Took me long enough, sorry about that, but it's finally done.

We're getting close to the end of my first book now. The next chapter will be the final one, I'm quite excited about it. I won't promise when I'll get that one done since I've been quite bad at keeping up with my schedule lately, I've had some things going on in my life and whatnot. I'm sure you understand.

That said, I hope you like this one.
I'd love to hear what you think.
Happy mid-summer.
And Enjoy.

Wounded Wolf

Even in mid-winter, the air wasn't that cold. Well, it was cold, far beyond freezing really, but not cold enough that any self-respecting Nord would dare complain—these are, after all, the winters that shaped us since we were given birth. Even while setting, the sun offered a shy trace of warmth on our shoulders, but the fields of Whiterun always had a fierce wind about it—biting at our cheeks with the sharp slap from a bundle of vines.

Days like these always reminded me of how practical the fursuit was, with its double layer of wolf-fur, but no matter how tight I wrapped my coat around my neck and head, the wind still found a bite beneath my eyes. That's the one thing we Nords did dare to complain about—the winter-breath of Kyne, Warrior-Wife of Shor, for she blew the frost into our world, mercilessly striping the land of life the same way she breathed life into it once she saw fit for spring to arrive.

Strange how we'd refuse ourselves to complain against the statics of Nirn, yet openly complained against the actions of a god. Perhaps it was because her winter-breath was a test? A test only the hardiest of her creations survived. And so we complained, for what child does not complain against the tests of their parents? Just like how we praised her, once she granted us spring.

Why did I philosophize with the idea of religious meaning behind the wind? I never cared much for religion—and I especially never cared much for philosophy. Sure, I did have an interest in the gods once, when I was still a child and my mother told me stories about them. But I've never seen a god, and so my interest had faded. Perhaps Vilkas, or Kodlak, had rubbed off on me without my realizing? Must be. But if anything, toying with the thought made it seem like time flowed quicker.

The city was already far behind us, standing tall and proud on its hill in the distance. Thankfully, it was easy to walk, the snow never got too deep out here on the tundra, the wind always blew away the upper layers, forming sharp dunes of white over the fields until it looked like the waves of a frozen sea.

Comfortably, the wind slowly subsided the closer we got to the forest—tall pines and firs swaying as they redirected the wind toward the sky, hindering its continuous path. There used to be a stream here, but frozen solid and covered by snow it was hard to use it for guidance. I could only hope Aela knew the area well enough even without the river. Although I had been in this area once before, I'd get lost without her—once we entered the forest, everything looked the same for me, and once we did enter the forest, the snow got deeper. It was harder to walk here, slower, and heavier. It almost became a chore.

"Hold up," Aela said behind me. "I need a break."

"A break?" I said, stopping in front of her as I turned to face her. Since when did Aela ever need a ¨break?¨

"And it'll be dark soon," she continued, looking around the treetops, ignoring, or ignorant of, the tone in my question. "We'll set up camp here."

"It's not dark yet. And we're only a few hours away? I can keep going." The only thing I wanted was to get to Krev as soon as possible—dark or not, didn't matter.

"Well I can't," she said with a bite as she turned her head toward me. "And we'll need to be rested for what is to come."

"Rested? I don't care—"

"You get started on setting up the camp, I'll gather some wood," she interrupted, taking her bow off her shoulder as she turned her attention away from me and headed for the woods.

I watched her as she disappeared between the threes. This was unlike her—¨Well I can't¨—I'd think she wanted to get to Krev as soon as possible. Like me. But now that I thought of it, she had looked out of breath again, as she had when she first showed up in Kodlak's chamber. I couldn't rid myself of the feeling that something was wrong.

It doesn't matter, I thought as I kicked the snow and swung my rucksack off my back and threw that into the snow too. We shouldn't waste time here when we knew where Krev was—camping and resting as if we were on some casual hunting trip.

"¨Well I can't. It'll be dark soon. I need a break,¨" I mumbled through clenched teeth as I walked in a square, trampling snow to flatten it for the tent. I felt like punching a tree, but what purpose would that serve? It'd sure feel good though.

And why didn't Aela seem to be in a hurry? She had been walking behind all this time, almost hesitant in every step. Didn't she want to avenge Skjor? Didn't she want to get to Krev as soon as possible? But the way she had snapped when Vilkas tried to stop us? She had to want this?

