Anton's heart pounded in his chest in time to his feet, which thundered across an icy path. He trod on every branch he could as he sped down the way, and brushed his shoulder against every low hanging limb, making thunderous crash as he went. He heard more sounds all around him in this white world: the entire hillside was full of similar crashing sounds. One was actually quite close, perhaps just behind him, making soft crunching sounds in a snowdrift.
Suddenly, a sleek canine form erupted from the snowy underbrush, its powerful legs kicking off the path to bring back speed. It's dark gray fur was muted almost white by fresh powder that clung to every hair, and as it ran, the creature shook, trying to dislodge the snow.
Any normal human being would be scared by a wolf chasing after them, but Anton did not lose a single stride as he ran, trying to match the creature's speed with his own legs. He gritted his teeth and balled his hands into fists. He even leaned forward, letting branches swipe at his exposed face.
It all failed. Even weighed down and batting its eyes to get rid of the stinging ice, the wolf gained on Anton fast. Its face scrunched up the more the wolf ran, though the look was not quite a snarl. No, a snarl would not cause a wolf's eyes to cross like that, nor would it cause the wolf to take a deep breath and in the space of a moment nearly stopped as a sneeze seized the wolf. The sneeze sending wet powder and snot flying as it dug its paws into the path... its nose, which had been covered in white, finally took on its natural black color.
This got Anton's attention more than anything, and despite himself, his feet faltered from their measured cadence. He finally looked at the wolf fully now, and to second to catch his breath.
"That's why I use the trails, brother," Anton chided with a toothy grin, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The wolf growled a reply, looking away from Anton for a mere moment to shake off the sting of snow in his eyes. His paw was a good tool for this, so the wolf rubbed his face for a mere moment, blocking his view. A soft sound of feet on snow alerted the wolf, turning the attention to the source of the sound.
Another wolf was standing where Anton had been. His almost silver fur and broad shoulders were obviously familiar to the more lithely built canine, because his tail wagged once in recognition.
Then, the race started again.
Together, the brothers sped down the way, their senses hightened with adrenaline. They both could hear every footfall of two more wolves around hundred yards to their left, and more importantly, they could hear a fifth set of crashing footprints, though it seemed much more delicate than the way they traveled. Glimpses of a stag crashing between the teams of wolves came in and out of Anton's view. In the cold, he could see its breath steaming behind it. His focus snapped on that puff that blended into the snow so well: Anton knew it needed to be tired out as soon as possible. The more desperate it was, the more likely it would be that it would fall into their trap instead of, looking for an opening to escape. Soon, they would be heading downhill on either side of a steep, dry creek bed, with the deer funneled into the chasm.
They had done this a hundred times with success, sending the deer down the chokepoint and into a hail of arrows, but still Anton strained his senses for a sign that the hunt could turn for the worse. Anything, even as small as a change in the wind, could spook the stag into moving straight into one of the wolves, and as proud as they are of their teeth, horns were just that much bigger.
His brother, though, had no such concern. A howl erupted from his mouth in his excitement, which was met across the ridge by another wolf. The howl was high pitched and crisp, much like his brother's, making Anton shake his head. Somewhere deep inside, his rational side thought to scold both of them, but he still remembered a time that he had been as excited as they were.
So, they pressed on. The terrain became more rugged as they traveled and the straight game trail disappeared, instead becoming a network of smaller webs stretching under the meager cover of the trees. Anton lowered his body as he went, sacrificing the speed of a fully extended stride for power in his back legs to bound suddenly in one direction. He darted left, then right, then left again through these honeycombed paths in the snow, each time taking a mental note of where he heard the stag.
He let out a short bark when he finally heard the stag taking the gulley below. The cry was confirmed by a similar signal behind and to the left, though suddenly a second sound was heard. This one was sharper, a warning directed at him, and by instinct Anton turned his head.
In his impatience, he had forgotten to look ahead: a creek fed into the gulley just ahead, leaving a deep pit, though after a storm it was hardly more than a shallow bowl to the naked eye. He barked again, telling his brother behind him that he saw the darker spot in the snow.
Anton dug deep for strength in that moment, his body winding with one final strike into a tight coil. His feet nearly stretched past his frontpaws in that last moment, and knowing what he was about to do, his brother cried out. Anton heard a crash behind him as his fell into a snow bank to stop, but it was too late for Anton. Instead, his body snapped back like a spring, and he bounded through the air.
It paid off. Anton's front paws touched down on the opposite bank a moment later, and though he let the momentum carry him forward, he paused. He shook his head as he trotted in that moment, his breath catching in his throat... then came the thwang of bowstrings and the iron tang of blood. His job was done.
This let Anton slow further, and for the first time in minutes, he was able to walk. He eyed the glistening snow all around him as he tried to catch his breath, never sticking to one thing for too long a time. His heart beat in his chest like there was still danger, and it showed in his eyes.
Soon, he managed to find a path down the steep slope, following the line of a recently downed tree that blocked the path from the wind and made the drifts more managable. He was the first to use it, though, as the smell of the trees sap was still fresh in the air, so he had to move slow as he forced his way through the drift.
His feet touched the bottom of the gulley without incident, though Anton continued to tread carefully. Under the snow, he could feel stones from the creek bed shifting under his paws, and though he could not hear a trickle of water under the blanket of white, the slick feeling of sheets of ice still gave him pause... and ample means for someone to catch up to him.
He heard the heavy padding of a wolf from his left before he could see anything. Anton huffed at the sound, his ears falling back on his head and his face turning away. By the time he saw something out of the corner of his eye, his head was already hung low, snout pointed towards the ground.
