It was pure carnage.

The battlefield was drenched in blood and littered with corpses. My comrades, who had been laughing and drinking with me only two nights prior, had been reduced to lifeless corpses, staring up at the sky with blank eyes.

The trolls had caught us by surprise, ambushing us from the cliffs above as we passed through the last valley before the impassable mountains. There were ten of them, enough to effortlessly wipe out our party of only thirty men.

I had gotten lucky, if one could call it that. A troll’s club had struck me on the back of the head, and they must have assumed I was already dead. The pain of the blow was the last thing I remembered before waking up to the sunrise. The attack had come just before midday, which meant I had been unconscious for nearly a full turn of the sun.

My head ached, my body ached, but more than anything else, my heart ached. Ignoring my pain, I gathered all twenty-nine of their bodies, what was left of them at least, and dragged them to the center of our camp. Scavenging through our packs, I found enough oil to soak the remains before striking a match and tossing it onto the makeshift pyre.

I stoically watched as my comrades’ bodies burned, not shedding even a single tear. I wanted to, something that my burning eyes constantly reminded me of, but I knew this wasn’t the time to succumb to sorrow. Whatever plan Mariosopie had for me, it wasn’t for me to give up and die in this valley. I had been granted a gift, a second chance, and I couldn’t waste it on grief.

We were a scouting team, sent to investigate some rumors of troll activity in the northeast, near the base of the impassable mountains. I was the newest member, hailing from a minor noble house known for raising soldiers. I had come of age a few years prior and had recently finished my basic training. The men I now consigned to flame had welcomed me with open arms, treating me like a brother or son from the moment I had arrived.

I built another fire, smaller this time, and brought a small pot of melted snow to a boil. Using the water and some of our dried rations, I made soup. Such meals were bland at the best of times, but this one tasted like ashes on my tongue. Still, I forced myself to finish it. I would need the strength for the trek home the next day. I promised myself I would push forward so I could bring word back to the Northern Army and the families of the deceased.

Since they wouldn’t need them anymore, I went through my comrades’ packs once more, taking their rations, waterskins, and anything else that might help me survive on my own. I packed them into my own bag, a gift from one of my elder brothers, then I wrapped myself in a blanket and curled up in a small alcove in the cliffside, falling into a fitful sleep.

The next morning, I awoke to a sea of white. The funeral pyre was no longer smoldering, now covered in a thin layer of snow. Everything was covered in snow. Judging by the clouds on the horizon, a winter storm was coming.

Born and raised in the north, snowfall was nothing new to me. I just needed to reach the safety of the forest before the storm hit. The dark clouds of the impending blizzard had already swallowed the rising sun, but I trusted my sense of direction to guide me.

Sure enough, as the sky began to darken that evening, I found the edge of the forest. By that point, the snow was falling so heavily that I could barely see what lay directly ahead of me. The wind howled, blowing so fiercely that it nearly knocked me off my feet, its icy blades cutting through my thick cloak and chilling me to the bone. The storm was far more powerful than I'd anticipated.

I entered the shelter of the forest, but to my dismay, it didn’t offer enough protection for me to make a camp. Even if the trees above me caught some of it, the snow was coming down too heavily, and the thinner branches were already bending and breaking from its weight.

With no other options available, I forced myself to keep moving forward. The snow was already up to my knees and showed no signs of letting up. My gut told me that if I stopped, even for a brief moment, I would fall asleep forever, lost in the freezing storm.

So I continued onward, blindly stumbling in what I hoped was the right direction. The tangled forest and swirling haze of snow made it impossible to be sure, but I kept going, doing whatever I could to stay warm and mobile.

Day turned into night and into day again. I began to feel like I was the only man left alive in all of the north. I only paused when hunger made it impossible to keep walking. I didn’t dare try to sleep, though. Exhaustion overwhelmed me, slowing my progress, but I continued on.

I wondered why fate had bothered to spare me from dying at the hands of the trolls, only for me to perish in this blizzard. It seemed utterly unreasonable. If I’d had the strength left, I might have laughed. Perhaps I would have cried.

Finally, as the second night approached, my body finally gave out. I fell to my knees, collapsing on top of a snowbank. As the flakes began to cover my body, I accepted that this was the end. I had nothing left to give. A single tear escaped from my eye and instantly froze on my cheek.

When I awoke again, I was no longer buried in snow. I was inside, and wherever I was, it was warm. There was a log roof over my head, and a lantern hung from the rafters, illuminate the small room. The walls were made of logs as well, and there were two large dressers placed on either side of a closed door. I was laying on a bed, wrapped in blankets.

I blinked a few times, fully expecting the warm room to vanish, but it seemed that the room wasn’t a hallucination.

I sat up slowly and took in my surroundings. A room in a log cabin, a large bed with a wooden bed frame, and a single window looking out on the snow covered forest. Two dressers. A closed door. Where the hell was I? The structure didn’t look like Vraynian craftsmanship at all.

I was wearing dry but unfamiliar clothing that was much too large for my frame. I touched my head where my injury was and discovered that it had been bandaged. It was only slightly tender to the touch.

Before I could try to get out of bed, the closed door opened. Carrying a washbasin with a towel over his shoulder, a large figure entered the room. When he looked at me, his eyes widened in surprise. Clearly, he hadn’t expected me to be awake.