A repetitive mindset as I angrily used the flat side of my axe to hammer down the wooden spikes in the frozen ground, raising the tent. I just couldn't understand her right now.

I brushed away some snow from a large stone and sat down after I finished with the tent, feeling the cold air settle around me as I decided to wait for Aela. The cold slowly crept into my skin as I sat, biting—she's taking longer than I had expected. I'd start a fire, but the only things around were snow, frozen trees, and bushes—nothing that burned easily.

I took off my gloves and blew air into my fists for warmth, rubbing them together as I rested my elbows on my knees. But no amount of rubbing seemed to keep them warm for long. I felt my ring with my thumb; slowly spinning it around my finger.

Ysolda… She was really gone.

I reached for the necklace around my neck and lifted my chin as I pulled it over my head, feeling the weight of the chain as I placed the ring in the center of my hand. A circle of gold. Her ring.

It felt warm in my palm. Almost radiant. Residue heat from being against my chest, I guess. Touching her ring used to be calming, and painfully sad, but right now it only gave off the opposite feel; tightness in my chest, anger pointing its finger, disturbing, and… a tad bit of guilt. More than a 'tad.' I could feel the wolf begin to stir within me as I held her ring. Awakened. Enraged. So close to the 'surface' it felt like all I needed to do was relax and he'd show himself. And tear out from within.

I'll avenge you. Both of you. By Ysmir I'll avenge you and I don't care if it's the last thing I do. Krev deserves everything that's coming for her. And more. She'll die for what she's done.

I heard a twig snap, pulling me from my thoughts.

"What's that?" Aela said, approaching from behind me.

"Nothing," I answered, quickly tucking the ring back against my chest, inside my armor and tunic, as I put the necklace back around my neck. A few breaths to calm the anger. "What took you so long?"

She gave me a brief, suspicious look as she walked past me. She couldn't have seen Ysolda's ring, but she must have noticed I tried to hide something. Something I didn't feel like sharing. "I found some rabbit tracks. Decided I'd hunt it down," she finally said, seemingly giving me a pass. At least she had some dry wood. And that rabbit over her shoulder.

"How about a fire?" I asked, rubbing my hands together again.

She dropped the wood to the ground and reached over her shoulder. "Get started on that and I'll take care of the fire," she said as she tossed the dead rabbit by my feet. "You do remember how to skin a rabbit, right?"

"Of course," I said as I rose. Grabbed the rabbit. And turned my back to Aela as I placed it on the stone I had been sitting on.

Truth be told, it had been a while since I skinned anything. I might be a bit rusty but by what I remember, it wasn't that hard—more common sense than anything, really.

I turned the rabbit over to give it a quick study. It was skinny. Expected; not much food in the winter. But any meat is meat. There was a bit of blood on both sides of its torso. And small holes: An arrow through the side, I reasoned. Best get to work. The prep work was easy: Off with the feet.

I drew my dagger from my belt and held the hind legs down with one hand as I pressed the edge of the blade against one of the Achilles-tendon, cutting through one before the other. Next, I cut through the skin around the joints, revealing the bone beneath. I put the blade against the joint and pressed down against the stone, breaking through the cartilage. Done right, they'll snap off as easily as breaking chicken-legs apart.

I did the same to the front paws. They came off just as easily. And with a feetless carcass in front of me, the prep work was done. This is where the skinning begins.

There are many ways to do this, but with my finger strength, simply jerking it off would be the fastest way. But for that, a gentle touch of knifework was still needed.

One cut around the neck, all the way around, followed by a cut down the stomach. From the cut at the throat all the way down to the anus. Not too deep, that's important; or I'd puncture the intestines and spoil the meat. That's the last thing you want.

I turned the rabbit over and grabbed it firmly by the head, and with my other hand, I dug my fingers under the skin by its neck. One quick jerk and it'll all come off. Like ripping off a too tight a glove. The fresher the kill, the easier the skin would come off. If one waited too long, and the body began to dry up, it'd be a lot harder. The skin would stick to the muscle as if glued stuck. There's a word for that, but I couldn't remember it. But as I was about to pull, something stopped me. Something that made me clench my teeth.

