The Blood Of Fenrir...

Well, here be the Blood Of Fenrir, part 1. And after this I may go back to normal posts as opposed to short stories.

The wind shifts. I sniff the air, my legs never breaking their stride. There, at last, I have the scent. For weeks I have been trailing my quarry. One of their own gave me their first step. Those at their next step gave me their third. From there I followed tracks, a day old and more, on the ground, but now, now I have the scent.
They must be close. I pick up my pace, lengthening my stride, my passage making no sound, leaving no sign. They thought that coming here, so remote, so wild, would keep them safe. And maybe it would, were it their kind that followed them here. But it is not. The blood of Fenrir flows through my veins, as I learned so long ago. I am far older than I look, lean, fit, long white hair flowing in the wind that whips at my face. Let it. I have felt worse. Whips themselves, for one thing.
The memory brings a feral grin to my face, and I laugh, a loud, wild sound, startling the songbirds from the trees. Now my quarry knows I am coming. Let them. For too many years I have held the knot on the ribbon that binds my jaws. Now I shall let it loose, at last. The sun glints through the trees, warming my face, as it has for so many years. And it has been many.
I remember it well, the day we learned that I was a chosen one, that I had been born of the Trickster's Spawn. The sun warmed me that day as well, though it glinted through hazel, not pine, and in the early morn, not the heat of the day as it does now. Pausing in my memory, I sniff the air again. The scent is closer now, stronger, but not quite where I can pick out single scents. That will come. My feet hit the ground in sequence, and the gentle thuds lull me back into that place of the past.
The scents were keen. Oil, Leather, Steel, the scent of too many men, too tightly packed. My shield was heavy in my hand, so very heavy, as the Jarl went forward to speak to theirs. We watched closely as our Jarl approached theirs, sword in his scabbard, shield at his side, willing to talk, to attempt a peaceful resolution. Thus it was that I saw the knife come out and slide into my lords ribs. As he fell, the foe charged at us across the field. To our credit, outnumbered, worse equipped, and unled, we stood our ground, held, but in the end it was almost for naught.
Our shield-wall shattered when their charge hit, and we were forced to fight as individuals. A mighty blow ripped my shield from my arm, a spear stuck in my sword-arm, and then... A noise ahead breaks my reverie, draws me forth from the land of memory. 'Tis a dangerous land to tread, the paths of the mind.
But the noise. A sharp crack. Sobbing. I sniff the air again. They are close, so close I can almost taste them on the air. Almost, but not quite. I have Fenir's blood, not Jormung's. There are three of them, Man, Woman, Girl. The elder two smell of steel, and oil, powder and lead. They are armed then. Makes things more interesting I find, the risk of death. Some risk. I crouch lower, moving in close, slowly, moving with the rythym of the forest. Step, step, stop, scan, slow, but normal for the woods, it works. I approach to where I can see my quarry undetected.
The girl is sobbing. Her clothes are grubby, her hands and knees grazed. Neither of the others seem to care. The man looks at a map and a compass, whilst the woman watches the woods. Poorly. The man points, and drags the girl to her feet. When she resists, he slaps her, hard. She spins, and before she hits the ground, I am moving.
My white hair spreads down my back, and around my chest. Joints pop as my body changes. It stings, but then, it always has. My jaw juts out, my muzzle forming as fangs sprout from my gums. I howl as I leap from my hiding place, and answering howls echo back from the hills. The man and woman spin my way, pistols being drawn from their holsters. The barrels spark, and now my thick, white fur is patched with red. It stings more now, my chest is on fire, but my blood is up. Fenrir's blood is up.
Before they can fire more than a few times, I am on them. My claws tear at the woman's throat, ending her screams. I ignore her last struggles, and concentrate on the man. He has time for a few more shots, and the fiery pain runs up my arm. It matters not, as I did not intend to use my claws. Fangs are much sharper. I cock my head, and strike for his neck, but he ducks back and falls over. I catch myself before I step on him, and try again. This time I succeed, lifting him up with my good arm. The warm red blood flows down my throat, and I drink until there is nothing left, before I throw him away. The little girl is cowering on the ground by this point. I crouch down and smile at her. It is not until the screams begin that I realize the flaw in my cunning plan
Ah well, maybe she will calm down when we near civilization. So over my shoulder she goes. I set off at a run, back the way I had come, holding her in place with my bullet studded arm, while my other one pried bullets out of my arm and torso. Lead stings. Trust me on this one. Steel can sting more though, thats what set me off the first time. And now I slip back into memory. The spearhead stuck in my arm, and I screamed in pain. My shoulder slammed out of its socket, and then popped back in.
And with that, all my other joints began to pop into different places. My tunic tore, my hair spread, claws and fangs sprouted, and my scream of pain transformed into a mighty roar. I don't remember much of what followed, until I was standing surrounded by a field of corpses. From then on I was prized amongst the warriors of the Norse, until in the end we failed and fell.
I can smell the city now. I hate that stench. Too much of man, not enough of the wilds. I leave the girl on the edge, and then dart off into the woods. Perhaps one day things will change and my kind will be accepted again. Till that day I shall dwell in the wilder lands of the world and hunt only those who need hunting.