Willam II

Willam flexed his burnt hand, just as Otto had shown him to do. His flaky red fingers curled into a fist, then stretched back out to their full length. Pain shot through the burnt hand, but it was still an improvement over before. Healing. Better than yesterday, perhaps.

Although Otto himself had never been burnt, his arm had been injured in a similar fashion long ago. He had even shown Willam the scar; a long ugly thing that twisted along his arm, tender pink against his tan bronze skin. Otto had received the wound while defending Winter from a trio of Terror Birds. The beasts had cornered the lone Direwolf, and he surely would have perished if Otto hadn't intervened. Unfortunately, saving Winter's life hadn't come cost-free. One of the Terror Birds had sheared clean through the flesh on Otto's arm to reveal the sickly white gleam of bone underneath. Of course, the injured arm was fully healed by now, and the offending bird was long-dead.

Yet even still, the arm had itched afterwards, almost like it was on fire, Otto told him. Stretching the muscles had helped return the feeling to his wounded limb, and he thought it would work for Willam as well. Fortunately, it did. Willam had burned himself more badly than he knew by throwing the flaming log. At the time he'd felt nothing. The agony only came afterwards, long after his adrenaline had worn off.

The pain was absolutely hideous. Willam's arm felt as if it were still aflame, burning day and night. His cracked red skin oozed sickly fluid, and there were huge crimson blisters all along the burnt arm. They had bandaged the scorched mess with blue moss, so Willam was spared the ugly sight. Unfortunately, the spongy wrappings did little to dull the pain. Otto and Joseph had discovered the special herb a while back, before Willam had joined them. He was told that the moss possessed healing properties, but even if it did, Willam never felt any difference. Perhaps burns were beyond the healing power of nature.

Willam supposed that he should be grateful. After all, he had gotten off lightly compared to the rest of their group. Otto had taken a devastating bite to the shoulder, the flesh ripped into a bloody pulp by the iron jaws of the alpha Megalosaurus. A patch of blue moss had been tightly secured around the wound, and it actually seemed to work. The bite would leave a nasty scar, yet that was the least of Otto's problems. His shoulder was still healing after being popped back into place. The limb had been dislocated during the chaotic skirmish, when the alpha Megalosaurus had dropped Otto from its full height. Willam shuddered, recalling the dread he had felt watching his friend being lifted so high off the ground.

Joseph's numerous injuries were arguably worse. His entire front half was a patchwork of blood, flesh and moss. One of the Megalosaurus had shredded his chest with its razor-sharp claws. The same beast had devoured Hawk later on, and slammed Joseph into the cliff when he tried to avenge the Dilophosaurus. The impact had fractured many of his bones, mainly from the ribcage. Willam also suspected that Joseph suffered from internal damage, but even if he did, the bulky man hid it well. A walking stick was clutched in his left hand, most of his weight supported by the long wooden shaft.

A loop of vine was bunched in Joseph's right hand, the ends tied onto a flat wooden plank. Otto held a similar bundle, walking side by side with the large man. They dragged a heavy yet delicate quarry behind themselves; Winter. The great white Direwolf rested on the wooden board, his sides heaving as the makeshift sled bumped along the uneven ground. Winter was still recovering from the attack, albeit slowly. He would sleep as often as not, but scan their surroundings with alert golden eyes whenever he was awake.

Winter was barely strong enough to stand. He had nearly died defending Otto during the attack, and still hadn't recovered from his countless wounds. Willam saw all sorts of scars crisscrossing his shaggy white coat; heavy gashes, bite marks, long scrapes and deep punctures. Winter had them all. His fur was stained a dull pink from all the blood he had lost, yet the Direwolf was growing stronger by the hour. He lived off the occasional Dodo bird that Joseph or Otto managed to kill. Willam's egg was tucked against his great shaggy side, although the Direwolf didn't seem to mind. He also shared the sled with a few other items that had been salvaged from their camp; the Dossier, a waterskin, two bows and a handful of arrows.

Willam found it hard to believe that their group had been well and happy just a few days ago. The devastation of the attack had changed them drastically. Their days were no longer lax and carefree, nor were their nights spent in laughter. Everyone was tense and on-edge, suspicious of everything. From the merest whisper to the slightest movement, everything was a cause for alarm. A few days ago, Willam would have hardly recognized their group now, trudging along downcast and sullen, wary and suspicious, every single one of them sporting some horrible wound.