This is what she did. What she does… isn't it? Krev. The Skinner.

How many times had she skinned something? Someone? I couldn't help but think: Was this how she had done it? With Ysolda? Quick? A single jerk? I begged it was. But I got the horrid feeling she had her own way of doing it. Cutting away at the skin one piece at the time. One piece at the time… That's what she had been doing the first time I saw her. When we found Skjor. That piece of skin in her hand. Bloodied fur. No. There's no way she had done it quickly. Because she enjoyed it. She enjoyed taking her time.

I heard a crack—the rabbit's skull breaking in my hand. Curse her, I thought, forcing myself to calm, and gripped the skin tight with my right hand and jerked it. With a tearing sound, the skin came off. But it still stuck to the legs. I grabbed the stumps, one at a time, and twisted them with both my hands—like wringing water out of a rag—that made the skin loosen. Another hard jerk and the entire skin came off in a single piece. Leaving behind a red-skinned carcass. Fresh red muscle. The scent of blood. The picture awakened memories. Horrid ones.

Curse her, my mind repeated as I took the carcass to the stone and turned my dagger to its belly. A quick slit down the stomach opened it up. Again, not too deep as not to puncture the intestines. I pressed my thumb inside the ribs and took a firm grip as I dug out the intestines with my other hand. The inside was still warm and I never got used to the smell of guts; bitter, heavy, and foul in my nose. Whatever remains my fingers couldn't pull out, I scraped out with my dagger. With the intestines gone, I pressed the edge of the dagger against the side of the spine, one by one cutting out the ribs. It's a satisfying sound, breaking the small ribs; almost like cracking one's knuckles.

Ribs out, I turned the rabbit over, so the head was to the right. I grabbed the torso and brought the dagger to its neck, just beneath the base of the skull, and pressed down hard. With a crack, the dagger went through the neckbone and scraped against the stone as I cut through the remaining flesh and tendons until the head came off.

Cutting against bone tends to dull one's blade, which is why you'd usually use an axe against wood to get through the bones. But this dagger is forged in the Skyforge—There's a reason it's referred to as ¨Eternal steel:¨ It'd take a lot more than stone and bone to dull its edge.

All done. A good skinning. All that's left is to clean the corpse. I grabbed a fistful of snow and brushing away the blood that had begun to dry, cleaned the corpse inside and out. I grabbed another fist of snow and rubbed the blood out of my hands, wiped my dagger against the snow, and returned it to its hilt.

"All done," I said as I grabbed the rabbit by its hind legs and turned to face Aela.

She had a small fire going, leaning forward on her knees as she blew air into it. The fire crackled softly as she fed more sticks to it, and thick pale smoke rose from the wood. The kind of smoke only wet wood gives off. Still, she had managed to light it.

"Good enough," she said after a brief look, reaching out her hand toward me.

¨Good enough?¨ And how would she have done it better? Never mind, I thought, handing her the rabbit.

She drew her sword and stuck it into the snowy ground, leaning over the fire as she balanced the rabbit on top of it—spreading it over the fire on the handle.

The fire was taking off, keeping the growing darkness at bay, burning steadily as Aela added more wood to the pile.

I brushed away some snow and took a seat by the fire, warming my hands as I watched the flames lick the rabbit. Aela sat on her knees on the opposite side of the fire, moving her hands to her side as she began unbuttoning her chest plate. Getting ready for bed, I suppose. But why she'd unarmor herself for that, was unusual. The wilderness can be a dangerous place, and we always slept with armor on in the field—some of us even slept with armor on in Jorrvaskr.

She held the front plate in place as she leaned backward on her knees, loosening the last button as the backplate fell to the snow, and leaned back forward as she lifted off the front plate and put it aside. She continued to unbutton her wolf suit; starting by her shoulder as she worked her way down the short-sleeved arm. I could tell she wore a green rough-fabric shirt under the suit.

I looked down at my hands, rubbing them together in the warmth from the fire as Aela casually continued with her buttons. The rabbit was beginning to smell appetizing, but it was still far from done. Some spices would have been nice to add. Salt at least. But I suppose we'd have to eat it as is.

I looked back at Aela. She was done with the buttons and the split open wolf suit hung from her waist as she sat. She didn't stop as she grabbed her shirt by the bottom and lifted it.

