Page 8

It's ridiculous. I know it's ridiculous. There's nobody up here. No hunters. No travelers. No one with any sense would be out in this storm.

But I keep screaming anyway. Again and again, until my throat is raw. Because if I stop, all I'll hear is the growling.

"Please! Is anybody out there? Help!"

A wolf steps out of the storm in front of me.

I stop so fast I nearly fall.

It's enormous. Its shoulders come up past my waist, and its head is as wide as my body. Its fur is thick and gray and crusted with ice, and when it pulls its lips back, its teeth are as long as my fingers.

It doesn't growl. It just looks at me.

Like I'm supper.

Movement to my left. A second wolf pads out from between the trees. Then a third, dark as soot, behind the first.

I back up, clutching my bag to my chest like it might do anything at all to stop a mouthful of teeth. My eyes dart around for a weapon. A branch. A rock. Something.

There's nothing but snow.

And my dagger.

I fumble for it with fingers that won't bend right. It takes two tries to pull it free from my belt, and when I finally hold it out in front of me, the blade is shaking so badly I can see it trembling against the snow.

It's small. It looks smaller every second.

"Stay back," I tell them, and my voice cracks right down the middle. "I mean it. I'm not worth the trouble. I'm all bones and bad temper."

The wolves don't care.

They start to close in. Slow. Patient. Like they have all the time in the world, and they know I don't.

And I know, right then, that this is it.

I'm going to die up here. Alone. Miles from anyone who knows my name. Nobody will even know what happened to me. The baker's wife will tell everyone I ran off with some traveling man, and Silas will tell everyone I broke his heart, and nobody will ever know I was right here, in the snow, holding a little knife.

The first wolf drops its head and gathers itself to spring.

I raise the dagger.

And something comes out of the storm.

At first, I don't understand what I'm seeing. It's too big. It's too fast. It's a dark blur that slams into the wolf from the side, and the wolf, all that muscle and fur and teeth, goes flying. It crashes into the snow a good distance away and doesn't get up right away.

Two more shapes tear past me. They plant themselves between me and the other wolves.

Men.

They're men.

At least, I think they are.

They're huge. Taller than anyone I've ever seen, broader than a doorway, and they move like nothing I've ever seen either. No one moves like that. No one should be able to.

And they're making sounds.

Not words. Not at first. A low, rolling growl comes out of one of them, so deep that I can feel it in the ground under my boots. No man should be able to make that sound. It's what a beast makes right before it rips you open.