Yet despite their numerous injuries, the survivors were lucky compared to their fallen companions. Hawk and Sarah had both perished in the attack; the small Dilophosaurus devoured by a Megalosaurus, and the Triceratops slain by its packmates. In the end, it had taken three of the ferocious night-devils to bring Sarah down, and the Triceratops had bought just enough time for Willam to come up with his plan. They owed their lives to the two brave beasts, and Willam felt at a loss without their presence. He had only known them for a few days before the attack, yet Willam had always felt safer with the two around.

But now they were both gone, their corpses devoured or buried under a mountain of ash. Willam took a moment of silence to honour their lives and sacrifice. He supposed he should feel fortunate, especially compared to his friends. Yet Willam certainly didn't feel lucky as he trudged along in the gloom, his right arm swathed in moss all the way up to his elbow. Darkness blanketed the entire world, reducing his visibility to a few feet. Strange calls echoed through the night, reminding Willam of the countless beasts nearby, many of which were out hunting for prey. No, he certainly didn't feel lucky.

Willam navigated through the jungle carefully; a misplaced step would mean a sprained ankle or broken bone. Vines, roots and shrubs covered the forest floor like a shifting sea, tinted silver by the moon. The huge white disc was hidden behind a wall of leaves and branches, but a sparse bit of light still peeked through. Willam was grateful for that light as he picked his way along the forest floor, taking extra care to avoid tripping on the vegetation.

He was in the lead of their small group, scoping out the safest trail while the other men dragged the sled behind. The wooden plank left a makeshift path in their wake, the vegetation pressed down from the weight of its contents. Willam could only pray that nothing was following them. Most of their weapons were gone, and they were all injured. Our group will make easy prey for any half-esteemed predator. Most of us are too weak to even fight back, and those who can will be no match for what the night has to offer.

Yet a small part of Willam still believed they could escape to safety relatively unscathed. After all, they had been lucky so far. Nothing big had noticed their group. . . at least not yet. They had been travelling for close to a week now, and the only trouble was from a group of insistent Pegomastax that greedily eyed their meagre possessions. Winter acted as a baggage guard, snarling whenever one drew too close. Other than the occasional thievery attempt, the scavengers left them alone.

There were bigger troubles out in the woods though, and Willam wasn't eager to meet any of them. They sometimes found large footprints in the jungle, or pools of dried blood and shattered bones. The beaches were no different. A swarm of beasts fled along the coast, escaping from the forest fire that Willam had unintentionally created. All sorts of creatures had been driven from their homes, and the mass migration was a perfect opportunity for predators to strike. The fleeing beasts left more corpses on the beach every day, and those in turn attracted more scavengers.

There was a great cloud of smoke that shadowed them as well. The gloomy wraith had observed their progress ever since the attack, when Willam had accidentally set the eastern jungle ablaze. There was so much of the thick smog that the air itself was hazy and irritable. Willam had recently developed a cough, which turned his voice hoarse and raw. He could only hope that it would diminish over time.

Willam shivered, and crossed his arms to conserve warmth. It was getting colder too. He had noticed the rapid decline in temperature a few days ago, during the evening when the jungle had suddenly shifted from warm to cold. It had only been in the night at first, but now the days were growing colder as well. Willam supposed it was because of their gradual migration toward the frozen north.

They had been travelling for over two weeks now. Sixteen days to be exact. They were heading north by northwest along the coast, away from their camp and the Megalosaurus pack, who had fled in the opposite direction. Willam hoped that the fire would keep them away, but he knew it would burn out eventually. Until then, they would just have to put as much distance as possible between themselves and their old home.

The going had been rough, especially at the start. Willam recalled the night of the attack, right after they had escaped. Only Otto and himself had been conscious, but the two men had somehow managed to save their incapacitated friends from the fire. Willam himself had fainted right after they had rescued his egg, and poor Otto had been left to drag everyone to safety on his own.

Willam remembered sputtering to life under a hazy night sky, his friends heaped around him on a sandy beach. There had been a dull roar in his ears, and a vivid orange light that danced along the coast. At first he had mistaken the fire for daylight, and had forgotten all about the attack. Unfortunately, everything came crashing back a moment later. The feast, the fight, the deaths of his friends, the fire, and the smoke.