"What are you doing?" I asked as she, to my surprise, began showing skin.

She looked over at me as she stopped just above her navel. "Never took you to be shy," she said matter of factly before she dismissed me and went on to lift her shirt over her head.

Shy? No. Wait! Was she serious?

I felt a sudden embarrassment shoot up my face, stunned as she stripped. My embarrassment grew as I knew my eyes would set on the obvious whether I wanted to or not—I'm a man after all. But to my surprise, they didn't. And the embarrassment faded as it turned into confusion, almost baffling me as I came to realize:

"You're wounded?" I said as Aela folded her shirt on the chest plate beside her.

Her lower torso was wrapped up, a bandage covering her lower ribs. That… explained some things: The smell of blood, why she had wanted a break, the 'out of breath,' and her holding her side.

"Didn't you notice?" she said with a degrading tone. Had she expected me to? "Kodlak and Vilkas noticed."

They had? Vilkas did comment on her smell, saying she'd ¨done her part.¨ Had he said that, knowing she was injured? But then how—

"If you still can't recognize someone's blood by smell, you're still a 'whelp' to me."

By smell? That's how they had known—and I hadn't. Seems I still have a lot to learn.

"No, I've…" I said, turning my attention to the fire, "…I've just been a bit lost in thought."

"I could tell…" I heard her say. "…You've barely said a word since we left."

I ignored her as I kept staring into the fire, watching the flames reach for the rabbit. It needed more fuel. I leaned over and reached for more sticks, added them to the fire, and watched as they began to burn. I hadn't noticed how quickly nightfall had arrived, but now, it was dark all around us. I could barely see the trees of the forest. And the sky being cloudy didn't help. Only the fire offered light. Soft, warm, yellow light.

The rabbit was sizzling, whistling, as the meat cooked. Better turn it over before it gets burnt. I looked over at Aela as I reached to turn the rabbit. She was carefully unwrapping the bandage around her torso as she sat. She didn't seem to be in pain, but the time and care she took said otherwise.

Her skin was pale, like most Nords, yet smooth and feminine. She was slender, yet at the same time muscular. Strong shoulders. It was rare to see a woman with a contoured abdomen. Every single muscle could be made out beneath her skin—the body of a warrior—and she didn't have an ounce of fat on her. But then again, fat never seemed to stick to us werewolves—even Farkas with his brute body type was pure muscle.

Her chestnut red hair hung over her shoulders, but it wasn't long enough to cover her breasts—not that she seemed to mind. She didn't seem to be the slightest embarrassed as she unwrapped the bandage. A true warrior. I doubt even being naked would hold her back the slightest in battle. Her breasts were smaller than I had imagined. Not that I've ever imagined them! But now that they were out there, how couldn't I? By Shor, perhaps I was the shy sort? I thought as I again became aware of the growing feeling of embarrassment.

"Ogling much?" she suddenly said without looking at me.

She had noticed? "Eh… no," I stuttered, embarrassed returning my attention to the fire. "Sorry… I didn't mean to."

"I thought you'd gotten used to seeing women—you're a married man."

A married man… About that…

The embarrassment faded and I looked down at my hand, turning my palm to face me as I looked at my ring. And touched it with my thumb.

"Or perhaps Ysolda, too, is the shy type. Sleeping with clothes on, is she?"

She didn't… We didn't…

Aela's body looked nothing at all like Ysolda's… Ysolda's skin had a pinker hue. Delicate to the touch. Smooth. Fragile. Her muscles were tender. Lean. Hidden away beneath curved skin. She had the natural shape of a woman: Beautifully unaltered by practice. Full lips. Happy eyes. A soft look. I think that's one of the things I liked the most about her; that no matter how strong a personality she had, she always seemed so fragile. As if I could break her simply by holding her too tight. As if she was in constant need of being protected.

Protected… And I had failed… At just that…

Why did I become a Companion in the first place?

"I can do this myself," Aela said, drawing me back to reality. "But it'd be easier if you helped."

"Helped?" The bandage was off, but I didn't see a wound.

"Just get over here."

I hesitated before I rose. What exactly did she need help with? But as I walked around the fire and saw her side, I saw the wound. It looked like a stab. Down below her armpit, between the bottom ribs, where the gap between her chestplate and backplate would be.