"You have some explaining to do, boy. I heard your little stunt, even in the middle of a chase," he heard, as soon as the padding of four feet turned into two. He did not bother looking up at the man who said this, though, instead staring into the snow.
The man that approached was large, his thick arms and torso made thicker by the layers of furs he had put on his body, and had restrained with only a blue gambason of quilted wool. His heavy boots trudged him forward until he stood over Anton, and though he never raised a hand against the wolf in front of him, the man's fists still balled tight and his brow furrowed.
"We hunt to survive, son. We stay safe, avoid being rash becajse if one of us is injured, it can hurt the whole tribe," he reminded the wolf, causing Anton's head to sink lower. The man then sighed, his breath so hot it obscured his face as it became fog.
"Go home. Let your mother and the girls know we will be there soon," he finally said, before his big boots turned away. As he did, Anton finally looked up, tracing the large bootprints the man left. He even opened his long maw, his lips about to purse like he was going to speak, and then he sighed, too.
You could not talk if you were a wolf, and you certainly did not challenge Anton's father.
So instead he trudged home as a wolf, shoulders slacked. It was all downhill, so progress was slow for Anton as he pondered a command his father had given him a thousand times.
"Always watch the road ahead." He could swear he heard it in the trees as he walked, as if it had seeped into everything around him. Anton shivered at the thought, and was lost in it all the way past the widening trails until he reached the edge of town, and the familiar smell of the wind blowing over the river.
In his daze, he almost did not notice another smell: this one foul and a bit earthy, not unlike the droppings of a stag. He then noticed three wide lines cutting through the snow, two smolth and narrow, with the other quite wide. Anton broke into a run, knowing the signs from sometime way back in his childhood: a carriage was in town!
He bounded forward as soon as he knew, barely holding back his instinct to howl as he went. He had seen the carriages as a boy before he had started the hunt, and had seen their wares. They were usually traders, who haggled with the women every few moon cycles as the men hunted during the day. Anton would see one again!
He first followed the tracks to the center of town, where the carriage usually stopped, and his eyes darted left and right. Only long tracks even revealed it had been here, though it appeared it had moved onward, following the curve of the river. This only excited him more, making Anton rush up the street, hoping to catch this thing before it was too late. The earthy smell was back and stronger than ever, making Anton run all the faster, then suddenly he saw the carriage, horse and all, stopped in front of a small house of hewn logs, amost identical to the rest except for its peculiar blue door.
He froze, ears perked for any sound. No footsteps on the snow alerted him to danger, no pulling taunt of a bowstring above the roar of the wind. Indeed, the breathing of the large beast before him was the only sound he heard, his well insulated home only giving off an awkward silence. This gave him a chance to inspect the carriage.
It was huge, larger than any sled he had ever seen, with walls of planks sanded smooth and painted with a green paint so thin you could see the grain. Flowers dotted the sides, with blues and whites and yellows that he had only seen on paper. It even had a roof, though the thatching was covered in snow.
Circling this huge wagon, Anton approached the horse, feet padding in the snow. He had seen them before a handfull of times though so far north a beast like this would never be able to remain fed for long: he assumed they ate more than many stags ever could. He forgot one thing, though: as he passed into the vision of the beast, he was still a wolf.
The horse reared on its hind legs, giving out a banshee's cry, Anton yelped, moving back as the beast dropped its massive hooves into the snow. Suddenly, fear removed his magic and he lay there, human in the snow, heart pounding out of his chest. It was then a woman appeared, her face clean and awkwardly smiling as she smoothed a thick wool skirt around her legs. At first, Anton looked at her dumbly, not recognizing her, but soon enough a smile crossed his face as he looked at her features. She was cleaner than she usually was, revealing laugh lines around her kind eyes that were normally smudged with soot; her curly hair hastily braided behind her back.
She was still mom. Anton rose to his feet, ready to speak, when someone else, a man shivering in an outfit of crisp black cloth also appeared at the door.
"Is that him?" He asked nervously, his hands moving to rub his arms. His mother just nodded, trying to keep her nervous smile, while Anton stared on.
"Good, then let's get out of this bloody cold," the man said, before practically teleporting inside. Anton went to open his mouth, but he was stopped by his mother with a look. She had a guest, and that fact seemed to rest heavy on Anton's shoulders. He should not be kept waiting, so instead Anton filed inside right after his mother.
A fire cracked in the fireplace as it always had, but as Anton entered the small cabin, something was off about it. He strained to hear for another, smaller human in the cabin, but even in the rafter beds there was no noise. His sister was gone, too, he was able to surmise, meaning it was just the three of them.
That was not all, either. The entire place seemed brighter, and the fire hotter, as if his mother had thrown one too many logs in the fire. Also, the dried meats and strips of fish he usually seen on the walls were gone, and the crunch of dirt under his boots was gone, even at the threshhold. Had his mother swept the enterance?
Still thrown off, Anton sat near the fire, eyeing the man in front of him. The man, possibly the smallest in stature he had ever seen, began to speak.
"Mr. Erland, thank you for taking time to meet with me. I am sorry to inform you that the High King proclaims you must attend to him at Elphanor. It has been agreed upon by Irodak's king and your father. It is His Magesty's greatest wish to see the kingdoms come to understand one another, and you have been selected to represent that goal."
Anton immediately found the world spinning around him, though his eyes remained on the man. He could not be serious, could he? His eyes snapped to his mother, who nodded, showing this was real. He opened his mouth to object, to at least find a reason to stay, but Anton was interrupted.
"Normally, we would just expect you to comply to your King's request, but I understand your little village makes great use of you when hunting... We do not wish to cause hardship on your family. Arrangements have been made to pay repirations out of the King's granary," the little man said. "I hope that is sufficient."