Deepwood Weald The Pain that withers.

Maiken had gone to war for that abomination?

A flicker of rage danced like fire in his single eye.

The pale-furred wench had gone to war and her horrid offspring had taken a life. Retaliation was the only answer for those who had suffered at the fangs of the pale wolves. Jörmungandr felt bile rise in the back of his throat. He had known from the moment the woman had interrupted his conversation with the healer. The dark man had known that she was a vile thing. He could not believe that Maiken had allowed herself to suffer, by that monster’s orders.

This is why the pale-furred ones are not to be trusted. Svart blessed you only by keeping you alive, Maiken. To fight for that- that filth…

Jörmungandr huffed a breath into the cold air.

The man would not allow himself to lose his temper. He held his emotions in an impenetrable cage. There would be no sniveling, no show of concern. It was the way of the berserker.

Did they get their payment? Had the wolves taken the life that was owed to them?