Out of the two of us, however, it was I who was the most surprised. The man had to be six and a half feet tall, taller than any man I’d ever seen before. Even the Duke of Misenport, who was considered a giant of a man, couldn’t compare to the man in front of me.

Of course, he wasn’t exactly a man.

Despite my addled state, I immediately realized he was a beastman. His ears sat on top of his head, rather than on the sides, and they were large, furry, and round. To match his incredible height, he was also broad shouldered and well muscled, making him seem even more imposing.

When I finally noticed his face, I saw that he was smiling, his initial surprise having given way to relief.

“Well, good morning to ya,” he said softly, as if trying not to startle me. His deep brown eyes sparkled as the light from the lantern caught them. If anything, he looked a little nervous.

Based on his friendly greeting, I assumed we were going to overlook the fact that our nations were at war. Not that the north got overly involved in such things anyway. Unlike the duchies to the south, us northerners were more concerned with the mountain trolls than our nation's petty disputes with our neighbors to the east. That didn’t necessarily mean we were on good terms, but there was no open conflict on the northern section of the borderland.

“Good morning,” I replied, straightening my back in an attempt to look at least somewhat dignified, “Given that I’m still alive, I suppose I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

The beastman visibly relaxed. I hadn’t realized how on edge he was until the tension melted away.

“Well, that’s a relief to hear,” he told me with a nervous chuckle, “I wasn’t sure if a human would take too kindly to being taken in by a beastman, what with the war and all.”

“I can’t speak for all humans, but this particular human appreciates your efforts,” I assured him, “Though I must admit that I’m a little curious as to how you found me. Did I pass through the borderland during the storm?”

“You must have, since I found you close by,” he answered, shaking his head, “I was out checking the traps and found you buried in the snow. I don’t think you’d have made it much longer in that state.”

I wouldn’t have. When I collapsed, I had thought that was the end for me.

The realization that I shouldn’t be alive crashed over me. Twice now, fate had granted me reprieve from certain death. I wondered what I had done to earn such grace, when the rest of my scouting team had received none. My grief surged as I thought of my fallen comrades.

As tears spilled down my cheeks, I tried to wipe them away, my voice trembling as I mumbled, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to seem ungrateful. I’m thankful you found me in time, but…”

“But someone else didn’t make it?” he asked gently.

“There were thirty of us,” I whispered, staring intently at my lap, “I was the only survivor. We were sent to scout a valley at the base of the impassable mountains and were ambushed by trolls. The only reason I lived was because I went down when one of them hit me. But everyone one else–”

I couldn’t bring myself to say it aloud, but from the pained expression on his face, I could tell he understood.

Hesitantly, the large beastman approached the bed. He set the washbasin on the bedside table and sat down beside me. When I didn’t try to move away, he placed a large hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently.

“When I woke up, it was already over,” I continued, my voice rough with emotion, “I burned their bodies and gave myself a night to recover. By the next morning, the storm was on the horizon.”

I met his eyes with my tear-filled ones and saw nothing but compassion reflected there. Despite his frighteningly large physique, he was surprisingly gentle. Not at all how I had expected a beastman to be.

Actually, considering that he was half beast, he didn’t look all that different from a human. He was larger, yes, and his ears were certainly beast-like. When I looked a little closer, I also realized his head was covered in fur instead of hair. It looked fuzzy and soft, nicer than human hair.

His features, however, were entirely human; a wide nose, strong jaw, and a noticeable dimple on his left cheek when he smiled. I’d never thought this about another man before, but… he was quite attractive.

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like,” he offered, “Wait out the storm, or even the whole season. Another fortnight or two and spring will be upon us. Less chance of getting caught in another storm that way.”

“I don’t know about waiting out the season, but I’ll gladly accept your offer for a few days,” I replied gratefully, “I’m definitely not heading back out into that storm.”

“Make yourself at home, then,” the beastman offered cheerfully, “My mate was out on patrol when the storm hit and won’t be able to return until the snow lets up, so I could use the company.”

I blinked, shocked by how casually he said that, and asked him, “Aren’t you worried about her?”

“We’ve got shelters set up for situations like this, so there’s nothing to worry about,” he assured me. Then, after a brief pause, he added, “But just in case my mate returns while you’re still here, I should probably tell you that my mate is a male. I hope that’s not gonna be a problem for you.”

I was a little taken aback by his confident declaration, but it wasn’t a problem for me at all. It was true that such things weren’t accepted in Vrayna, but I wasn’t in Vrayna right now.

“No, no problem,” I replied honestly, “Besides, this is your home and I’m the one who’s imposing. I’m not entitled to an opinion on your choice of mate.”

“Hmm... I heard you humans generally aren’t all that concerned about whether you’re entitled to your opinions,” he commented with a raised eyebrow, though his voice held humor, not malice.

Surprising myself, I retorted, “Well, I’ve heard that you beastmen are all violent and feral, but I’m willing to admit I heard wrong. You should give it a try. Might be a freeing experience for you.”

The beastman let out a booming laugh, “I think I’m going to like you. I’m Zale, by the way.”

“Bryn,” I said, reaching out to shake his hand.

Zale accepted my hand with a firm grip, “Well, Bryn, I imagine you must be hungry. How 'bout I make you something to eat?”

My stomach grumbled loudly in response.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckled, “C’mon, I’ll show you the rest of the house.”