Wolves in the night

He couldn't stay with the Stalhúð.

The wind whipped around him, the cold seeping into his ruined armor, all he carried with him across the mountains to the north. He kept his head down against the snow that tried to blind him, stinging his fresh wounds across his eye. The freezing metal ring in his nose was almost unbearable, and his short legs trudged through the thick snow, slowing down due to the rough incline.

The North would know what to do with him. Surely they'd take this magic from him and tame it. He'd fought magic-turned beasts all his life, but Ivras had fought them for centuries. They wrote down their knowledge, and he'd heard rumors of the libraries of Namarast, spoken around the Stalhúð fires with spitting scorn. If he went to them, he wouldn't be a risk to his home. He had to believe that.

The hydra had been about to destroy the ship. If it had been any other beast, or any other weather than the brutal storm that craved their deaths, they would've made it safely back to shore like any other hunt. But Hyrr, goddess on high, sent a lightning bolt to the ship's prow, and her son Geirr brought this beast to pull them low, for every head they severed came back with twice the number and twice the hunger. The ship was going down, and it hardly registered to him then that he'd drown, unable to swim with his heavy armor ravaged by the beast's teeth. No, what mattered was that over half of his shield-mates couldn't swim. They were stranded on the ship, doomed to die together, for running away from the fight would surely bring the scorn of all Hyrr and all her children. 

It was in desperation and pain that his magic saved them, pushed the beast away long enough for the ship to turn. A crashing wave almost overtook them all, but once they rode it out, the hydra was gone, and the shore came to their rescue at last. They'd poured out across the harsh sands in the harsh deluge of rain, every last man staring at Málmr.

It was that moment that broke him. Everything else felt like an afterthought; that there were raking claw marks across his eye, blinding him with shallow blood mixed with stinging saltwater, hiding under his helmet, impossible for the drake to have caused. His breath came harsh in his lungs and his legs were trembling from the burning aftermath of his newfound magic that sang in his blood, hounding for more, and soon the silence was broken to rush him and the wounded to the tents, booming with triumph and praise that Geirr had surely smiled down on him. They sang their victory to those who came to meet them, but the damage was done to Málmr, even as he was pushed towards the fire, toasts sung in his name.

He heard none of it. He was stuck in that silent, watchful moment that had stretched on for an eternity. In that moment, they all knew that one day, Málmr would turn towards the beasts that haunted the forests and oceans to join them, that all his victories would from this moment forward bring him closer to the Hunt. One day he would be a danger to them, would hurt them, would hunt their children and their wives along with the worst of Yrsa's hounds. He couldn't risk the lives of those he loved.

He tried to stay, tried to keep his magic under control, tried to learn under Faramund, the wise storyteller who kept to the road, but that knowledge haunted him. He dreamed of that eternal moment, of those eyes consuming him, ripping him apart and leaving only a monster behind. So he stole away, taking only his armor and the barest of necessities with him. He left nothing to signify where he went, told not a soul - but it must've been fate to be stopped by Faramund just outside of the clan settlement. There were no words, for Faramund knew the burden he carried. With his old mentor, he let his tears fall.

Mountains stood in his way between him and the Order, and he was faltering now. His armor was covered in a layer of frost and snow, biting through the worn leather between the metal and his skin, and the weather was turning for the worst.

And he could hear the howl of wolves behind him.