"Grab that," she said, nodding toward a canteen she had placed to warm by the fire.

"What do you want me to do?"

"It's easier if you clean the wound, " she said. "It'll hurt less if I don't have to reach around, myself."

Clean the wound? Me? I grabbed the canteen and sat down on my knees behind her.

She reached over her shoulder, holding a piece of cloth for me to take.

I took the cloth from her hand and wetted it with water from the canteen. Her back was muscular, for a woman. And now that I was closer, her skin wasn't as smooth as I had originally thought: Pale scars here and there, faded with time. They looked old. And some of them seemed to have come from… animals? Claws and teeth? Werewolves didn't scar, she must have gotten them before she turned. But some of the scars looked fresher. Especially a red one on the back of her right arm. Silver? Had she and Skor hunted the Silver Hand before? They must have. Only silver would cause scars to remain.

"Get on with it," she said, straightening her back as she lifted her left arm and reached under her hair, grabbing her neck.

I leaned to the side to take a look. It was a stab-wound, and her skin was bruised around it. A small amount of pus oozed from the wound, but it wasn't bleeding, nor did it look infected. It didn't smell infected either. It didn't look too recent, but not that old either. A week old, perhaps.

"It… doesn't look that bad," I said, bringing the cloth closer to the wound. Again I felt a little embarrassed, growing shyness as I became self-conscious of the thought of touching her naked skin. But I bit through it; if she didn't mind, then why should I? "This might hurt," I said as I reached forwards and carefully began wiping away the dried pus around her wound.

"It's not as deep as it looks," she said, tensing up as I touched her. I couldn't tell if it hurt, other than tensing up, she didn't show it. "Got between the ribs, but not deep enough."

¨Not deep enough.¨ It wouldn't be unlike Aela to undermine the seriousness of a wound, she was too proud to admit to weakness. Actually… it wouldn't be unlike any Companion to do so. But it actually didn't look as bad as I had originally thought, but then again, I'm no expert.

"Can you still fight? Use your bow?"

"Caught that rabbit, didn't I," she answered, slightly annoyed in her tone.

It wasn't a clear answer, but it was the answer I had expected. I couldn't help but think she'd become a liability. I rarely had such thoughts but… this was Krev we were going up against. We needed to be our best. And Aela clearly wasn't.

I poured water on the cloth to clean it before I again took it to her wound. This time she let out a grunt, more a 'slow pained hum' really, as I wiped directly on the wound. I tried to be careful, taking my time, as I wiped, but it had slightly begun bleeding. Only slightly. Other than that, it looked good.

"I think I'm done," I said, pouring more water on the cloth before I squeezed it out to dry.

Aela was still holding her neck as she dug for something in her belt pouch with her free arm. She grabbed whatever it was and reached up over her shoulder, holding a tiny bottle and a bandage roll between her fingers.

"Put this on the wound and bandage me up," she said.

"What is it?" I asked as I took the roll and bottle. It held a thick dark liquid, a color between brown and blue.

"A mixture of blisterwort, blue dartwing, and tree sap. It'll glue the wound shut, and helps with healing—my father's recipe."

"I'll have to remember that," I said as I opened the bottle. The liquid was ridiculously thick and sticky as I dug some out with my finger, and, as expected, it smelled strongly of tree sap, but also bitter and earthy from the blisterwort. "Your father taught you a lot?"

"More than anyone," she said, taking a deep breath as I reached for her wound.

"This'll hurt," I said. And, again, she tensed up as I, as gently as I could, squeezed the wound shut and smeared the sap on the wound. She was right. It did seem to 'glue' the wound shut. And unless she'd move around too much, it'd remain that way.

"There…" I wiped my fingers on my thigh and unrolled a part of the bandage, holding one end of it on the wound as I rolled the bandage along her back. "Take this," I said, handing her the roll on her right as it got under her arm. She grabbed the roll and worked it around her front, handing it to me on her left, after which I took it and, again, rolled it along her back to return it on her right. And so we continued, taking turns until the roll ended.

I rose as we had finished, stretching my legs. Sitting on my knees for that long had made them feel stiff. Aela was tying the bandage on her front as I looked over at the fire, heading for my seat.

"The rabbit," Aela said, indifferently reaching for her shirt.

