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The night Jach's father finally drank himself to death, the young man, hardly more than a boy, was left with nothing to his name but the rough three room cabin in the forest, a mule and cart, and a scuffed up old axe. He scraped on by as his father had, chopping wood and trading it to the neighbors for what he couldn't make himself. "Neighbors" out in this corner of the kingdom could be spread many miles apart, but Penny the mule was old and given to going lame, and so Jach walked whenever possible to spare her the load. He certainly didn't have the means to afford another mule and usually only took her on the twice yearly trips to the city, the only time he could sell a large amount of firewood for actual coin. He himself was a quiet and contemplative lad not given to drinking or brawling; it many ways the polar opposite of his father. Others might have grown lonely out here, but he found peace in the solitude. It was only at rare times like tonight, walking back home with the snow crunching underfoot and the stars bright in the painfully clear sky above that he felt a restlessness seize his soul. He had just returned from splitting up a fallen tree for a widow, the leftovers of a generous supper of roasted chicken she'd prepared for him nestled in a basket under his arm, when he heard a yipping up ahead followed by snarls. Hurrying forward through the trees with the thought that a hunter's dog might be in distress, he found instead a pack of wolves! They circled one of their number, growling low in their throats. The unfortunate wolf that had their attention had its paw caught in a trap; the wound seemed fresh, and Jach could see the brilliant red of its blood staining the snow. It was a big wolf and snarled ferociously at the others, but he doubted the animal could hold them at bay with mere bluffing for long. What does he do?

The first wolf gathered the courage to dart in, then dodged nimbly away as the trapped wolf lunged at him. Across the clearing Jach could hear the distinct click of teeth, the jaws snapping together on nothing but air. While his neck was extended in this failed attempt, another wolf was upon him, and then another; the first attack had merely been a ploy by the cunning killers. Fur flew in tufts, and then a great gout of crimson as the snarling of the wolf in their center faded to a weak gurgle. Jach stood rooted to the spot and watched this cruel display of nature in morbid fascination. Then as the wolves closed in to devour their former comrade, he shook himself free of his trance and realized the situation he was in. Many times wandering the woods he had come across the scattered bones and strips of tattered hide that was all that remained of a pack's kill, and many times he had thrilled in a kind of delicious fear when the night wind carried in the lonesome, eerie howls. While well aware of what they were capable of, never before had he been so dangerously close to the animals. Especially now that they had the taste of blood and not nearly enough meat to go around. He turned again towards home and made his way through the trees as swiftly as he could without actually breaking into a run, fearing that that would only draw more attention to himself. And a man tromping through snow a hand's length deep could hardly hope to outrun a pack of hungry predators. Every few moments he would look behind him, and with no sign of pursuit he started to relax. Then it happened. A sharp sound that reminded him of the doomed wolf's teeth clicking together, and then a stab of agony across his foot. The metal jaws of the trap he had just stepped on did better than the wolf's had, piercing their way through boot leather, flesh and bone alike and holding him fast. Jach collapsed to the ground with a cry of pain and struggled to pry the trap open. His blood made a spreading stain in the snow. "There has to be...some kind of release...or something, surely..." he muttered to himself as he fumbled at the cold metal with numb fingers, his growing panic clouding his ability to think. Suddenly remembering his axe, he snatched it and wedged it into the mechanism, another cry escaping his gritted teeth and tears forming in the corners of his eyes as the metal begrudgingly ripped itself free of his flesh. The blood flowed more freely now and Jach forced himself to his feet, leaning heavily on his axe for support. Although free, he was in a predicament now. Miles from any help, with a useless, mangled foot, and still a long way from home. Forcing himself to take deep breaths and trying to remain calm, Jach began to consider his options. And then he saw the rapid, slinking movement, first to his left, then to his right, and realized he had none. The wolves closed in. BAD ENDING Back to previous page? (Taking a break for now but feel free to suggest another option.)