Willam felt sick as he recalled the savage bloodshed, and fought to keep his dinner down. Then his burnt arm started acting up, and the old man had been reduced to his knees, heaving on the sandy beach. Fire ravaged his arm all over again, pain lancing through the limb as if the flames had never left. Fortunately, the agony dulled a moment later, only to be replaced by the emotional backlash from the attack. His friends were all dead or dying. Their home, the only place Willam had ever truly felt safe, was now a pile of smoking rubble. The Megalosaurus pack could return to finish them off at any moment, and there were countless other dangers lurking in the night.

Yet Willam somehow found the strength to rise and assess the damage. Perhaps organization was a coping method for him, but it helped either way. Joseph and Winter were still unconscious, their limp bodies heaped on the sandy beach. Willam's egg was covered in soot and leaning against Joseph, but otherwise unharmed. Otto was somewhere behind him, grunting in exertion as he dragged the wooden plank toward their broken group. What remained of their hard-earned possessions rested on the blood-stained board. Willam limped over to help his struggling friend.

He took the other end silently, much to Otto's relief. The other man was visibly worn out from dragging everyone to safety, and gave Willam a nod of gratitude. The two friends carried the plank between themselves and set it down on the beach. Otto immediately fell back onto the sand with a groan, exhausted after his long exertion. Willam joined him on the ground a moment later. He stared at the distant horizon and the lapping waves. For a while, neither of them spoke.

"It's my fault," Otto suddenly choked out.

Willam glanced at his friend curiously. His perplexion must have shown, for Otto elaborated a moment later. "The attack. It was my fault."

"Don't be ridiculous," Willam assured him. "It wasn't anyone's fault."

Otto stared at the ocean, his expression as dark as the waves. "I saw the signs. The Dodo remains. The murdered scorpion. And yet I stayed."

"We all saw the signs. We all stayed. Don't blame yourself."

"But you only stayed because I did. You and Joseph. Winter. . . Hawk and Sarah. . . Everyone saw me as a leader, and I failed. I. . . I made a terrible decision and everyone suffered for it."

Willam was silent for a moment before responding. "We all made the decision to stay. Any one of us could have left at any moment. Don't deny it. I've only known you for a few days, but you're not the kind of person to hold a grudge. You're better than that, Otto. So believe me when I say it wasn't your fault. It was our choice too."

Otto still looked unconvinced. He shook his head angrily. "And if I had chosen to leave?"

"We would have followed you either way. You're a good leader and a better man. We trust your judgement."

"A good leader," he scoffed. "Of corpses, maybe. Living men? No." He paused and looked at Willam. "You should lead. You're the smartest person I know. You wouldn't make stupid mistakes like me."

Willam regarded his friend carefully. "Don't ever say that about yourself. One error doesn't make you a horrible leader. It's human nature, we all make mistakes."

"And I made a huge one," Otto muttered.

"Look," Willam said, staring Otto in the eyes. "We follow you because you are a good leader. You might not be the largest or strongest," he said with a nod at Joseph. "Or the oldest and wisest," Willam said in regards to himself. "But we follow you anyway. Do you know why?"

Otto shook his head with a sullen sigh. He still looked skeptical, but Willam went on. "Because of your bravery. Your determination. But mostly, your compassion." Willam gave that a second to sink in.

"You took me in, even though I was only a burden to your group. You saved Joseph from those two Dilophosaurs when you first met, even though he was a complete stranger at the time. You fed Hawk that day on the beach, not for benefit or gain, but because you cared. You healed Sarah when she was wounded, purely out of goodwill. You risked your own life to save Winter from those Terror Birds, even though you could have just as easily left him to die. You're a good leader because you care about others," Willam finished.

Otto considered that for a moment. Then, frowning, he asked, "If I care so much about others, then why am I not dead? Hawk, Sarah. . . maybe even Winter. I couldn't save them. It should have been me, but I couldn't save them!" He kicked up a cloud of powdery sand.

"Otto, I saw you throw yourself at that alpha half a dozen times, just to distract it from Winter."

"Then why is he dying, while I'm still alive? I checked his pulse earlier, while you were still unconscious," Otto admitted, staring at the limp white form. "I could barely feel his heartbeat."

Willam considered the question, glancing from Otto to Winter. "Do you understand why he's. . ." Incapacitated? Unconscious? Dying?

"Dying." Otto declared. "Don't try to sugarcoat the situation. You can be blunt with me. I know he's dying."

