37th of Fall, 506 AV
The soft sound of crunching and compacting snow was all that gave away the presence of the young vantha, the cold white fluff clinging to his clothes. For his usual judgment in cases such as this, he would have turned back by this point. Actually he probably wouldn’t have even left Avanthal, but he was fifteen now! A short bow and a quiver on his back and with a wooden scimitar in hand, he was ready for anything or so he thought. The stories of the dangers of the Reaches faded from memory, but the valor and men who came back shone brightly. Atyvn was a smart boy, but sometimes his imagination overwhelmed his level head. This is the reason why he snuck out of Avanthal without his parents’ consent to find some adventure. He knew the area well enough, which is what he decided as truth, from the hunts his father took him on. If he truly looked around him, he would have understood that he was lost. He kept marching, as sharp as a fifteen year old could march, through the sparse trees. What he did not know is that his father, Bretn, noticed his absence and had picked up on his trail a ways back. But that was not the only thing on his trail that moonlit night.
But now the boy was truly starting to grow frightened of the night. The rational mind that was pushed away earlier had quickly taken control once the shadows about him seemed to creep towards him. He held his wooden scimitar ready for the hungry shadows to strike at him at any moment. A rush of movement barely caught his eye and he clung to the nearest tree. His heart raced at the thought of what kind of dire creature could be stalking him. He crouched down slowly, burying himself slightly in the snow which made him look vaguely similar to a pile of snow fallen from the upper branches since snow still clung to him from the winds earlier.
Bretn grew more worried with every step. He was on his son's trail, but as it kept leading him further, it worried him of what could be out here other than himself and his son. A steel long sword was in a hilt on his belt and a short bow was slung over his shoulder. Though the sight of his son's footsteps still continued gave him hope, even if it was taken away right after at the sight of it going much farther. Something in the snow caught his keen eye. A second path of large prints weaved back and forth across his son's. His eye's widened and grew a pale yellow, his face whitening. He quickened his pace down the trail. This night would not be over soon.
Atyvn could hear the beast's breathing now; it was only a matter of time before it found him. His eyes were filled with fear and the only thoughts running through his mind were the basic instincts of survival. He could not run and he could not hide for much longer. He was doomed to a death out in the wilderness from his own stupidity and he was sure of it. He was terrified of this realization, but he knew this was it. Then he saw it. It was a pure white wolf, but it was not a regular wolf. This wolf was almost the size of a leopard, its muscles flexing under its thick fur with each stride. It was sniffing at Atyvn's footprints and was slowly getting closer to his position beside the tree. For a few moments, Atyvn marveled at the proud creature's majestic movements. It was a true wonder of nature in his mind. But it sunk in that that very creature would be the death of him. His fist clenched around his grip of his scimitar. To hell with waiting for it to kill me! It is going to have to work for its meal tonight! he thought as his eyes shifted to a raged red and he leaped from his pile of snow at the dire wolf with some attempt at a battle cry with his scimitar held back, ready to strike at the enemy it would most likely not harm.
Bretn snapped his head to the left, hearing his son's yell. His pace increased dramatically towards where he thought the source was. He drew his sword, dodging tree after tree, his thoughts only consisting of saving his son.