(8 ratings) Rate this Story (5 best) 1 2 3 4 5

Will began walking again, his feet feeling heavier than ever before, and before long his beard was gray with frost.
Will tried to keep his mind on other things, making the strain and cold distant and bearable. He thought about his family; of his wife, Nyea, and their little son. He would be four years old come this spring, and already people could see the semblance between him and his father. And his grandfather, my father. The thought of the old man brought a weight on his heart. Will's father had gone on an errand for the king to the distant lands of the Endless Plains and had never returned. That was ten years ago now; Will had only been seventeen at the time. The first years he had kept a grudge towards his father, blaming him, but with the years came not only age, but wisdom. He had long since forgiven his father, all that was left now was yearning and a fading hope that he was alive. All he had left from his father now, was his name, William. Pray he is still alive.
Will wrenched his thoughts away from painful memories.He absently checked tapped his chest with his palm to make sure that he still had his amulet. He had adopted the habit, afraid that he might lose it. It was the most precious thing he had, except from his family. It had been a gift from his best friend, Arran, the king. They had grown up together, just as their fathers had, in the castle of Naarima. The had gone through most things in their lives together, and as youths they were inseperable, if it was practicing their fighting skills in the courtyard or sneaking around exploring the hidden hallways in the castle. Some would say they still were, inseperable, Will being one of his closest counsellors. However, in their twenties they had lived differrent lives making them two very different persons, though still best friends. Will had been sent off to the borderlands commanding the troops guarding Naarim from the raiding parties from Ragna south of the Raa mountains. Prince Arran had lived in the castle following his father, the old king, learning the aspects of ruling. However, he had not been pampered, as some would say. Will knew he had not lived an easy life, and he knew his friend had also seen the hardship of war in skirmishes along the border.
Will froze in his tracks as yet another wolf's howl filled the night. It was closer this time, somewhere to his right. It was followed shortly by another somewhere to the right. Have they been following me? Could those be the same wolves as before? Will was struck by a rear feeling of paranoia. There was no way wolves would be following him, he knew. Wolves shunned people. It seemed they had learned to keep a distance to humans. Angry herders had nearly depleeted the population of wolves only years before, afraid that they might be a threat to their sheep or cattle. Arran had put a stop to that, forbidding killing of wolves as long as they stayed in the woods. «These woods belong to them, as much as to us» he had said. According to accounts the population had increased, but the wolves no longer strayed from the depths of the woods.
I might be paranoid, but my sense about these things have never failed me in the past.