The World of Myth Magazine

Morning came all too quick for the Ranger, who woke to find himself surrounded by four wolf pups, not including the adolescent he was using as a pillow. His bones ached, his head pounded, and the various wounds about his body played a twisted tune of pain through his senses. He hurt terribly and began to question his thankfulness of the fact he survived whatever did this to him.

Feeling his pillow begin to stir, the Ranger carefully eased himself up, mindful of the pups sleeping at his sides. When it became certain the younglings wouldn't be bothered, he relaxed and moved easily, or as he noticed ruefully, as easy as his wounds allowed. Wincing back against the pain, he pushed himself up to stand and couldn't help but smile as a soft chorus of whimpers, whines, and yawns erupted from the young dire-wolves around him.

Glancing around, he took in the small cave the wolves called home. With the light of day pouring in through the opening, he made out more detail than the dim light the glowing mushrooms offered. Looking back to the doorway, he grimaced with the thought of having to crawl through the hole in his present condition. With a sigh, he steadied himself for the ordeal and bent to crawl through, biting his lip against the pains. Emerging out the other side, he grunted then flopped onto his back, grateful to be out on the forest floor.

Taking a moment to let his eyes adjust to the slightly muted light that pierced through the canopy above, he thought back to the previous night and the word he had scrawled in the dirt. Draven, he thought to himself. The phrase sounded familiar. A name, perhaps? Could it be my name? Or, his thought turned darker, the name of the one who did this to me?

Letting his focus take in the forest above him, he found he felt a certain comfort under the crown of trees, giving him the sense that he has spent significant time within the woodland realms. Closing his eyes, the Ranger let his senses flow outward, allowing them to drink in the information presented beyond the perception of sight. Soon, he fell into an almost meditative state, and the forest around him came to life with a clarity that should have frightened him if it wasn't so familiar. Suddenly the Ranger could easily hear the sounds of various rodents scampering about the branches above or darting for cover after the distinct cry of some bird of prey echoed about. He listened to each sound blanketed under the soft groaning and crackling of the oaks, pines, and poplars dancing lazily with the breeze.

He marveled at the scents that permeated the air. He could smell the fresh vegetation, yet he could detect the aroma of rotting wood and leaves. He sniffed a bit deeper, catching the sweet perfume of Roundleaf flowers, cloves of Windroot, and the ever so subtle tart fragrance of Elves Ear. He would have smiled quietly as he lay there if not for a new scent he suddenly caught a whiff of. It wasn't as horrible as it was familiar, though he refused to take in deep breathes as the odor became thick and overwhelming. His nose wrinkled to the idea that it smelled like wet fur. Like a dog had jumped into a swamp. Not a dog! A wolf!

The Rangers eyes snapped open and found an uncomfortable large silhouette of a canine shaped head hovering over him. He let out a yelp of surprise and threw his hands out in reflex, popping the canine creature in the nose. It backed up a bit, giving the Ranger a chance to scurry backward only to slam against a boulder that helped form the mouth of the den. Balling up his fists, he knew any fight he could offer would be in vain, but he was a fighter, and he would make this creature work for its meal.

The Dire-wolf before him tilted its head curiously, as if silently confused, allowing the Ranger a moment to gather his wits enough to know he recognized the wolf as his savior from the night before.

"Oh, for the love of the gods!" he snapped, "why would you do that to me?"

The wolf tilted its head a bit more, and the Ranger swore he caught a glimpse of a twinkle in the eyes of the creature.

"You're laughing at me, aren't you?" he grumbled, "Well, I'm glad you find humor in this!"

The Dire-wolf stepped toward him and gave a calming groan. Safe in his assumption the wolf meant him no harm, the Ranger reached out and gave the wolf an affectionate pat on the head. After, he ran his hand through his own dirty-blond mane as he sighed, then looked around.

"I suppose thanks are in order," He mentioned dryly as he pulled himself up to rest more comfortable against the rock. "I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful for what you did for me. And for protecting me through the night."

The Ranger watched as the canine dropped to lay near his feet. "I don't suppose you have a name, do you?"

The wolf sighed heavily, its dark brown eyes bouncing around as it lazily looked into the distance.

"Well, I can't let my savior go without a name, less the bards have nothing to sing about." The Ranger tilted his head in thought. "How about Saxson?"

The only reply the wolf seemed to offer was to continue to stare into the distance.

"Ok, how about Larrel Thunderheart!" The Ranger said dramatically, only to receive a sidelong glance in return.

"Neldor?"

Nothing.

"Titch? Oskar? Luca?" None of which spurred a reaction from the wolf.