"Dying," Willam confirmed with a solemn nod. "He did it for you. Winter knew that you would do the same for him if your roles were reversed. He did it to repay the kindness you've shown him."

Otto was silent for a long time. It took Willam a moment to realize he was crying, the tears silently running down his face. Willam reached over tentatively, awkwardly, and brushed his friend's shoulder, the lightest of touches. Otto glanced over, his stormy grey eyes glistening in the moonlight.

"Winter. . . Winter was my first friend on this island. He was there from the beginning. The very start. He's saved my life so many times. . . " Otto took a moment a moment to steady his breathing. ". . . and now he might die for it. Any moment might be his last. . ."

Willam gripped his shoulder with firm hands. "You need to be strong. For Winter, Joseph and myself. For Hawk and Sarah. . . it's what they would have wanted." Otto raised his head to meet Willam's gaze. "But most of all, you need to be strong for yourself. Be the man who we chose to follow. Be a leader, Otto."

Otto stared at the sandy beach, then at Winter, Joseph, and finally Willam himself. He managed a small nod, finally coming to terms with their situation. "I'll try my best"

Willam offered to take the first watch, so Otto could recover from the horrors of the attack. His friend accepted, perhaps a bit reluctantly, but he accepted. Willam found Otto the next day, his composure regained. Their conversation seemed to have finally convinced him that the attack wasn't his fault, and Otto was more or less back to his regular self. He took charge of the situation immediately, getting their broken group into order.

They set out west, hoping to put as much distance between themselves and the Megalosaurus pack as possible. Neither Joseph nor Winter had woken, so it was up to Otto and Willam once more. Their comatose friends were stacked on the wooden board and vines were wrapped around the front to form a pair of loose reins. Otto led the way, having recalled the easiest routes in their area. Willam was glad that his friend was back to his confident self. That night, as Willam was setting up a fire, Otto stopped him.

"No fires," he declared.

Willam had protested that the Megalosaurus were afraid of fires. "We'll be safer this way. The beasts tremble at the sight of an open flame. The pack won't trouble us."

"But many other beasts will," Otto finished. "That fire might be good for keeping one monster away, but there are many more in these woods. Light it, and every beast within sight will know where we are. No fires."

And the matter had been settled. A faint smile tugged at Willam's lips as Otto left to check on their wounded companions. His test had worked, and Otto was truly back to normal. Their group had a leader they could depend on, and that made all the difference.

Joseph woke from his coma that night, and their group was all the better for it. There was less weight to be dragged around, and another pair of eyes to watch for enemies in the night. Joseph's injuries were still too great for him to walk unaided, so they fashioned him a walking stick. It would be awhile before Joseph was fully recovered, but it was still a vast improvement from before. Their journey got easier from then on, if only slightly.

Much to everyone's relief, Winter recovered two nights later. The Direwolf's life had been balanced on a sword's edge, perilously hanging over death. Everyone felt much better with him awake, but unfortunately the Direwolf was still too injured to be of any use in a fight. It took Winter considerable effort just to lift his head, and he could barely even stand. Yet Willam still felt better with the huge wolf awake.

Most of their journey was spent in silence. Joseph's was more downcast and mournful. He was obviously still distraught over Hawk's death. The little Dilophosaurus had refused to leave his side, and had been devoured by a Megalosaurus as a result. Willam knew Joseph blamed himself. He had tried to console the large man, but to no avail. Joseph stubbornly resisted his attempts at every turn, preferring to remain in a mood of perpetual depression rather than accept the facts. Yet for all his injuries and self-loathing, Joseph still worked as hard as ever, pulling the wooden sled day and night.

Willam himself remained more alert and attentive. He still read the Dossier in his spare time, which had shrunk significantly because of the attack. Between their long marches and short rests, Willam barely found any time to read. Instead, he would spend their silent treks speculating about the world in general; how they had washed onto the island, who the author of the Dossier was, how the scaled beasts had come to be, the geography of the island, and so much more. He also took constant mental notes of the fauna and flora that they passed on their journey, in case it would be useful later.

Otto had spent the first few days of their journey in an apprehensive yet determined silence. He would trek with his eyes on the horizon, ever solemn. But there was still a gleam of guilt in his eyes, no matter how much Willam tried to convince him otherwise. A small part of Otto that would always blame himself for the attack. It was unfortunate, but some things were beyond the power of Willam's words. He had noticed Otto's concerned glances falling on Winter more than once. Needless to say, Otto had been overjoyed when the Direwolf finally awoke.

