Prophecy

Chapter 1

Lunging for the reins to keep her from bolting, Jarrer held her tightly as her eyes rolled in fright. Murmuring soothingly, he placed a reassuring hand on her forehead to recover her from the fear that had laid claim on her.

When he'd settled her enough to be confident she wouldn't bold, Jarrer turned back to the she wolf. He considered grabbing his bow and ending it there. But before he could, his eyes caught sight of wolves bounding through the distant trees, and he knew his only hope lay in outrunning them.

Flipping the mare's reins over her head, Jarrer launched himself into the saddle and then dug his heels into her trembling sides. Exhausted though the mare was, her fear was stronger. She bolted. Pressing himself flat against her back to avoid the low-lying branches, Jarrer concentrated on dodging the massive trees.

In the open, the wolves would have been hard pressed to catch her. But their bodies were more compact, and therefore better able to maneuver in the tight space. Every time Jarrer looked, the wolves were closer. Unable to carefully study the landscape, he had to rely solely on his instinct to find the Elven Path.

After leaping over a fallen tree, Jarrer chanced a look back. The wolves were nearly on top of them. Abandoning his efforts to head for the path, he dropped the reins and whipped his bow around while fitting an arrow. Now nipping mercilessly at the mare's hocks, the wolves tried to bring her down.

In rapid succession, Jarrer fired into the tangled knot of wolves. One, two, three, four, five wolves dropped to the ground, before the other wolves took to the shelter of the trees. Watching ever so carefully, Jarrer scanned for a flash of grey fur before letting another arrow fly.

Suddenly catching sight of the she wolf, Jarrer took careful aim. But just as the arrow left his grasp, a wolf leapt from the cover of trees to sink his sharp fangs deep into his right arm. It took every last ounce of strength he had to stay mounted on as the wolf tore mercilessly into the flesh above his elbow. Jarrer felt the unmistakable sensation of a tendon snapping, and then the muscles in the back of his arm contracted into a tight ball. Unable to contain the scream that tore through his throat, he fumbled for his dagger, found it, and stabbed the wolf's side.

With a sharp cry, the wolf fell, crushingly, to the ground.

Grasping his now useless arm, Jarrer grimaced as pain washed over him. Somehow, he'd managed to hold onto his bow, but he hadn't the strength to pull the string. Blood ran freely from the torn flesh, and the smell of the wound seemed to make the wolves even more aggressive. They tore from the trees and lunged at the exhausted mare's hocks. Desperately, she halted and slammed her hard hooves into her attackers.

Using his uninjured arm, Jarrer lifted his sword, sorrow that he'd failed Ara paining him more than the fear of his impending death. But then he caught sight of something. Desperately fighting through an opening, he righted the mare's course, his last hope at survival looming before him.

The wolves saw it too, and became more desperate in their attempts to stop them, but to no avail. He passed from the forest into the protected Path of Lourel. Pulling the trembling mare to a stop, he dismounted and turned to face the wolves that dared not cross the tree's border. Growling threatening, they taunted him, but Jarrer's stance dared them to test the patience of the Elves. Eventually, none but the enormous she wolf remained.

"I'm very sorry that our game had to end. Will you come play again?" she asked.

Jarrer had forgotten the playfulness of the Gifted wolves. They loved and respected their prey right up until the time they crunched the soft marrow from their bones. "Perhaps another time."

Her lips curled back in what he knew to be a smile, but it more closely resembled a snarl. "I look forward to it master Elve." With that, she turned and trotted back into the wood.