Spirit Warriors: A clan shall rise

Eirik adjusted the wrapping on his leg, already stiff with morning ache. His leg throbbed beneath the cloth like a quiet drumbeat, and he could feel the pain slowly intensifying as he approached the mountain.

"Fifth day," he said aloud, voice hoarse and dry. "Still breathing."

The sky was pale. The sun was just beginning to rise beyond the ridge — a smear of dull gold behind heavy clouds. It brought little warmth. 

With a determined thought, Eirik took his first step up the incline. The rock is crumbling underfoot.

'Just keep moving, we're almost there,' He encouraged himself. From here, the journey would be more dangerous but much shorter than the first stretch. He had only to climb this mountain and reach the stone.

His eyes gleamed brilliantly as he thought of the Stone standing on top of the mountainside. Expectation and excitement were swelling up in him.

By the third hour of climbing, his cloak was soaked with sweat. The air was thinner now, and every breath came with a bite. His leg had begun to tighten — not unbearable yet, but enough to remind him that his body was on a ticking fuse.

He came upon a narrow pass flanked by jagged stone. The area was quiet, too quiet. Since climbing, the roar of beasts and shuffling of leaves were constant, yet as he came across the pass, silence ensued.

He cautiously crouched, eyes scanning the nearby foliage. With a quiet precision, he found movement up ahead. Small and fast, but movement nonetheless.

Squinting his eyes, he moved to the side of the pass slowly, "A Frost-tuft Wolf," he muttered. He'd seen their hides nailed to trees before, but never one alive. They weren't Eldbeasts, but they were smart. Pack-hunters. Cowards, unless they had numbers.

He pressed forward, gripping the hilt of his blade. One hand hovered near the horn-bow on his back, but his leg made fast movement dangerous.

As he crested the next ridge, the first wolf sprang from the rocks.

Eirik's sword sang free of its sheath. The creature lunged — low and fast. He sidestepped, gritted his teeth as his right leg flared with pain, and drove the blade into its ribs with a twist.

Another snarled above him. A third to the left.

"Of course," he spat. "Should've known." He hurriedly backed towards a narrow funnel between boulders, forcing them to approach one by one. Years of his training with his father and the scouts of Dunveth had allowed Eirik to gain quite the experience.

Eirik turned around, his eyes locked onto the two wolf-like beasts slowly approaching. They were smaller than wolves, rather dog-like in size, but still one of the fiercer predators in the woods.

The first Frost-tuft lunged towards Eirik, a low growl escaping its lips. Eirik, prepared for the attack, stabilised himself as he lashed out. The sword split the head of the beast open, ending its life. Eirik hurriedly dislodged his sword and raised it to face the third tuft.

Seeing the death of its companions, the creature hesitated, prompting Eirik to seize the opportunity. He lunged forward, giving a loud shout. His sword raised into the air for another strike.

The beast, however, hurriedly fled, frightened by Eirik's attack. It shrieked as it scurried away in the snow-mist above.

Eirik slowly lowered his weapon, a sigh of relief escaped his lips, before he grimaced in pain, his knee buckling. Eirik stumbled slightly, falling to one knee. "Damn it! Not now! I need to move!" he groaned, slamming his fist into his flesh, as if it would allow him to recover quicker.

Frost-tufts were cowards by nature, but Eirik was sure, either it would return with a larger pack or another beast would be drawn to the narrow funnel by the smell of blood.

With a slight panting breath, he forced himself to his feet before continuing to climb the ridge. Limping slowly as the pain assaulted his body.

It was only midday, and Eirik was not able to find a suitable shelter; thus, he had no choice but to continue onwards. He had only enough time to take the herbal medicine his mother, the village herbalist, had described to him before continuing.

With a tough climb ahead, Eirik gritted his teeth and continued to move, but the slope, however, steepened and Eirik was exhausted by the climb. He had to take quite a few breaks in between as he moved. The rough but visible trail was soon replaced by a path og jagged stone, lining the sides of the slopes.

Eirik wanted to avoid climbing through the jagged rocks, but after walking to each side for quite a long time, he realised there was no smoother path. He could only sigh in bitterness before starting the climb.

By midday, his left hand bled from dragging himself over jagged stone. He stopped once to bind the gash with a strip of linen and snow, packing it tight to numb the throb.

He hadn't eaten since the day before. His last bit of dried meat was gone. He'd burned it for warmth the night prior when frostbite kissed his fingers and forced him to choose.

Now, it was only cold. Cold in the stone. Cold in his gut. Cold in his leg.

Eirik, after hours of exhausting climbing, eventually reached the top of the ridge. With heavy steps, he turned to gaze down the rough mountain slope. The same path that had made him bleed for hours on end.

'This ain't no slope, it's a bloody cliff'

With a mixture of pain and exhaustion, he puffed and cursed. The journey had made it so that he had to crawl in certain areas of the climb in order to continue 'safely'.

"Ooh! I am gonna have to have a word with the old man after this. Tsk. Luckily, no beast attacked me, otherwise I would surely have met my end here," he continued, a glimmer of fear and relief flickering in his eyes.

As he raised his head, he saw the sun slowly disappear beyond the horizon, the last embers of light painting the sky in a splendor of orange and purple hues.