, frightfully close to death, and many of my following moments of semi-consciousness like to escape my mind in a dreamlike quality.

Understand, my thoughts then were never fully lucid. So when I realized early on that I wasn't alone, I thought Fate herself had come to save me. I remember also thinking that Fate was a shitty helper, as I remained cold and hurt and weak and hungry. Then I realized Fate was injured and dying too, but I was too weak to laugh and too cold to grudge her. I only shoved my freezing body closer to her and offered whatever help my presence could.

Because Fate is more important than me, and because it was a woman.

Then I remember movement, and it was dark, and the cold felt even sharper. Despite everything between Fate and I, it appeared we were both doomed. But she was more stubborn than I, and when Fate kept nudging into my side, I tried snapping at her with no real effect. I don't know how long she insisted, but I eventually concluded that I would never be able to find the peace of rest in death with this incessant nag, and I forced my leaden and frozen body to seize the offender.

It was a pack. Not my own. I won't lie; at that point, my mind was in a wakeful dream and delirious, so this was clearly the mouth of the Bear God, and my hands slid inside it like feelers, touching all sorts of velvety bear tongue and stomach. I took a liking to the tongue, and I pulled at it, trying to take it out of the mouth. It snagged, of course, because it was a tongue, but I fought and fought with my shoulder aching and my leg was describing the color of my mother's hair, and then I finally managed to weasel the tongue out.

Then the tongue was food, which I needed to smear over my body to eat. And once I did, I was floating in a meat cloud, amazed, so I also spread the food over Fate, and she thanked me.

Mind you, outside of these hallucinations, it was the heart of night and the pitch darkness of night. All visuals were formed within my own failing mind. And the temperature was still dropping.

Thankfully, Fate had a better constitution than I, and she recognized the threat. My mind recalls none of this, but there was movement between us. Stiff, freezing, aching movement, with heavy aggravation of our wounds. But my wits were not about me until light crept like death unto us once more.

I remember warmth then. Not in the light, which betrayed the raging storm, but just over my body. The sane part of me told me I reached hypothermia, but I was too weak to panic. The delirious part of me told me my limbs were wedged inside the guts of the Bear God, and that was the source of the warmth.

It was some time of admiring the morbid scene of my submerged limbs before I realized my eyes were closed, but when I cracked the lids, I had to blink away the contrasting images of bear guts and sleeping woman. I preferred the latter and focused on it, and I recalled and recognized the presence of Fate. A part of me told me that wasn't quite right, but there was so much disconnection in my mind I couldn't make sense of an alternative.

I stared for what felt like days, because Fate was pretty. Haggard, but lovely, and I thought I put up a good fight against the hungering blackness in my mind. In truth, it was about three seconds after waking before my head lulled forward, and my check fell against the warm skin of her chest.

Then movement woke me once more, and I realized things were much brighter than they had been a second ago. It had to be only a second since my cheek touched that warmth, yet Fate was gone, and I was staring at an icy cavern wall with the dull drone of a violent storm. And there was a topless Fate who forced me over, clutching red meat in a tight fist. No words passed, but she took a large bite of the meat, and when her powerful, supernatural – this is Fate, after all – eyes came unto me, I knew to follow suit and take a bite.

The food was tough, and though I gnawed, I couldn't separate a piece for myself. I kept chewing at it, falling into a mindless repetition, to no avail. I woke up again with a palm sliding my head back, and I noticed the food pulled out of my mouth. Food. I needed to eat food, but I was too weak to chew, I realized. My body was shivering, and I couldn't even notice the confines of my armor against my skin any longer.

But my attention came unto Fate again, and I saw her rip off the piece I failed against and chew it before me. There were no thoughts as I watched. No thoughts as she leaned over, and no thoughts when lips came against mine. And there were no thoughts when pre-chewed food was forced past my chattering teeth, and no thoughts when I swallowed that food. But that pattern repeated again and again, until blackness took me once more.

I awoke with a start soon after. I still had the taste of the jerky in my mouth, so it must have been quite soon. There was a frantic clarity to me, though Fate was pressed close and unconscious once more. I had no control of my thoughts then, but they did tell me things I wished to know. I was in a cave, under a blanket. The storm raged hard only a few feet from us, at a medium sized mouth, and my frantic thoughts touched upon time, and sunset, and time again.

Without control, I threw myself away from the blanket, rolling onto white snow completely naked. I scrambled to the cave mouth and dug my hands into the nearby powder that was building. Flakes came upon my once again freezing body, and blood began to drip from reopened wounds, but my hands were wild as they dug into the powder and shoved it to the sides of the cave mouth. In moments, I had a snow wall building. It was maybe only half finished when the same urgency that threw me into the task sent me scurrying back towards the blanket, slapping at the white flakes over me, and then I buried myself inside it once more.

I remember looking towards Fate with trepidation, but at the first contact against my now icy skin, her sleeping lips twitched towards a frown, and a surprisingly strong hand grabbed my freezing body and wedged it close to the furnace-warmth of her skin. I smiled then, again not under my control, but I noticed that I was garnering control of myself once more, just as the blackness returned for my mind. I blacked out.

I awoke to another round of complete blackness, but also noticed movement. Skin slid against skin in the darkness, and I did not know which part of Fate I was touching. Yet nature called to me, and I reluctantly drew back from her warmth to decide how to relieve myself. I was in no condition to go scrambling about the dark, so once my seeking hand found the crunchy snow outside the blanket, I slid my tired body that way. I was naked, so it was only a matter of lifting the blanket away from me and letting go.

The reminder that piss is warm and survival is dirty touched along my thoughts, but as much as I wanted to stick my freezing hand in the warm stream, I knew it would be temporary relief and that wetness took to the cold faster than dry skin did. I did my business and curled away, back towards the warm body that shared my fate.

I stopped when I reached the snow again, realizing that the bed was empty, but I marveled in the warmth her body had left behind. I don't know if I blacked out or not, but a hand came upon my belly, bringing my attention back to the present. It felt my sides, the length of my legs, then the position of my arms. Then Fate was back under the blanket, taking my old spot.

Fate had a presence appropriate to her supernatural nature, I realized then. She embraced me in her warmth, never the other way around, as though I were but a child beside her. As my feet touched her legs and my arms sought her, however, I felt her guide my blind attention to an object. As I was slowly growing accustomed to in that perfect darkness, my hands felt its shape and identified it as a skin – like a wine skin. And in that moment, I realized I was absolutely parched. I didn't even know how I could have managed to urinate at all, for how dehydrated I was.

