A Garm.

"Garm? This high on the mountain?"

He peeks.

"No fucking way."

He slides out. His dagger is no longer holstered. He scans and spots it on the snow far down the slope. It was the one he lost at his first roll, evading the Nhiven's ambush.

If he slides, he could reach the dagger and possibly retreat back toward the cavern.

But then, he would return without the girl.

Then, Elm would reject him again.

Sol, the Eclipse-born.

One-Horned Sol.

Sol the Half.

Son of a Human.

This is his only chance to be accepted.

This is his last chance to be accepted.

He slides down, uses his less-injured arm to grab the dagger, and watches as the Garm tears into the Nhiven.

The Nhiven retreats. The Garm pursues with sharp, swift movements. The Nhiven feints a gore. The Garm slips back and rakes a hind leg.

The Nhiven is losing. It knows it cannot win. Elk do not beat wolves.

It bounds higher up the hill. The Garm glances at Sol, then closes with its prey.

"Did the Garm… just glance at me?"

There are stories about Garms, though Sol has never seen one in his life. In fact, no one from Elm has ever seen one. They say Garms are the guardians of the Stake, ever since the land was made impure and filthy by humans and their magicks.

They are shaped like massive wolves, five to six times the normal size. These beasts can grow up to two meters tall, and two and a half to three meters in length.

Their fur lets them blend with the surroundings, and it is so thick that no amount of cold can get through.

Their fangs can pierce the strongest steel any Geherrim has forged.

The thing is, they do not go up into the mountains.

Perhaps because of the Stake's magical leylines, or out of a mutual respect with another apex predator at this height of the mountain—Sol does not know.

But he is certain of one thing: the creature fighting the Nhiven is a Garm.

A snow-white Garm.

For a heartbeat, the two great shapes stand on the ridge, facing each other. The full moon shines brightly after a thin veil of cloud passes.

It looks like a painting.

Sol cannot help thinking how beautiful it is, no matter how close to death he is.

The elk bellows.

The wolf howls.

Silence.

Then a deep growl from within the mountain, and then a vibration.

A vibration so deep it shakes Sol to his core.

The snow begins to move.

An avalanche.

Sol looks up in awe as both predators leap away to safety, leaving him alone beneath the rolling white and the full moon.