Elleanor Ch 6: Wolves

    The convoy crowds together with their backs to each other. Dryad stands to my left and Ainland to my right. I wield two large knives of my own, trying to keep my grip loose and relaxed. I'm not afraid, just angry. Someone has hurt my wolves and now they must die because of it. I will not let this Caster get away with it. He will die. 
    "Don't get cut off from the group," Dryad instructs the men. "They will take you down from behind the second they get the chance. Don't give it to them."
    "Can they fight?" I ask him bitterly.
    "You should have a little more faith," Ainland says. 
    "How will your trees fare against the wolves?" Dryad asks. 
    "They won't," I answer. "The trees won't hurt a creature native to the forest."
    "Good to know." 
    "You seem terribly calm," I point out.
    "He's always like that," Ainland explains. 
    "You're one to talk about calm," Dryad remarks. "The only thing you're worried about is your wolves being hurt."
    I shoot him a bitter look. I haven't been keeping up my barrier and he's taking advantage of it. Still, I can't afford to let it distract me right now. What he sees, he'll see. There's not much for him to read anyways. My thoughts are focused on battle and survival, not secrets. He already knows I care about the creatures in this forest. 
    I glance up at the canopy of trees. Sarrell sits nervously in the fork of a tree with white knuckles gripped around a small bow. He has a pack of arrows, but I have to wonder if he's ever shot a bow in his life. The boy looks petrified. 
    A gust of wind blows through the trees, bringing with it the first of the wolves. I find myself in a stare down with the largest of the pack, matching my height on all fours with a snarling smile and bristled hair. My knives will have a hard time making it through such a massive body. I'll have to aim for the head and-
    "What are they doing?" Ainland whispers to me. 
    The wolves pounce. They were sizing us up and waiting for the right time to attack, and Ainland just gave it to them. I toss a knife at the head of the pack leader as he leaps for Ainland's throat. Ainland, with surprising speed and stamina, ducks under the limp body as it flies through the air. 
    There's no time to grab my knife from the wolf. I pull out a smaller one from my belt and stick close to Ainland. He needs all the help he can get. The wolves gravitate toward him. Our series of defenses and attacks fall into a steady rhythm that requires no words. I distract the wolves, keeping their attacks from getting to close to him, while he comes up from under them with his sword through their heart. It's a slow and messy process. The Brute force of the wolves is impossible to block. Speed and reflexes keep us alive. 
    I slide under a deadly paw as it goes for my gut, slicing the leg as best I can without getting my hand too close to the mouth. Ainland, at the same time, cuts under the beast's exposed belly with a slash to it's gut. There isn't time to finish the deed so we both jump back to regain some distance. 
    Another wolf comes at us. I jump in front of a rouge claw that would have hit Ainland in the throat, killing him instantly. It hits my shoulder, searing into my skin and pushing me to the ground a few feet away. Ainland, in an act of pure desperation, lunges his sword into the wolf's snapping mouth, impaling the head entirely. 
    I force myself off the ground, too pumped with adrenaline to notice the pain that should be consuming my arm. I will deal with it later. 
    With only one knife now and only one arm, my attacks turn into weak attempts at not dying. We're surrounded by three wolves coming at us at the same time. Death seems immanent. Still, we fight. I toss my knife at the head of one while he lunges at another. An arrow whizzes through the air and takes down the third. I don't dare glance up at Sarrell in the heat of the battle, but I recognize that he just saved our lives. 
    I jump for my knife from the dead wolf in front of me, but my death becomes immanent once again. A heap of bloody brown hair leaps at Ainland. That man is impossible to keep alive. I charge at the wolf, ramming into it with every bit of force that the ground and my weight will allow me. The two of us hit the earth and role, earning me a number of large claw marks to my skin. My focus is in keeping the mouth from my flesh. Then the thrashing just stopes. I untangle myself from the mess of hair and claws to see Dryad standing over it and a sword protruding from it's back. 
    The last cry of a dying wolf rings out from somewhere behind us, strong, painful, and fleeting. It's over.
    Gasping for breath, Ainland hurries over to Dryad and I.
    "That was reckless," Dryad says stiffly, giving me an unexpectedly angry look. Or is it worry? Neither make any sense.
    "You fight well," Ainland tells me with a nod as his breathing begins to calm. "I owe you my life." This is no light thing for a man like him to say, especially for it to be said to a woman. He holds out a closed fist to me. I reluctantly place my hand over his and we share a silent nod.
    "Don't complement her for nearly getting herself killed," Dryad cuts in. "It was stupid."
    "Says the idiot who uses himself as bait," Ainland argues with a smirk. "I highly doubt you have a right to say anything about reckless."
    "General!" a bloody man comes running to Ainland's side. "It's Bren! He's-" 
    All look of victory on Ainland's face fades instantly. He follows the soldier to a wounded man and kneels. Dryad watches with sober yet indifferent eyes. He had probably been expecting to lose a man or two. I know I was. Ainland, however, looked as if he were losing a loved one. He is a General. He should be use to death. Something is terribly off about that man in every way.
    Now is as good a time as any to take my leave. I attempt to slip away unnoticed, sneaking off into the forest. Of course, Dryad would never let me leave without saying goodbye. That would just be rude, now wouldn't it?
    "Where are you going?" he demands, keeping my pace. 
    "North."
    "Because?"
    "If I'm quick, I might be able to catch the trail of the Caster who did this," I answer. Whoever it is, they're staying out of sight from the trees somehow. He's a good Caster, that's for sure. Those wolves were not simple in any sense of the word. 
    "And what exactly do you plan on doing when you find him?" Dryad asks rhetorically. "Intimidate them to death? Bleed on them? You can't fight. You can hardly hold a weapon." He motions to the knife hanging limply in my hand. "I'm surprised you're even walking."
    "I wasn't planning on a fight," I concede. "But if I wait, the trail will be lost and we've got nothing to go on."
    "We?" 
    "This Caster isn't just my problem," I answer. "He was sent to kill Ainland, no? He's a threat to the convoy, and I do believe that makes him you're job to take care of."
    "True."
    "Don't waste my time with useless questions," I snap. 
    "Oh, but it's just so much fun to annoy you," he retorts dryly. 
    "Trying to act like me again?"
    "I look at it as mocking you, actually," he notes.
    "Are you going to-" My foot rams into a felled tree and gravity sends me face-first into the dirt and leaves on the forest floor. My attempt to catch myself with my wounded arm leads only to shooting pain and annoyance. Dryad saw the whole thing coming and he didn't lift a finger to help me, either when I fell or now as I lie on the ground.
    I look down at the earth to get rid of the spinning feeling in my head, but it only worsens. The colors swirl and mingle together into a brown and green blur. 
    "Creature?" Dryad? I look up at him but there's nothing except more green swirls.
    "Poison." The word forms in my thoughts in the same moment that it touches my lips. The wolves were poisonous. This Caster certainly wanted to do some damage. 
    A bubbling pain radiates around my shoulder and some of the other deeper cuts. 
    Something round and cool is pressed to my lips and I drink without thought. The taste is bitter but it sends almost immediate relief to the intensifying pain. The world collapses into darkness just as I catch a brief glimpse of a towering man in a black cloak. The words "go to sleep" ring voiceless in my mind, so I listen.