I took to the drink and may have taken more than I was meant to. It was an exotic thing, not quite juice and not quite alcoholic. Smiling in the dark, I attributed it to Fate, and did my best to slide flush against her body when I was finished. In my somewhat clearer mind, I knew the dichotomy in my regard for this other survivor. The intelligent part knew that an embodied "Fate" was a ridiculous notion, but I knew not another name for her, and more quirks kept her apart from humans than among them.

Her identity became the least of my concerns that night, as the nightly chill built once more. The storm raged as violently as ever outside the cave, but even its sound was further muted by my snow wall. It was just two bodies in the cold and dark, sharing what warmth they could still manage. My shouldered ached and my thigh throbbed, and I recalled that Fate's body was more injured than I. Nothing specific about her hurts, but I remembered she had them, and I knew that between the two of us, we had become fairly caked in dried blood.

How we looked was irrelevant in the blind black, however. Instead, I remembered her nudity by touch. Her skin was heavy gooseflesh, and her nipple like a rock against the upper reaches of my back. Despite seeming like the warmer between us, she shivered into our hold, and I wondered at how much blood she had lost. I couldn't do much about that – couldn't do much at all, really, which was frustrating in itself. Yet I remember adjusting against her, positioning lower, with my head in the nook between her chin and neck, and I took her hand in mine, pulling her arm against my chest and lacing the fingers of my left hand through hers.

...I should have noticed it then, but I wasn't in the right state of mind. Anyways, I meant for the gesture to be supportive, as a sort of "we're in this together" vibe for her. I don't know if she managed to read into it, but very quickly I noticed the crush of her breast into my right shoulder – the wounded one – and I unconsciously shifted to free it from the trap of our bodies. It is less obvious in the dark that she is generous in that department, but quite obvious when her breast slides free and falls against your neck and cheek like a pillow.

To be honest, I was too tired and too weak to have any guilty thoughts over it, and she was warm. That arm I had trapped against me acknowledged me with a weak squeeze, pressing me closer against her chest. We endured the night.

I drifted in and out of sleep from then. At least, I would call that sleep. It is difficult to differentiate sleep and unconsciousness from then, but it felt more voluntary that night, and I assumed the worst of my trials were ending. In the few times I woke, I took responsibility for the two of us, feeling after my pack and finding food and drink. The first light of dawn was showing during my second intermission, but I still went to sleep right after, unconcerned.

Eventually, I woke up once more, weak and exhausted, but I noticed in the light filtering in that the storm had quieted. I did not care to get up and check its exact state, but the wind was a moderate sound now, and it passed without any violence. I doubt it was the bright and sunny, partially cloudy day the thaumaturgists promised me, but it seemed the blizzard was dying out finally.

My attention turned to my companion Fate, who in our current position had her back to me. She had a broad back, much wider than my own, peaking out from the blanket to just below her shoulders. I studied the musculature of it, the details that interrupted its otherwise flat expanse of bronze skin. She had scars, notches of white and pink torn into her, and also thick scabs from her latest incursion.

It was then I finally realized Fate was a vrykul, which explained most of her peculiarities. A year earlier, the realization might have worried me, but I was twenty now, and experience in the deep south had tempered me to the half-giant peoples. Already, I felt familiar with this one regardless of race. I remembered holding her arm against my chest early into the last night. I only stared, still weak and sore, still warmly embraced and alive, and mused to myself, So Fate is a vrykul.

The name stuck, though the entity was dispelled. I remained distracted, but I peeled my arm from the warmth of her side and raised it to that exposed sliver of back. My fingers touched her skin, finding it burning now. I swallowed as I noticed finally her feverish warmth, recognizing there was nothing I could do about that, but I felt a small relief that she had stopped shivering. Something itched in my mind, some very distant memory, which I picked at idly while my fingers began to trace along the visible scars of her back.

My touch must have wakened her. As I drew the silver runes along her skin, I could feel the vibrations as she muttered, "Hætta."

I stopped, guessing at the command, and apologized. I doubted it was an issue of taking liberties with her body, and I returned to my hold with her. I got the blanket back over her shoulders, having to inch myself higher to keep our heads level, and that involved untangling my legs from between her thighs. My feet missed her warmth immediately, but my mind became distracted by her hair. It was a sodden crimson, nearing the brown hues, also long and lank, easily as wan as we two were.

Yet it captivated my whimsical attention, without her scars as distraction. Dark strands separated from the mass in little lines over her neck, across her cheek, over her ear. A few lay near my face. Just an empty stare, until I began to fall asleep again.

It was still light out when I woke. Brighter even. I discovered we had moved since before, that she lay on her back now, and I used her right bicep as a pillow. I was parched and famished once more, enough to motivate me through my weary state. I rolled over to reach my pack, but I had hardly lifted myself away before her outstretched arm opposed my absence, drawing me back in until I was hugged into a sleeping Fate's chest once more.

I know it was unintentional, but the action dragged my wounded thigh directly over the coarse fur blanket we used the whole way. I had to constrain myself from yelling, and once the flaring pain began to die, I struggled to wake Fate, urging her, "Food. We need to eat."

The strong grip over me loosened, and I eased myself back flat. I lifted the blanket to assess the damage, but all I saw was an ugly dark mass on my leg. I assumed it to be reopened anyways, then lowered the blanket once my attention began to drag towards the exposed skin of her stomach beside my legs.

Gingerly, I went back to my pack, did a quick inventory of my rations and was glad to see a decent load remained. Amber may have held the bandages, the leather and cloth, and the general supplies, but I carried the tools and the food, always in generous amounts for the latter. I took one pack of rations for me, two for her, and then my big hard-leather bottle of water. I noticed also a tin of rum I hadn't taken a likening to and considered using it towards my wounds.

Silly as it sounds, it was painfully difficult to remain separated from Fate for long. I think everyone knows what it is like to get up bare on a cold morning, shivering and feeling awful. Doing so with open wounds – shivering with an open wound, more precisely – is a new sort of agony, and exposing yourself to that kind of weather with such a dreadfully weak body is its own thing as well.

Fate and I really had no choice but to wedge close until we were stronger. Well, I had no choice, at least. I know a bit more about vrykul physiology regarding the cold now, but it would be a miserable recovery for her had she been alone. And, well, if I hadn't found her as I did, we both would have perished to the storm.

As it went, I nestled deep into her side once more with the food, and we ate in silence. My eyes were to the mouth of the cave, where the storm had further closed the wall I built, but my attention was inward, considering my wounds. I had a basic hunting knife in my pack, and at this point, the least loss would be to cut strips from one of the massive vrykul blankets. There were two, the one we lay on and the one above us.

