Way of the Warrior
one of many stories...some just waiting for a scribe...
“The snow fell in slow, silent sheets as Eryk trudged through the frostbitten pines, his breath ragged, each exhale a cloud of pain. Blood seeped from a gash in his side, bright red against the pale snow, a trail even the blind could follow. He didn’t look back. He had no strength to fear pursuit. All his focus was fixed on the forest ahead, its silence, its depth, its promise of one final place to rest.
Then came the fox….
It appeared like a flicker in the snow. One moment, he was alone; the next, it was there, flame-colored fur stark against the white, eyes sharp and unblinking. Eryk stopped, his hand trembling on the grip of his bow….yet the fox didn’t flee. It simply stood, head tilted, watching him with uncanny calm.
He turned, stumbled forward again. The fox followed.
At first, Eryk thought it was coincidence. A curious animal drawn by scent. It stayed with him for miles, trotting at his side, pausing when he paused, vanishing into trees and returning moments later, always there, always watching. When he collapsed to one knee, dizzy from blood loss, the fox sat near him, quiet, waiting.
“You lost too?” Eryk rasped once, not expecting an answer.
The fox blinked slowly.
As hours passed, the forest grew darker, quieter, as though even time had frozen. Eryk’s pace slowed. His wound throbbed…yet each time he faltered, the fox trotted ahead, glanced back, urging him on. A companion. A witness to this warrior….
He wasn’t alone anymore.
….and when Eryk finally reached the crest of the ridge, where the trees thinned and the sky opened wide and silver, he stood taller. Not because the pain was gone, but because something else held him up. The fox stood beside him, still and sure, as if this moment had always belonged to them both.
Together, they vanished into the ever-deepening snow…man and fox, bound not by words, but by a silent understanding carved into the frost.”