"Umm…how about Gogo the Whimsical Wolf?" The Ranger blurted, drawing a sidelong glance.

"Gumji?"

The dire-wolf turned its full gaze on the Ranger as if he was growing irritated, but the Ranger continued with one more, "Howie?"

The wolf wrinkled its snout, baring long dangerous-looking teeth.

"Ok, ok," The Ranger gulped. "Not Howie…"

He scanned the forest for inspiration when to his surprise, it hit, "I know, I'll call you Arun."

The wolf tilted his head, eyes gleaming in acceptance.

"Arun," The Ranger nodded, "means ghost in Druidic, though how in the hells I know that is beyond me. But the name fits, as you clearly were able to sneak up on me without making a sound. But, my furry friend, if you want to complete your ghost walk, you might consider the odor that announces your arrival!"

Arun groaned and flopped over on his side and stretched out. The Ranger, becoming once again aware of the aches and pains plaguing him, began to give himself a once over in the daylight. He sat forward, pulling his tunic up over his head, which was no easy feat given the severity of the wounds on his chest.

The worst of his injuries was, without a doubt, the four claw marks making their way diagonally down his left pectoral muscle. He knew in his heart that the gouges were made by claws, big claws, though once again, he remained in the dark as to how he knew it. He also gingerly inspected the multitude of bruises down his sides and over his defined abs. Whatever happened, he took quite a beating and couldn't help but wonder how he even survived.

As he had done earlier, he tried to open his mind, not to the senses of the forest, but to the fog that clouded his mind. He willfully tried to clear his thoughts so that he might pick up a fragment of memory. What he found was incohesive and scattered; nothing but a jumbled mess of faint images flashing by too fast to comprehend. He was well on his way from crossing the feeling of frustration into one of anger when that one word came to him again.

Draven, what did it mean? The familiarity he felt with the word pushed him to believe that was his own name. "So be it," He said to himself even as he caught the attention of Arun laying near his feet.

"Until I know otherwise, my name is Draven." The Ranger said with determination. Arun's ears focused in on the man, and he gave a soft woof in reply. Draven snorted sarcastically, "I'm glad you agree."

"Now what do I do about this," He winced as he looked down to the claw marks. Though they seemed to have healed enough to stop blood flow, Draven could make out wet shiny spots where the wounds still lay open. H pondered his predicament, wondering what may be the best way to treat the lacerations before they festered. Strangely enough, an idea came to him.

"It's not much, I don't think," Draven claimed as he gingerly stood. He took a moment to balance himself, once again wincing against the sting. "I need some Black-Leaf root and the leaves of Elves ear." Arun stood as well, and together they headed into the forest.

Draven smiled as he watched Arun walk beside him. Somehow, the goddess Nyrarae found it in her heart to let such a mythical and ferocious creature like a dire-wolf to become his friend and protector. And as he walked and studied Arun, the Ranger knew deep down inside Arun would never harm him.

It did not take long to find the ingredients he needed to dress the wound with to Draven's relief. A relief heightened when he stumbled upon a stream whittling its way through the forest floor. It was there he knelt, soaking his shirt in the icy cold water.

Using extreme care, he washed his upper body down with the cloth, paying close attention to the areas around the gashes. It stung profoundly, but with clenched teeth, he worked through the pain. When he was finally satisfied with the cleansing, he scouted around the area for something he could use as a bowl. Quickly enough, he found a large rock, one with enough of a concaved surface to hold a small amount of water, along with another smaller one to use as a grinder.

First, he took the Black-Leaf root and ground it into as fine a powder as he could. He took a small scoop of water from the stream and let the liquid trickle over the dust, just enough to create a paste-like substance. Draven took a deep breath, then popped the leaves of the Elves Ear plant into his mouth. Almost instently, his lips began to grow numb, but he continued to grind the leaves with his teeth, hoping he wasn't drooling all over himself. The numbing sensation was expected, as somehow he knew the leaves were used by healers for that very reason.

Leaning down, he opened his mouth to let the chewed up leaves fall from lips he forgot he had. When all was in his make-shift bowl, he used a small stick to stir it all together. After becoming satisfied that the concoction was mixed well enough, he rinsed his hand off in the gurgling water. Finally, he sat cross-legged next to the stream and took the bowl in hand.

Wasting no time, he scooped up a small amount of the paste with his fingers and gingerly began to apply it to the wounds. The numbing effect was instantaneous, which was a god-sent blessing. At least for now, there would be less pain. With the Black-Leaf root's healing properties added in, Draven was confident the wound would heal, though there will be a hell of a scar left behind.