That led me to recall where they came from, and I could only snort at the memories of my hallucinations. When you start rubbing a tongue on your skin to eat it, you know you've gone nuts. I am eternally grateful said tongue happened to be a massive blanket, and that she had arranged it properly after. Or at least I believe she did, as I have no recollection of the end.

I remained distracted to meal's finish and after we swapped the bottle back and forth. Fate sought a return to a comfortable position with me, but I was resolved to not return to sleep again until my wounds were properly dressed. I thought of my clothes, which I had a vague sense should be on her side of the bed. I might manage strips from the ruined war skirt, or at the least we could use our cloaks or clothes for further insulation from the cold come night. I was reminded of my enchanted gloves, which Fate must have removed thinking they were only thin, flimsy cloth.

Fate was out asleep again by then, with me only flush against her side and hip. I also noticed the beginning eruption of gooseflesh along her skin, and I knew I should be swift. I went to my pack again, found my knife and the rum, then measured out the strips I would need for two good bandages. It was not as quick as I hoped, as I then needed to scrape down the thick fur of the blanket to get to usable leather. I had to work under the blanket, awkward as it was, and I knew I couldn't hope to properly clean either of my wounds. I also noticed how grossly bloody my body was then, with dried smears everywhere, and I gave a concerned look to Fate. Her head was turned away, but I saw her shivering again.

With a silent curse, I just splashed myself with the rum, which smarted something fierce at the leg and I felt nothing with at the shoulder. Then I drenched the bandages, did my leg, then did my shoulder, and I left the supplies in the snow before inching back to Fate. My shoulder was only briefly exposed to the air, but already I could feel the bandage stiffening and aching more than it should. I can't guess what the temperature was in the cave, but I knew I needed to rely on the feverish warmth of Fate if I didn't want my bandages to freeze to my skin and likely afflict me with something worse than I already had.

My own body was a matching suit of gooseflesh and wild trembling when I reached her, and at my insistence, the giantess seized me and held me tight. We endured once more.

I woke up to the dropping temperature of sunset. The cave was darker, but muted light could still be seen outside the small opening. Fate must have sensed the change as well, as I had hardly turned my head when I noticed hers begin to lift. Perhaps we were in synch in a way, like how I hear heartbeats do between sleeping couples. I wished to ready us for the new night, and I began to propose some of what I wanted, only to immediately stop short. Oh, we were perfectly synchronized alright.

Our eyes had met, firmly and intimately. And I realized in that moment that despite our time together, I had yet to really behold her face. Oh, I saw it, but I was either too incoherent or too busy to actually look at Fate's true face, and this only occurred to me right then, when my eyes met hers and hers pierced right through mine.

When the words died on my tongue, it seemed to snap into place for her too, because those eyes went from a watchful blue, colored like a robin's egg, to a silver stare sharper than my belated sword could ever dream of.

I let out a breath, or I should say my breath was taken from me. Yet there was no burst of excitement to support my revelation, and I shook my head as though I still had a bolt loose in my head. Hallucination, it must be. And we did not have much time to wait. I forced out, "Food, dinner. Then cloaks and clothes, for cold."

Fate nodded her mahogany cowled head once in affirmation, but her large vrykul hand patted my chest as she returned, "Start. For me, nature."

We were eloquent speakers, the both of us. I think it was a combination of our physical states, and the effort, with a presumed language barrier. She could speak full Common, I was sure, but for an underused second language, it was just easier to simplify it as we did.

At our mutual agreement, I watched the fortification of will show over her face, and then "Fate" lifted herself from the bed to prowl towards the deeper recesses of the cave. I was given what might have been a stellar view of her backside, if not for the obvious savaging her body had recently gone through and a coat of bloody grime matching my own. As it went, in the bleakness from recent events, my glance was little more than an inspection of her condition, and then I was after the piles of our clothes.

I seized what I could, brushing off snow until my fingers were numb, and then put my gloves back on. Again, they were nothing toasty, and a far cry from "Fate's" skin, but they did their job. Then I found drinks in her bag, and food anew in my own. Double rations for me, five for her. A heavy blow to my stock, but we could use it.

I noticed movement and saw her return. Well, I also saw the body I had been so intimately confined with from the front now. I'll admit, it was easier to forget the wounds from this end, and blood could not mar what I saw then, not when she wore it like badges of honor. Yet our nudity was only a method of survival, not any pleasantry, and no further thoughts or even attractions passed through my head. If there was to be a spark to a flame here, it would be in our confinement and commitment to the other, not any peek at our disheveled bodies.

I wish I could have followed suit in an equal show of not caring. I was tired of pissing off the side of the bed and burying it under other snow, but my leg confined me. Instead, I welcomed her return with her own cloak, adding another layer to our bundle before we returned under the blanket. I noticed as we did the tenderness in how she lowered herself, all balance and bracing, and wondered if that was a result of her injuries or a method of a vrykul.

When the quantity of food was revealed, I caught a smile on her chilled lips, and she told me through the clip of a heavy vrykul accent, "Much love." I shivered, itched once more by memory, while she added, "And smart."

We ate and drank as the light outside continued to dim, until our bellies were full and our hearts glad. And the teeth of the cold came for us once more, sending us into another rigid embrace, but the layers around us left us less desperate than before, and we faced each other in the total darkness, with my human head to hers, with her breasts against my naval and my legs entwining only so far as her thighs. I pulled the blanket over our heads, as it changed our visibility none.

In that black confine, I think for the first time I could actually say I was comfortable. I would also say that for the first time our hold didn't feel as though wholly meant to push back death. And I recalled Fate's eyes, the features of her face, the sound of her voice, the cast of her smile and the peculiarity of her walk. It was impossible, yet I murmured under that penumbra veil,

"It's you..."

She made a sound between her teeth, like a scoff, and chided, "Why do you speak? Yes, I am me. Regardless of if I am who you think I am, I am me."

Despite the rebuke, I found myself smiling, feeling crazier and more certain than ever. "Well, if you had told me your name back in Howling Fjord, I would ask more directly."

Indeed it was so; Fate was none other than my huntress! Nearly a thousand miles displaced now, across empires and a new gulf of time, we had found each other once more. It was only appropriate. I had saved her life before, she had saved mine, and now we had saved each other.

The thought had me laughing into the ensuing silence. It should be called a fit of mad giggling, but in my condition it was just a shake of my shoulders. But the silence was a powerful thing, enough to have me wonder at it, and I thought I was succumbing to sleep once more. I was, actually, in that timeless bubble of warmth and black, but in the final moments, with sleep biting at the very edges of my mind, I heard her whisper in distant shock,

"Fellion..."