The night of Winter's recovery was still fresh on Willam's mind, along with a dozen theories about what had happened that night. Willam had been on the first watch, curled up next to his egg, when Otto had started shifting in his sleep. At first it was only the slightest movements, but he began tossing more and more as the night progressed. Eventually, Otto even began making sounds. Harsh growls and snarls, eerily similar to Winter's. Yet the huge white Direwolf hadn't stirred the whole time.

Willam had just gone to check on Winter when Otto began thrashing around, violently twisting and turning in his sleep. Even Winter had begun to growl; so soft that Willam had to crane his neck to hear, yet man and beast were growling simultaneously. Otto had only grown more unruly afterwards, up to the point when Willam had to shake him awake. After a brief conversation, Otto claimed that he was perfectly fine, and took the next shift to prove it. The last thing Willam remembered that night was seeing Otto lean against a tree, his face strangely pale under the moonlight.

He awoke the next morning to the sight of Winter curled up by Otto's side. Willam was told that the Direwolf had woken shortly after he had gone to sleep. There was nothing wrong about Otto's tone or expression as he explained, yet there was something. . . odd about his behaviour. After a moment of careful prodding, his friend grudgingly revealed the full events of last night. Willam had been absolutely shocked.

Somehow, by some magical phenomenon, Otto Weiss had lived through Winter's life. Even Otto himself was skeptical of the tale at first, but grew more confident as he told it. Willam listened intently. At first he had thought the dream was nothing more than that; just a dream. But Willam began to doubt his own theory as Otto's story progressed. There was just too much detail for it to have been fabricated. Four individual siblings, each with their own distinctive personalities. A massive Direwolf pack with their own complex hierarchy. No, Otto's mind couldn't have conjured all that in just one night.

Even the chronological order of events made sense. Willam had always assumed Winter was somewhere around a year old, and it turned out that he was correct. The young Direwolf had been driven from his home when he was only nine months old. Winter had spent a further three months alone in the wilderness before meeting Otto. That would mean the Direwolf had almost exactly been a year old when Otto first washed ashore. A month and a half had passed since then, bringing Winter's current age to just over a year.

Willam concluded that the dream was real. As baffling as it was, Otto's bond with Winter had somehow allowed him to live through the Direwolf's life. What puzzled Willam was how it had happened. He considered magic. As ridiculous as it was, Willam couldn't fathom any other possible explanations. Otto and Winter had been in similar emotional states. They were both missing home; Otto was distraught over losing the camp, while Winter was reminiscing over his early life. Perhaps this special bond had allowed Otto to connect with his Direwolf on a deeper level.

Either way, Willam was curious to find out more. What was the extent of Otto's power? He had lived through a memory, but could he live through the present? Would he only be able to see through Winter's eyes, or could he form a similar bond with another creature? Would he be able to control the Direwolf's actions? Would he be able to switch consciousness at any time, or was it only while they both slept?

There were countless possibilities to Otto's newfound power. Willam had never seen anything like this before, and was eager to discover the full extent of his friend's bond with the Direwolf. He had already asked Otto to tell him if anything like this happened again. Unfortunately, his friend never reported anything new. Willam was still hopeful that Otto would experience another vision or memory. Until then, he was content to continue speculating about the extent of Otto's new power.

Willam shivered as his breath warmed the air, a misty white cloud against the bleak grey great frosty trees were beginning to thin out, their icy trunks growing farther and farther apart. Willam dropped back until he was walking next to Joseph. The huge man grunted in acknowledgement, but otherwise continued on as normal, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Willam offered to take the sled from Joseph, only for him to stubbornly decline. The large man kept the vine rope firmly bunched in his left hand, while the right grasped his tall walking stick. Willam could see the strain in his arms, the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

"You've been dragging that wooden sled for half the night," Willam said. " Let me take a shift, it's the least I could do."

Joseph glanced at him, looking ready to decline his request. Then he tripped over a root, nearly went down, but managed to regain his balance in time. The huge man grudgingly handed Willam the vine reins, all the defiance drained from his eyes. He immediately leaned against a tree for support, wheezing to catch his breath. Willam nodded in acknowledgement, and looped the vines around his good hand.

Otto had the other side, red-faced and puffing from nearly an entire day of dragging the plank. It was a two person job, and the three men would take turns to conserve their already limited energy. Hopefully Otto would only have to endure a bit longer, enough time for Joseph to recover. Knowing his stubborn nature, the large man would be back in no time at all.