"Shit," I exclaimed by impulse. I had entirely forgotten about the rabbit.

I hoped it wasn't too burned as I took it from the fire, tossing it into the snow as it burned my hands. Aela didn't even react as I buried my hands into the snow, she simply put on her green shirt as I cursed at myself.

"The fire needs wood," she added, watching me as she began buttoning her fur-suit.

My hands were fine as I looked at them, seems the first impression of heat had caused me to overreact. Nothing new there. I brushed the brief awkwardness aside and turned back to the fire, adding sticks from the depleting pile before I took a seat.

Aela reached for the rabbit as she had finished with the buttons, brushing off the snow before she drew her dagger and cut off some pieces. I watched her as she took her time, making a pile of meat in her lap. Once she had finished, she gave me a look before tossing me what was left of it.

Honestly, I wasn't that hungry, I thought as I drew my dagger to cut the meat. Ever since… well… I hadn't really had an appetite since. But I had to eat something. Even if my mind didn't want to eat, I knew my body needed food. Especially ¨this¨ body.

"You're different," Aela suddenly said with a contemplating tone over the shewing in her mouth. She did grab my attention. "You have a different look in your eyes. You used to talk more. And nag."

Nag? "I don't nag," I said, returning my attention to the rabbit.

"And I've yet to see you smile," she continued.

Smile. How could I? How could I smile after losing her? And… a child. Our child. How could I ever smile when whenever I thought of it, it hurt. Was it really the right thing: to keep Aela from knowing? No… better she didn't know. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No," she said without pause. "I like the new you. You're less annoying."

The new me… If only she knew how cruel that comment was. How painful it felt. I buried into myself, focusing on the rabbit as I ignored my feelings. Pushed them aside. They had no use now.

"Skjor always spoke highly of you, you know…" she continued as I tried to eat.

Skjor? ¨Always?¨

Aela was looking into the dark woods as I looked up at her, seemingly in thought as she held a piece of meat to her mouth. "Said there was something ¨special¨ about you… He didn't know what. And I don't see it."

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked. Skjor's death had pained me enough. But I did feel ashamed that his had now been overshadowed by hers… and Jida's. Still, I didn't need painful reminders.

"I thought you'd deserve to know. And Skjor would never have told you in person," she said, turning her head to me.

¨Deserve to know?¨ Skjor spoke highly of me? Funny. That's the opposite of how he portrayed himself. And he most certainly never spoke highly of anyone. No matter how hard I tried, he had always seemed disappointed. Always expecting more… ¨Special?¨ Didn't Kodlak once hint at the same?

"He said you ¨needed to experience death.¨" she continued. "And how you are now, I think he was right."

How I am now? ¨Think he was right?¨ Truly a dark comment. It made me feel uncomfortable. Almost angry. And Aela believed Skjor's death had caused it… His death might have broken the surface… Opened the door. But I hadn't walked through that door until— Should I tell her?

"Ironic," I said. "I don't think he intended his own death to be that experience."

Aela gave me a prolonged look. Seems she wasn't the only one who could ¨bite with a comment.¨ But I realized my mistake as she turned her head away, setting her eyes onto the darkness around us with a clenched jaw. ¨Ironic,¨ that had been uncalled for. We had both lost people we loved, it was only cruel to rub it in each other's faces—and Aela didn't know. She didn't mean to insult. I had.

"I'm sorry—"

"I'll get more wood," she interrupted, pushing herself from the ground as she stood up with a single motion.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"You should get some sleep…" she said, again ignoring me, as she took her sword and sheeted it. "…I'll take first guard." She turned for the woods and walked away before I could say anything—she clearly wanted to be left alone.

Well… Now I just felt bad. And the rabbit tasted bland.

I sighed as I rose, my legs had gotten wet from the melting snow around the campfire. Nothing to do about that. I tossed the last sticks on the fire before I turned toward the tent. I doubt I'll get much sleep tonight. Too much on my mind. I took out a blanket from my rucksack and rolled it out in the tent, lying down on my back as I finished. The inside of the tent was warm. Dark. Try to rest my eyes.

Tomorrow… Tomorrow I'll avenge you. We'll avenge you… All of you.

Ysolda… Jida… and Skjor.

And I don't care the slightest if we die trying.