To be honest, I didn't even recognize the word, and I ignored it to give into oblivion.

It was a fitful night from there, plagued by restlessness and wild dreams the whole way. I saw the white stag and pirates, treasures and vrykuls, with a cast of Amber and Captain Daret and Ingrid, and at the center of it all, visible but distant, present but apart from it all, was the red haired huntress I had met twice before.

She appeared different in my dream, which is important for why our realization was so slow in coming, much as I'm sure I appear vastly different now than she recalled. The huntress in my dreams had short hair of vibrant color, and skin of glowing bronze. Her face was a perfect image of beauty, each feature tailored specially to that task, and I recalled more of her strong confidence and steadiness than mere features. The woman trapped within this cave with me was pallid and wan, bowed by recent events though not broken. As for me, I had a few days' scruff to shatter my former image, probably with a frostburned nose and cheeks, and I couldn't guess how my hair might be different. Perhaps she knew me by my clothes then, and even that was gone.

When I woke the next morning, unsettled by my dreams and the contrast in image and memory, I convinced myself her saying my name was a part of my dream, and that I must be going crazy in our confinement. Not every vrykul I'm directly involved with must be her, I told myself.

We still had the blanket over our head when I awakened. Wanting to see her face once more, I slowly peeled it back, regretting it the instant the sharp cold returned for my head, but I needed to know. It revealed her head to me, also having dragged a few strands of hair loose from her, and I stared. The injuries did their work on her complexion, and even asleep her eyes had sunken rings around them. Yet the longer I looked, the more the image in my mind began to conform to look like this woman, until I no longer had anything to compare against.

I was frustrated as the memory within the dream slipped away from me, still unresolved on the issue. However, the return of the cold wakened her, and I saw soft blue eyes open. There was a pause, then the eyes slid up and stared directly into my own. As it seemed to go, in that very instant the memory returned like living flesh within my mind, and all my certainty returned with it. Either this was a second sister or the huntress herself. Give her hair a wash and real sunlight, and it would be the same red shock as before.

Her eyes went right through my haggard display, another telling sign of her I'd forgotten by then, and there was a moment of mutual recognition. In her eyes, I could see it, the same wondering I'm sure my own reflected. As before, I wondered if we'd even have the luxury of bringing it up.

With my palm against her shoulder, I told her, "Your skin is burning up. You have a fever."

And her hand touched my chest, and she said, "Yours is as death, cold and sickly."

It was her words that finally unraveled the old memory itching at the outer rims of my conscious. Almost a year ago, in the hunt for the white stag. I touched her shoulder then, similar to now, and I had felt such heat from her then. Was that heat natural to a vrykul? Was this feverish warmth a sign of health, for a race native to the Northrend climate?

I shared my speculations with her, in not so many words. She made another sound between her teeth, adding after, "No heat. If I had known, I would not have saved you in hope to share warmth."

I heard the joke in it, enough to elicit a little grin from me. Our gap in temperature was a candle to the sun when compared to the ice and air. There was silence between us again, and my thoughts returned to the huntress, until I finally was forced to ask, "You are she, from the white stag and Sleeper's Fiat?"

The silver attention her eyes gave me was a powerful thing, but I waited patiently, for time was all that we had now. As I did, I imagined tribal markings in blue paint, which would be upon her cheek but was presently missing. There would be thick and round vrykul clasps upon her shoulders, for her cloak, and cuirass of dark browns. I tried to remember the wear- that is, the dress of the unconscious women I had crawled over when I entered this cave, but back then I lacked perception, and my mind still proved fatigued.

My attention sharpened back on her when she sighed, softening her expression, and her warm fingers came to my cheek, first then tips, then a knuckle dragging over the stubble. She told me, "Everywhere I go, you seem to follow. Do you hunt me?"

It was impossible, yet she confirmed it. Fate was the huntress of my past. This woman, whom by the tiniest sliver of chance I found in this cave, whom took care of me as I did of her, was the same who almost stole my prize in Grizzly Hills, then later seized my thunder at the bottom of Howling Fjord. And a breath was blown against an ember, and the tinder smoked black.

I gave a small shake of my head, where all I could say was, "This cannot be coincidence."

"Three times, you saved my life," she continued, still with her fingers upon my face. "The hands of Urd are behind this."

It is a convenient thing, that Common is a descendent language of Vrykul – which, as it went, is a descendent of Titan, but that is not for now. I heard the word as Wyrd, and I gave a genuine consideration to Fate as a being – outside of my earlier delusion – as well as active gods who shape mortal life. These tales I say began with weird days, I recognized their weirdness even before this moment. I thought of the bears in the road and my flight to Amber, and the storm that should not have been.

In reply, I groused, "This Wyrd could have left out the part where I get mauled by a proto-drake." Yet more seriously, I added, "You have saved my own life twice... But we aren't through yet."

She understood and asked, "Food?"

"Enough for days, but little to drink. You?" It is a silly notion, but despite being literally surrounded by frozen water, fluid is a real concern out there.

Her lips set in a remarkable way, not quite a pout but something pensive and displeased. She said, "Little food. Little more drink." I spoke before of women that wear well, that have an irreversible natural beauty, and you can be damned certain I had her in mind as I said it.

...Alright, technically I didn't. I thought of Amber, who, while not the prettiest dame at a court ball, becomes a jewel of the roads, where other women wash out like goblin-dyed robes. But vrykuls, well vrykuls and dwarves really, cheat on this topic in their insurmountable hardiness and resistances. So though it may said that it was expected, I still noticed a shining beauty to this woman so close to death.

Have I fallen offtrack of the story? Not quite. See, the reason I remember these specific expressions and moments despite the years that passed since then, and speak of them with perhaps frivolous detail, is because of how it struck me so then. As I said of the night, her and I were no longer so desperate, and though we (or just me) were still a far cry from leaving the cave on our own strength, my thoughts were becoming normalized once more.

Which is to say, I was growing closer to the young fool who spoke without thinking. This is especially obvious as I continued staring at her lips and blurted, "You have a pretty mouth."

Is blurt the right word? I said it suddenly and without real consideration, but it came out factual and honest, like how I might say I was glad for the blankets. Well, I said it and then realized I did, but my cheeks were too cold to flush.

Her lips did an interesting little show of consideration at the utterance. However, I caught the fleeting edge of her smile right before she settled, "You are an idiot, Fellion. That makes you perfect for my systir." Likely the easiest Vrykul word there is, and more often than not she didn't bother adding the extra emphasis to make it Common.

