Thorvald’s Wyrd 043
Pacing a wide circle, he watched for an opening. No prey had ever fought so well. Already three pack-mates lay on the hard snow, two stunned, and one wounded, unable to rise. One human should not have such strength, yet this one resisted so well it had not yet drawn the broad metal blade from its back, fighting only with the curséd Spear.
But the pack would prevail. The pack always prevailed. They would not fail the Cold One again. Beyond the fringe of battle, eyes locked on the prey, he held his rage, waiting for the moment to strike.