Thorvald’s Wyrd 042
Gungnir blurred in his hands, twisting to smash one wolf from the height of its leap with its butt end. A quick pivot brought the spear point up to tear across the other’s ribs. Two harsh yelps spilled into the night.
In the heartbeat between the second wolf falling and the pack’s collective growl as it surged forward, Thorvald’s senses sharpened so he heard every breath and heartbeat around him, smelled the blood as tiny droplets hissed into the snow, and tasted the tang of hate in the air.
The blood rage began and a howl passed his own lips.