I thought of Ingrid then, the blond sister I had shared a drink and a flirt with. The memory seemed more distant than it was, but it gave me a bit of a smile. "How is Ingrid? Is she up north with you?"

Blue steel eyes became metallic silver again. "She is home, with the Winterskorn." And then her large finger was pressed against my lips, as if to hold them shut, and she drawled, "You speak too much. Rest."

I was chastised enough to blush finally, and it served a reminder of the difference between the sisters. I knew I wouldn't be impressing her with any silver tongue, and I also knew I had lost focus of our plight. My back felt cold; I had drawn back a little to better look at her. "Right," I acknowledged, fighting back a shiver.

A subtle change came to my mind then, regarding her once more as Fate and not the huntress of my past. My head lowered, and my body pressed close, thoughtless to her breasts flattening against my chest. Again, my arm was around her waist, holding her hip, while my mind spun back to Ingrid, wondering.

To be honest, I did not know how I might feel if I saw her again. I was too amazed by meeting this huntress once more, in such an unlikely place, and I had spent some days with our nude bodies tightly embraced. There was an unspoken and unacknowledged bond between this huntress and I, a certain intimacy that had built, that if I were to look to Ingrid after, something would be lacking compared to her sister.

Mind, these were not reflections of romance or even attraction. Just familiarity and companionship; the notion of a human/vrykul relationship was outside my mental premise. If anything, Amber had been increasingly on my mind before this mishap. She may have been older, but I was growing up with her, and we made pleasant company, and we had formed a strong bond together over the road and our many shared trials. I assumed it to be a natural thing for us, as if love were a thing to fulfill expectations.

Which is why I call this a proper romance, not like those in a fairytale.

After my reflections on Ingrid, my thoughts touched upon Amber and her wounded state. I wondered if she was growing concerned at my delayed return, and how long it might take Baldor to come after me. He'd make an effort, but he was no tracker. There was little hope in relying on him. It was only Fate and I.

We spent the time in silence, waiting for the weak morning sun to burn away the edge from the cold. I remember listening to her heartbeat, actually hearing it for the first time. I'm sure she noticed the peculiarity of my ear against her chest, but the sound was enthralling. I'm sure you can guess how powerful a vrykul's heart must be, to supply a body so massive. I like to imagine I can feel her pulse through her skin from it, as minute vibrations that came with each clear, steady pump of her lifeblood.

The sun did its work, and we both knew it was as warm as the day would get. Neither of us moved despite it. It is a strange thing how, as my health improved, it become more difficult to ensure my continued recovery. Even at the day's best, the cold bit too hard against my naked skin. I was comfortable in Fate's embrace, attuned to her luxurious warmth, and breaking from that was a physical trial.

Why she was so content to remain in place as well was beyond my guessing. Perhaps there is maternal instinct in holding one sized like their children, especially one already under her care. Perhaps it was selfishness that matched my own, unwilling to relinquish the comfort of our position. Maybe even it was her thoughts that held her. She is quiet, this huntress, but her thoughts are only that much more powerful behind those fantastic eyes, full of subtle activity.

As for me, I thought of our embrace and the direction of my life. Particularly, the expensive but empty quarters Amber and I had rented in our splurge, and the many times I lay awake contemplating the absence of a partner beside me. Typically, Amber had been a speculative devotee to the hypothetical position, which is a fancy way of saying I imagined her beside me, but now I had spent days inseparable with such a woman. I can't call it a pleasant revelation of my earlier daydreams, not when her and I are riddled with holes, smeared with blood, and days unwashed – but once I looked past those details, it was just... nice to have someone there.

I didn't feel any urgency to get away from the huntress, and I want to again emphasize the nonsexual nature of our company. This wasn't excuse to feel up a naked woman. As I recovered and left my desperate state, I certainly began to notice it more – and there were moments that my body had natural responses that neither of us made an issue of – but I dare to say it was a purely companionable presence.

I believe this to be a product of her as company. Years later, I am sure that had it been Ingrid I was confined with, vrykul or not, we would have eventually gone at each other like snow hares at the break of spring. She is not one to remain so chaste and pragmatic.

Eventually, we reluctantly relinquished our warm hold to find our packs for breakfast. We practically ate under the blankets – anything to escape the cold air. This resulted in what was often a full view of her body, except her legs which I could only catch as far as her thighs, and the rest would continue with their great length into the farthest depths of our furry home.

The dimmed light beneath the blanket did its job in removing the otherwise unpleasant details of our current states. That left the rest, which tested the conviction of my earlier comments. Before, when describing her in the Maw, there was a line I wished to say but couldn't find a place for. It was: There is poetry to describe a woman composed of so perfect of parts, but not by threat of death will you take those words from my tongue.

This is even more apparent without the obscuring of her clothes and armor, no matter how snug that armor fitted to her frame. I wasn't so completely ignorant of a woman's form, but I noticed features I took an eternal liking to under that blanket, despite the most of my attention being focused forward, to returning to Frosthold and recovering my strength with food and rest. For example, the wideness of her hips should be a crime. Her core, which appeared strong and thick, was dwarfed by those hips, and when reclined on her side, it led to an exaggerated cinch at her waist that stole my attention again and again.

Which should say much, considering all else that was visible. Her breasts were becoming a semi-familiar sight, but they were nowhere near a casual regard, no matter how often I had been pillowed by them. I didn't know by comparison what a well-shaped breast was, but I knew hers were no disappointment to my expectations, and persistently cold-hardened nipples were as fine an introduction as a man can get. Survival or not, the forbidden pleasure of my view was not lost to me, and I will not lie on how my attention dragged downward, to that which separated her as a woman. The shadows of the blanket and a dark mass of hair obscured the specifics, but so appropriate was the naturalness of her pubic hair to her strong frame that I believe my tastes have been skewed since. I had assumed all women appeared so, but when later I encountered the variations of styling and shaving – and I am looking at the vanity of the Fae here – I found it artificial and lacking to a natural grooming. This is similar to encountering the nobility who powder their face white as flour; they find it most attractive, but to me who was raised outside the practice, it appears artificial and sometimes even comical. Such is women who wish to be bald down below.

Annnnd I can't believe I just said at that to you. And your grin isn't helping. Light, woman, stop giving me that look and go braid your hair again or something.

Anyways... So young, innocent Fellion had his first good look at a woman, but I was far from only staring at the forbidden fruits of flesh. Distracting as though they are, that sinful curve of waist and hip was near equally enticing, and the revealed thighs, and the details the downlight gave her abs. And I noticed the shape of her shoulders, which led to arms and a back used to regularly setting a vrykul crossbow by hand. The notion of a feminine strength returned to me, though I was trying to focus on my abandoned camp only a few miles away. She knew I looked at her – how could she not – but I am vindicated by her own returning attention, the intimidating study of her eyes, when she was not focused on her food.