He finished the process by using his soaked shirt to wrap and cover the gouges. Finally satisfied he had done all he could, he bent down to the water and scooped up a handful to drink. However, he groaned in frustration as the water flowed freely back out of his numbed mouth and down his chest.

Standing, he began to search the forest floor for what he somehow knew would counteract the Elves Ear numbing effect. It was a common weed found in the forest, called the Purple-Flowered Fumewort, which Draven was able to find quickly. He wasted no time biting the flowery head off the thin stalk and chewed eagerly. When he found himself able to smile, he knew the effect was wearing off.

"Next time, remind me to find all the ingredients I need before I start!" He muttered, spitting out the last bits of Fumewort. He wiped his mouth clean as he eyed Arun. "You know, if we are going to spend a lot of time in each other's company, you might want to learn to be less talkative."

Arun groaned and laid his head down between his front paws.

"If that meant you're hungry," Draven said as he hugged his stomach gently as it grumbled also, "then I fully agree."

The Ranger scouted out the area slowly, drinking in everything his senses could detect. Somewhere out in the forest where all the answers he needed. Yet again, his fragmented memories gave no help. But his eyes swept over all he could see, he began to feel a change come over the forest. The woods, save for the groaning of the trees in the wind and the sound of the stream, had gone silent.

Draven snapped a gaze to Arun, who had at some point stood, his posture guarded as he stared with determination to the west. He knew then that there was something wrong when the dire-wolf issued a low, barely audible growl.

Draven turned to follow the wolf's gaze but saw nothing. "I…" he began to speak but paused as his eyes keyed in on a dark form way off in the trees. It didn't look all that large at first, and the Ranger entertained the notion that it was nothing to worry about, until of course, he realized its size was growing rather quickly.

Draven hesitated a moment as he realized what was now barreling down on them and knew there was no way to escape. The creature was almost twice the size of Arun and unquestionably faster. It was, to the Rangers dismay, a Long-Horned Sabercat. The beast was a fast and deadly predator that looked like its smaller feline ancestors but sported a long sharp horn just above its eyes, which gave it its name.

Draven realized he was almost out of time as the Sabercat charged in. He turned, thinking to climb up the nearest tree, but realized immediately that was impossible. The trees were too thick and tall. So instead, he rushed over and spun around, planting his backside against the bark of the nearest oak. The cat was only meters away when it launched into the air, sights set solely on the Ranger; but at the last moment, Draven spun to his right, following the curve of the tree before coming to a sudden stop, leaving the oak between him and the attacker.

The Sabercat twisted in the air in an attempt to pursue, but its momentum was too great as it crashed sidelong into the tree. It gave a beastly cry of pain but landed on all fours. It seemed for a heartbeat that the monster was confused, but as it spotted Draven again, the confusion left it. With a shake of its head, the cat began to slowly stalk around the large trunk, forcing Draven to slide around in an attempt to keep it between him and the beast.

The creature lowered its head as if to charge horn first, but just as it tensed to spring forward, a feral growl echoed through the forest, followed by a loud howl. The cat spun to find Arun standing meters behind it, his teeth bared in a wicked growl. Both wolf and cat launched forward, crashing into each other under loud, angry roars. Draven, frantic to find a way to aid his friend, searched for anything he could use as a weapon. What he found were a pile of large rocks and a few sticks and branches.

Grabbing one of the branches, he gripped it like we would a spear and took a deep breath before deciding to charge in towards the tangled mess of wolf and cat. Arun was fortunate the horn had not skewered him, but even as they fought, the beast's claws raked down the wolf's side. Arun howled in pain but renewed his fight by clamping his jaws on the cat's hind right leg. As the Sabercat took its moment to cry out in pain, Draven charged in, hoping the ned of the branch was sharp enough to stick in.

To Draven's delight, the tip broke the skin, not enough to kill it, but it hurt enough that the cat flung Arun off to the side with a growl and spun on its new attacker, causing the Ranger to fling himself backward to avoid getting clobbered by the horn. But as he tried to regain his balance, the beast's claw flung out to slap him off to his left, where he landed in a crumpled heap. Draven looked up and saw the cat's eyes fixed on him, but before it could take a step forward, Arun crashed in again, sending them both tumbling over.

Draven, desperate to help, used everything he had to stand up steady. He whirled the make-shift spear around and charged in again. As he set himself to the collision, he yelled out with a warrior-like shout, causing the Sabercat to look his way, creating the opening Arun needed to clamp his jaws on the monster's neck. The cat's cry in pain ended as abruptly as it started when Draven's wood spear pierced its eyeball and stuck deep into its skull.

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