Willam had noticed Joseph's recent state of emotional turmoil. He seldom spoke at all these days, usually only answering questions with grunts or nods. Yet even still, the large man's determination never faltered. In fact, he almost seemed to work harder than before, pulling the sled day and night with a burning new resolve. I'll have to talk to him about Hawk, Willam reflected. He still blames himself, the poor man. But Willam knew the Dilophosaur's death wasn't the only thing troubling his friend.

Some deep trauma associated with Joseph's past was haunting him now. Willam recalled that his friend had washed up somewhere around here. He had only realized the coincidence a few days ago, when their group came upon a beach of human corpses. Joseph's backstory had come crashing back, and Willam remembered how his friend had passed this exact beach on his journey to find other humans. Except there were more skeletons now. Where there had only been four corpses before, seven now littered the beach.

It definitely wasn't the friendliest landmark, especially after the attack that had just devastated their broken group. Joseph stared at the bodies with hollow eyes, probably remembering his unhappy beginnings. Or perhaps his mind was elsewhere, imagining all the monstrous beasts that could have killed these people. Maybe accepting the possibility that they were the only living humans on the entire island.

In any case, the beach definitely wasn't prompting a happy response. Joseph silently turned away and gave the sled a forceful tug. They set out again, disheartened by the miserable sight. None of the other remains helped their mood either.

They passed the legacies of deceased survivors; campfires of ash, splintered wooden lean-tos, dried puddles of blood, heaps of rubble, and shattered bones. There were so many signs of human life, yet no living humans. Their group even passed the place where Joseph had sheltered during his first night on the island; a low overhanging cliff flanked by pine trees on either side. There was still the burnt out fire from when Joseph had taken refuge, but a few new changes as well.

For one, wooden spikes had been staked in a loose ring around the cliff, much like their old camp. A grave had been dug for the skeleton, the loose dirt pressed down by a heavy grey tombstone. The previous inhabitant had been compassionate, Willam noted. . . but now they were dead as well. A fresh corpse was laying face-down in the dirt, a rough wooden spear gripped in its hands. There was another carcass by its side; a long scaly green body with a pair of bright frills on either side of its head. The two combatants were locked in their eternal struggle. . . or so Willam thought.

Further examination revealed that the Dilophosaurus wasn't even facing the human, but rather some unseen foe outside the wooden barrier. Willam also noticed that there were two sleeping cots, not one. A large clump of dried grass was heaped in one corner, with a smaller pile beside it. There were even a few bones strewn about the camp, but not from leftover meals. They had tooth-marks etched all along their sides; chew toys for the Dilophosaurus. The signs could only mean one thing. The beast had been domesticated.

Joseph turned away when he came to the realization, still distraught over Hawk's death. The tragic scene probably reminded him too much of his own friendship and loss. But Willam had been more curious, even going so far as to examine a bone. So other people have domesticated these beasts as well. It was a strange thought. Willam had always known that there were other people on the island, or rather their remains, but he thought of their group as the only ones who had managed to tame the beasts. This shocking revelation had brought new light to their situation.

Perhaps things weren't so hopeless after all. If other beasts have been tamed, there might still be hope for us yet. Hope for civilization, or the closest thing to it on this island. But I can only hope. . . If other people had managed to tame these beasts, they might just stand a chance to survive. Willam could imagine a whole new society on this island, where man and beast coexisted in peace. Fields could be ploughed and walls could be raised with the help of domesticated creatures. But where good could be done, there was always room for evil. Carnivores could be used to hunt and kill just as easily as a herbivore might plough a field. War could be waged.

Willam shuddered at the thought. His gaze swept over the ruined camp one last time before turning away, as Joseph had done before him. The large man had already set off again, singlehandedly dragging the sled along. Willam hastily followed.

They passed by even more signs of human life later; burnt out campfires, smashed lean-tos, abandoned weapons, and more bodies. None of the following survivors had been as advanced as the first. Most only had blunt stones and sticks for tools, and none had tamed any beasts. A few of the corpses still stuck out in Willam's mind.