Unbidden, while watching her hand and mouth and throat as she ate, I said, "You have worked hard for your body." I suppose I wanted to explain my attention, an excuse other than curiosity. Her light colored eyes came to my own and stared, nearly driving the breath from my lungs, yet I still added, "It shows, all the effort you must have put into it."

Light, that stare is arrestive, and as she said nothing back I couldn't help but first feel foolish for speaking, then again for even bringing up that I had essentially checked her out. When I finally decided I'd like to breathe again, I broke from her gaze to look down at my food and nibble bashfully. Ingrid, I thought to myself, was a dozen times more approachable than her sister.

But we finished eating, and she pulled me back to her body without even a slight hesitation. And later, when she turned over, she took my hand with her and held it to the center of her chest like I had hers before, with me flush against her back. And when I noticed the presence of her breast against my arm by the position and had a... physical response, I tried to distance that part of us, only for her to perform a loud, irate sigh and scoot her bottom back against me, heedless of my dilemma.

Though she said nothing, I could almost imagine her chiding in that pleasant, resonate voice of hers, "Fuck your awkwardness and calm down, Fellion." The thought had me smiling, amused at my own nervousness. And I did calm down, both my nerves and my inappropriate excitement, and I trusted in Fate once more.

And most importantly, which has stuck with me more so than all else from that time: once I calmed, I opened my fingers slightly wider where they were splayed against her chest, and she weeded her thicker vrykul ones in between and laced our hands together. It was a firm and striking reminder that "we are in this together" as I attempted earlier, and the demonstration of her commitment – in both of her actions – had my heart skip a beat.

The final part of me just stopped caring right then, stopped thinking of Amber and Ingrid and of women and the distracting parts of them. I gripped her fingers tightly between my own in response, and the arm draped across her side and hip clutched her to me. I couldn't think of anything else but the gesture, pressing my face against the skin of her back, and I knew the companionship the wistful part of me thought of in the solitude of those lavish hotel rooms.

I don't know how long I basked in the warmth of her gesture and the heat of her skin, but there was a change in our regard when the day continued into lunch and later dinner. We didn't speak anymore, which is to say I didn't speak anymore, because I found I didn't need to. When her eyes came to my own, I didn't shy away any longer, meeting her pretty gaze until we found reason to stop staring. Night descended, and my arms came to her as easily as they might a lover.

In the creeping dusk, I had my face to her auburn hair. First I only moved it aside to stop tickling my cheek, but as we lay together, I let myself fall distracted, and I began to braid a lock of it, as I remembered from the Maw. She let me finish, then reached up to take the short braid from her neck to her cheek, and I remember watching her long fingers touch the grooves and bumps with just her fingertips, stroking along the braid again and again until it finished unraveling.

Silent thoughts. Powerful thoughts. That is what transpired that day, until the dark was true and we together pulled the blanket over our heads.

And in the dark, sight gave way to touch. We moved only to find a comfortable position, one that did not antagonize our respective wounds, until I was curled into the nook her body made from chest to thigh. We did not sleep immediately, and very quickly our hands went further than was necessary. It began with her palm flush against my chest, and my hand was atop hers. Then I started to explore that vrykul hand, in the dark where size lost its peculiarity. First it was feeling along the soft skin of the back of her hand, and then up to stroke along the individual fingers from knuckle to nail. I was hardly to the third when I felt the pads of her fingers began to press against my chest, noticing my hand's motions.

Then my hand went down her arm, feeling the bone and muscles along her wrist. I couldn't reach her upperarm, so at the elbow my hand branched downward and found her hip. Along the relaxed muscle of her oblique it felt, then up a slope of skin up her hip, where my fingers found the rigid impression of bone. I had a choice of direction but no chance to decide. My fingers moved thoughtlessly, continued down her outer thigh, over skin like silk.

I kept expecting her opposition, but her palm remained firm against my chest, and her leg curled towards my seat in response. When I could reach no further, my fingertips began to drag upward, not lightly, and I heard her exhale in the dark. I noticed the movements of her torso against my back and head as she breathed. I was enthralled by her response, and my hand sought to explore more, swiping over the stretch that could be argued as hip and the curve of her rear equally.

This was done so thoughtlessly. I meant nothing by it, or I thought I meant nothing by it. Then I felt her fingers come together over my chest, and when she gave me a little rub with her palm, reciprocating, there was a terrified jolt deep inside me. I realized I had gone too far, beyond a mere idle touch, and quickly the spider that was my human hand was reeled in by the origin of its web, up her side, down the dipping waist, and back over her arm to her hand.

The loudest sound then was my own beating heart. I just wanted to hold her hand again. In response, she made a little sound through her nose, which could have been amused or exasperated, and removed her hand from my chest – for only a fleeting second, then returned it over my hand and wrist and trapped the promiscuous explorer there. I thought of apologizing, but I was too afraid to speak.

There was stillness between us, and I guessed at her thoughts. As it stretched, I then began to hope she had gone to sleep. That impression was lost when I felt her thighs move near my legs. Again, I felt the vibrations of her voice through her torso as she murmured with her accent, "Cold feet."

Her accusation was not lost to me, sending my heart into another thundering storm, until her legs opened and caught mine between her thighs. I nearly yelped at a sensation akin to stepping into a fire pit, suddenly burning hot and furious. I remembered my wounded thigh and thought it might also be flaring up any second, but she was gentle in the trap of her legs, and I realized she meant her words literally. My feet were freezing, and she was to warm them up.

She had forgiven me my hand, I presumed, though I had a hot flush in my cheeks. I don't know if she realized, but I was now pressed to her groin rather than lower belly and thigh. It was an inescapable fact, now able to feel the hair of her womanhood against me. But her steady confidence and lack of concern touched my mind, and I sought the calm of before. I felt tension in my back begin to relax, without having realized it was even there beforehand, and my cheeks cooled.

I was going stir crazy, I told myself. Jumping at the smallest things, acting without regard. I needed to focus on getting the two of us out of here. I shook off the clamp of her hand, only to take it into mine once more and catch her fingers between mine. She allowed it, and I did my last bold move of the night. I brought her hand to my lips and pressed a kiss against her knuckle, then sought sleep in her hold. It was never too far off, and I drifted off.

