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Small and frail, instinct urged him to hug the ground. His mate was missing, and he had to find her before Hircine snatched her away forever. Against his fear, he pressed his long ears towards the moonlit night, stretching his little body tall in search for her.
He hopped through the dark forest, heart racing at every crack of a twig or rustle of leaves. Being so small and frail irked him. Growing up he resented being the weak one, toyed and tested until his hard work made him strong with amassed skill and an untrustful heart. But now, he was feeble again. He had to carefully maneuver his delicate body through the killing grounds.
Darting past giant bears, vicious saber cats, and boars with sharp tusks, he noted all of them had the means to end life. Not him. Not in his current state. All he had was the means to run and hide. He bounded on, using his wit to dance around the large predators.
Unexpectedly he breached into a meadow blooming with red flowers. In the center was a muscular elk tearing at the flesh of a black wolf. He had once been close with the wolf, so tied to it that he loathed it in his later years. Now, he felt pity. The elk paused, lifting its blood-soaked head to stare right at him.
He hunched low, wishing to burrow into the ground for safety. The elk lifted its head towards the moon and wailed a haunting, piercing note. Two giant wolves appeared at its side, each with eyes full of bloodlust. They sniffed the air and within moments caught scent of him.
Shit, he cursed.
The wolves launched after him. He sprang in the opposite direction with his powerful yet little legs. His heart was frantic as he dodged the first, then second lethal snaps at him. But compared to the wolves’ strength and speed, he didn’t stand a chance for long. The bigger wolf with a clouded eye caught him by the leg and flung him into the air. He pitifully cried and it shamed him.
The red wolf clamped its jaws around him and squeezed, its teeth biting into his soft belly.
Aela, NO! It’s me! Stop! He cried, but they could not hear him.
The red wolf bit deeper. He could feel his insides being punctured, his blood leaving him. Pressure and pain pushed him into despair, knowing in his final moments he would die weak and pathetic. Alone. Abandoned. For eternity.
Vilkas woke with a start, breathing heavy and clutching at his chest. The bed furs were damp and gave off an unpleasant smell. He sat up peeling the furs off his body, then curled his hands around his temples.
This damn nightmare again. He longed for the nights when sleep did not come to him.
Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on his breathing, but the stench of wolf that radiated from his furs overpowered his senses. He let out a growl as he gathered up the furs and threw them to the ground by the door.
His hands shaking, it took him longer to strap his armor on. Huffing and cursing with every failed buckling, his face exercised into a permanent scowl by the time he finished donning his Wolf armor. He marched out of his room and up the stairs to the main hall.
“Mornin’,” his brother greeted him with cheery eyes whilst eating a big serving of breakfast. Vilkas gave a gruff exhale in return. Farkas didn’t waver on his cheerful expression until he turned to give the other Companions a warning look: Vilkas is especially in a foul mood today. The other Companions stiffened and made haste with their morning meals.
“Last whelp to step foot in the training yard is on cleaning duty tonight,” Vilkas commanded with arms folded.
Ria and Torvar glanced at Tilma. The old housekeeper simply smiled at them in return.
The whelps scrambled out of their seats, the orc looking the most pained as he left his delicious breakfast behind. Vilkas stood a pillar of intensity as the whelps rushed past him into the yard outside.
Farkas watched the whelps go, then made eye contact with his brother, “Another nightmare?”
“Mmm,” Vilkas grunted as he exited into the yard.
Sword drills were relentless and brutal all morning. With every complaint from the whelps Vilkas grew sterner. At one point Aela and Skjor stopped by to watch the training. Vilkas snapped at them that if they had “time to lollygag, the books need tending to.” Record keeping was Aela’s bane, but nonetheless she kept Skjor from starting a fight with the younger Circle member by dragging him to write in some damn books with her.
After that, Vilkas’ mood turned so foul that even poor Ria lost her normal cheer by the twentieth time Vilkas had disarmed and proclaimed her dead by ineptness. Tilma broke the tense atmosphere of the training yard when she called out lunch was served. The whelps eagerly ditched Vilkas. Even his stomach protested him with a loud gurgle. Giving in, he moodily trudged up the stairs and into the main hall to partake in the afternoon meal.
To his dismay, it was rabbit stew.