There had been two skeletons heaped against a blood-stained boulder, one cradled in the other's arms. Further on, a wooden lean-to had been splattered with blood, and there were broken bones and weapons strewn about the clearing. Willam regarded both sites with pity for the poor souls who had perished. A bit later, the group came across another survivor who had put up a better fight. The corpse was fresher than the others, with most of the features still intact, and it was easy to tell it had been a woman. A Raptor corpse was sprawled at her feet, slashed a dozen times by the survivor's axe.

What had stunned Willam most was a single corpse in the woods. It was much smaller than the others, only coming up to Willam's chest. He felt completely sick. A child. . . a child washed onto this hell. They couldn't have been more than ten. . . What sort of twisted demon is capable of such evil?

As they came across more sites, Willam could sense the others growing more distraught. The same thought was on everyone's minds. Are we next? It was definitely possible, especially with the state their group was in. Willam tried to push his doubts aside, but he couldn't help wondering how all those people had died. Some deaths were more recent. . . if we had come this way sooner, when we should have left, would we have been able to help them in time? Willam could tell the question had troubled his friends as well. He could see it in their faces, in the way they looked at the corpses.

Joseph seemed especially troubled. Because he's been this way before, Willam realized. He passed some corpses on his journey to find other humans. But he wouldn't have guessed there would be others after him. . . Willam glanced at the large man trudging along up ahead. He probably blames himself, the poor man. But their deaths weren't his fault, he couldn't have known others would wash up. I'll have to go talk to him.

Just then, Joseph whirled around and called for them to hurry. Willam shared a confused glance with Otto, before the two rushed after their friend. Even Winter perked up from his spot on the wooden board, head swivelled toward Joseph's direction. Willam strained against the uneven ground, roots and shrubs tugging at the sled.

They pulled up next to Joseph, breathless and panting. He pointed at something in the distance. "Look."

Willam glanced up and saw an icy white field of snow bordered by tall dark pines. Rugged boulders laced the plains, breaking up the monotone sight. A huge grey mountain loomed far beyond the snow-topped trees, the sun peeking out from behind its craggy heights. The sky was azure blue, dotted with wispy purple clouds and spangled with the orange of dawn.

"We're here," Joseph said as they took the sight in. "We've reached the north."

Author's Note:

Aaand that brings us to the end of our first story arc!

No one cried this chapter... I hope? Don't worry, it's safe now. I promise that I'm done stabbing you in the heart. Well, at least for now...

Girlbook, I'm happy that Winter's alright as well! As for the vision, its more of a fantasy power-type deal than anything from ARK, ex: ARK primal or play as a dino mod.

TheJaiganticBridge, wow... I wasn't expecting to break any records, but hey, I'll take it!

King Endercreeper, Thanks! And yes, this is Otto's special gift/power. You were also right to assume the focus of this chapter. Anyways, thanks for the continued support!

DevoutRelic, it's alright, I'm done with your feelings ;) Well, for now at least... And yes, I have definitely replaced sci-fi with fantasy in my story. As for posting, the next chapter should be out in time. This one was a bit late due to the last one taking up so much effort, and also how my personal schedule kept interfering.

NightWyvern91792, thanks for the praise! Unfortunately/fortunately, I'm sticking with this story, so no wolf book for now :( And yes, I completely agree. Winter's father would definitely have won if it had been a fair fight.

haydenunstopable, I'm glad someone brought this question up. There's a lot of reasons

1. To show the common saying 'the higher you climb, the harder you fall'

2. Emotional development for our surviving characters (they'll definitely behave differently after this)

3. To make my story better. After all, what sort of writer doesn't kill off at least some of his/her characters?

As for Winter's future revenge, it's already planned, so unfortunately there will be no bottom-of-ice-lake-drowning for our least favorite Direwolf.

Julius, thanks for taking the time to check out my story and leave a review! I hope you liked it!

BlackHum3r, sorry if it wasn't clear enough, but Weiss = Otto's last name. I've changed the summary so it's more clear, and sorry for the mixup. I think you missed it, but there was a note at the beginning of chapter 5 that explained this.

Tall-Gothic-Guy, yes that was definitely spirit walking (or at least a variation). You are also right in assuming that I have replaced sci-fi with fantasy. Anyways, sorry for missing your review before. I'll be sure to double check next time.

Thanks for taking the time to check out my first fanfiction, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I will try my best to upload every Friday. Feel free to comment, ask question or criticize my story, review is always welcome. And if you like what you saw, make sure to check out the other ARK: Survival Evolved fanfictions out there. Have a great rest of your day or night.

-DaRumpyBurr