There was an unspoken agreement to us the next morning. We were going to try to leave this day. I knew it when I woke, and I knew she knew it when our eyes met that morning. What kind of cues indicate that mutual understanding? It's hard to say, especially since it has been some time since then. First there was the lack of drink, which we were on the last bottle of. I knew her wounds were healing supernaturally fast as well, and that she was able to move about freely once more despite the scabs along her back.

So I figured today would be the day, and when her eyes looked into mine, I saw finality in that look. A soft blue and gentle regard were in them. At first, I thought she was resolved on something from the last night, but our stare held, and I noticed the deliberate extension on her part, enough to realize she, like I, meant this to be our final moments. So I stared back, and I did my best to memorize that face, to sear it into my mind like the beams of moonlight had nearly a year prior.

Good things are done in threes, and this, our third meeting, could be our very last. Ah, Light, she was so beautiful, even then. I don't know what she was looking at in turn, except a scruffy and broken human man. Perhaps that's why her eyes remained firm on my own. I think she likes my eyes, though I doubt mine can capture her like hers do me.

I could be misremembering this, but I think I wanted to kiss her. I didn't do it, and I don't recall why I wanted to, but there was just something to that intimate, final moment that makes me think I was going to kiss her. But it passed as all things do, and we found our resolve and began to find our clothing and armor.

I watched her leave the bed and dress, noticing the improved health – if not cleanliness – compared to the first time I watched her. Her wide swaths of skin found cover again, and I winced when she did as certain motions pulled on her lingering wounds. I remember how, once she had her pants on, she turned to me still topless, her pale skin finding a vivid glow in the morning light. My breath caught in my throat for a moment, and I blamed the awful cold on that, which permeated my mouth like a bad taste.

"Need help?" she pressed. I shook my head, with a new visage branded into my skull. She had brown areola, which capped with redder nipples. It makes for a stark contrast with pale skin, when she had been long without the bronze tan of the sun.

My mouth was dry when I turned away to dress myself. I was slow in the act, not for reason of distraction but rather my wounds. The shoulder moved alright if taken slow, but the thigh decided slacks were a thing of the demons, refusing any confining touch over the thick bandages I had made. I managed in time, as again time was all we had.

While I fought with that, the huntress finished well before me, and while she waited, she began to braid her hair. What would I know about that, being a young and sometimes foolish boy with only a few feats under his belt? But when I turned around finally, dressed in my mostly-whole garb once more, I saw her mane feathered with a few little braids that were closed by little strands of leather. It was a good look for her, though I kept the words from my lips.

I stared at her for a bit. I think she expected that. Well, I know now that she did, but I figured it was time to throw her through a loop. I made an expectant cough and gestured to the leg. I remember that blink of hers, slow and surprised, and I added the kicker with a dry, "A little help?"

Ah, I wish I knew Vrykul then. She muttered what was surely an impolite word in it, then was to me with one long stride. When she stooped to help me stand, she caught my smile and paused. I might not be the most clever guy around, but I can be intuitive sometimes. There had been something expectant in her when I saw her with the braids, something I felt was lost in the translation of our cultures. This was only confirmed by her response to my little tease, so I took a gamble.

With her closer now, I reached out and touched one of her braids with my fingers. I said nothing, but I smiled, hoping she'd read into it as a joke. Again, I had no idea what the braids meant, so I gave the most general example of noticing them without any further inclination of my reaction. My gamble paid off in a reproachful look that couldn't completely hide her wide smile.

Then we got me to my feet again, where I could hobble poorly but remained standing. And I was using the legwarmers as boots again, for the record. The huntress I still referred to as Fate gathered up her blankets again, ready to store them away, and I considered the exchange with the braid in greater detail.

There had been nothing to it that I remember from the Maw, but that had been one braid then and three now. I doubted they had numeric meaning, and I considered the brief time I had braided it the night before. Had I accidentally done something that holds meaning in their culture? I swore to myself then that if a man braiding a woman's hair was a marriage ritual or something of that ilk, I'd- I'd-! Well, I gave her another look, where she was bent over the bedding, and I reconsidered my hasty rejection of the notion.

There! Right there, I considered a relationship with a vrykul for the first time. It was a bizarre and baffling idea, but I found nothing intrinsically wrong with it. On the contrary, I had specific examples to call upon that it could even be pleasant. Give her and I a wash, a warm room, a real bed, and...

She turned, catching me staring at her impressionable rear. I turned quickly, finding the cave ceiling to suddenly be the most fascinating thing in the world. I heard her snort, and I flushed with a little grin. Thank the Light we were getting out of there; I didn't want to see things get any weirder, if I was stuck with her for longer.

When we were all ready, we came to the snow wall that still mostly closed us in, and she shoved it all aside in a single pass of her gloved hand. I'd like to say we stepped out into sunlight, in this triumphant and heroic image with dazzling rays or what have you, but instead we only moved from the pink to the grey again.

I remember looking up with a frown, distinctly remembering light earlier, and I saw the clouds just then moving to block the sun. The grey veil stretched from directly above down to the endless horizon, with blue sky behind us and only shrinking by the second. I had a snort of my own for the weather, and Fate and I limped onward.

By the new depth of the snow, I knew better than to bother searching for my sword, boots, or even camp. I did find a few beryl scales near the cave entrance, which I took in a final determination to finish this right. We moved towards Frosthold, though there was no prior agreement to it.

As we slowly advanced, out onto the open plains once more, I asked Fate what she was doing so far north. Before, we had only met because we were two adventurers pursuing the same goals. This time, we were a thousand miles off course, and our meeting was wildly unlikely.

I found I wasn't too surprised by her answer. "Proto-drakes," she huffed. "The Hyldnir would have me tame one. It instead tamed me." Of course. We met chasing the same goal, as was the theme. But it also told me why she was all the way up in Storm Peaks as well. She was going the way of the Hyldnir, a matriarchal faction of frost vrykuls renowned for their ability in battle, also hardy enough to call this land their wonderful home.

Of course, the Hyldnir clans would also sooner castrate a man than tolerate his touch, which was a slight flaw of theirs. I asked her, "Hyldnir, yet you saved me. Aren't I just a weak and foolish male better fit for mines?"

And that grin of hers was so smug. "Yes, you are a weak and foolish male. But I am no Hyldnir, only train with the warmaidens."

Her and I, we didn't have the best time of it, but we walked all day, then walked into the night – by then I was heavily relying on her – but we reached Frosthold in one go. It was dark when we stopped, and Fate knew better than to approach the frost dwarf city. The efforts worsened my wounds by a great amount. I was glad I'd be given real treatment for it finally.

It was time to say goodbye to this wild fantasy. We both were looking at the distant light that marked the dwarven city, until she turned to me and kneeled down. I looked at that face I had grown quite accustomed to, finding it no less attractive, but before I could muster a word, she leaned forward and kissed me.

Or so I wish. She kissed my forehead, which surprised me all the same, and said, "I want to thank you, Fellion."

And I was still distracted by her kiss, but my tongue went ahead and said, "Yeah, we should do it again sometime."

I froze like I had stepped in the heart of hell. I did not just say that, was my mental plead. But my brain did some investigating, interrogated my mouth a bit, then confirmed that, yes, I really fucking said that. Pardon the language, but that was the hardest I ever cringed in my life.

I tried to salvage the situation, sputtering out, "I mean-! Light, I didn't-"

She was laughing though, and the sound was wonderful. I remember the bright shine of her eyes and the genuine amusement on her, as she shoved me toward Frosthold and said, "Fara, hálfviti. Just go."

I don't do justice to how she sounds when speaking Vrykul. Her accent in Common is enticing, but when she speaks her native Vrykul, it is a thing to get blood pumping. I noticed that there, but so humiliated, I didn't speak in fear of making a larger blunder. I waved to her, then turned to do my best to limp back to Frosthold without looking back.

The guards found me eventually and aided my return inside. I got my scales to the dwarf that sent me out, passed a brief greeting and parting to Baldor, and then was thrown into the sick house with Amber. My injured friend gave me a look which was supposed to seem annoyed but was actually very relieved, and I asked if she wanted an explanation.

I got a hand thrown in my direction, and she just went, "In the morning. I'm just glad you're back. Idiot." It seemed I was getting a lot of that tonight.

But I was laid into a bed, got my wounds properly dressed and treated, and I finally had a proper rest. It was comfortable, surely, but as I drifted off, I remember thinking it lacked something very distinct, and I remembered a certain face. Then I slept.

The End.

XxX

Lady Sylvian had an intriguing look on her face, Fellion noticed. Her cheeks were withdrawn, like she had tasted something sour, yet by her mirthful eyes and the twitch of her lips, he realized she was trying to hold back laughter. He scoffed, looking away to stretch his arms.

"For someone determined to tell his tales quicker," floated her merry voice, "I believe that to be your most extensive yet, and I had no idea that such a precious Fellion existed once."

He passed a shrug. "Those were innocent days, back when marveling over a repeat encounter with a woman seemed like the most important thing that could happen. It was significant to me then, significant to me now even, but... again, innocent days. The last of them, I believe."

"I notice we still do not have a name for this huntress."

"That is because I did not yet... Fuck me, that is one of my favorite parts! I can't believe I almost forgot. Quick, go back to the cave, that day where we were determined to leave. Ahem... We shared that long, searching look at each other for an impressionable length of time, but we didn't rise the moment it was finished. There was reflection, thought, and one such for me was that point.

"So I told her quite simply, "I still don't have your name." Her eyes returned to mine briefly for it, but she only said, "You must earn it." Total, outright rejection, just like that. It stirred up a reminder of the Maw, where she claimed to hold me in suspicion. Certainly, I concluded then that the playful Ingrid had been behind it, but I realized that the sisters might not be so different in that regard.

"Her reply was a surprise, yet I was Fellion. Despite our close embrace, I freed my hand enough to gesture as I said, "And I haven't yet? After the white stag, after the broken talisman, I travel a thousand miles and fight drake and storm to find your broken body and give you the desperate aid needed to survive, including food and drink and my dashing company, and I still have yet to earn the mere sound of your name?"

"Her smile was a lovely sight, clearly appreciating my humor for once. Still she insisted, "The works of a crazy male. The first night, you muttered about meat gods and cloud blankets.""

Lady Sylvian's fluting laugh touched his ears. "She noticed?"

"She wouldn't dare let me forget," was Fellion's bitter reply. "Still, I tried to appeal to her, adding, "Delirious utterances, borne of my weakness after expending all my energy to reach you." Something like that, at least, only for her to shake her head in refusal. I finally scoffed and told her, "Fine. I'll just go back south to Ingrid. See if I care if you freeze to death." My pouting got another laugh from her, while it was that resolve that got us moving to find our clothes.

"To really appreciate these moments, you need to know the rarity of her laughter. The tale of the beryl scale is a warm one, I say. That familiarity we built up in those confines was a fleeting thing, even later. We were worn, exhausted, vulnerable, and laid completely bare to the other, but the walls rise again in time. That bright hot ember, so close to making a flame, dimmed once more. Perhaps to a darker state than even before that encounter. We met once more in Storm Peaks.

"Well, assuming that this woman is actually the huntress from before. Amber argued a solid case that I had mistaken her in the cave, that it wasn't the huntress. I can't believe I almost let her convince me, but it wasn't difficult to have me doubt myself over something so absurd as meeting her this far north. Time does that to you. You begin to doubt the things you once knew, and fantasy begins to blend with memory."

"Was she right?" the Fae asked.

"It seemed so, until we met again. Even Amber admitted to the resemblance, but we were hardly in a position to confirm identities. This next tale is a bit more unfortunate. I stand by my "good things in threes" notion, but I won't spoil our fallout just yet... Oops."

The Fae had a shrew look for his quip. "You cannot deceive me thrice, Fellion. The huntress is obviously your lover."

His hands spread, betraying nothing with his face. "I told you earlier, don't be so quick to assume. I changed and learned much from her, my appreciation for vrykuls among that, but the epithet "my huntress" was deliberately left ambiguous. All you know is that I fathered a half-a-half-giant. But you are right, all will be revealed in the tales themselves. Let us continue. This next has no name – next few, I should say. Just little shorts that warrant a detailed mention each...

"So a month became two in those rugged peaks, with Amber, Baldor, and I foolishly throwing ourselves into the jaws of death and escaping by utter luck each time. That land was harder than I, but by living, it began to change my constitution, making me tougher, meaner, and ultimately less innocent. There, when something looks at you, the chances are exceptionally good that you must kill it. You learn that by the forth or fifth time you are prone on your back, bleeding and dying, wondering why the taunka refused simple bartering from travelers, or why the dark iron would betray you so, or how the kabolds could blindly serve the masters they do.

"This came to a head near the titan-city Ulduar. Word cropped up about an emerged titan relic, and we grabbed our tested weapons and made our way to it. And so did she. By then, Hyldnir had proven a real scourge across the snow-covered lands. We skirmished more than once, and I had been made to kill a few. Hewing vrykul with a sword is a grisly affair I don't wish to describe. That these were women makes it worse.

"But it was a weird day when we reached Ulduar, though I don't remember why, and the sky bled grey..."