Chimera Fields magister

sólhárr arrived in thunder.

his steps tore through snow and pine, ears pinned to the chaos ahead. the sound of snarling—two beasts, not one. the stench of blood thick on the wind. his breath caught in his throat as the scene broke open before him: a female, a slip of a girl, small and screaming; raedwulf, drenched in crimson, locked in mortal combat with a cougar whose spine twisted with rage.

he did not pause.

get her out! came the chieftain’s bellow—harsh, barked like stone thrown against steel. whether it was to a ghost or a god he didn't care. someone, anyone, needed to hear it.

his bulk crashed into the fray like a battering ram, aiming to flank the cougar's blind side. shoulder lowered, teeth bared. the beast would not walk away from this—not with its fangs buried in his wolves.

sólhárr did not fight for bloodlust. he fought because they were his.

because the girl stood like flame in the wind, and raedwulf bled like a soldier of old.

he fought because he had to.
and he would not let death take them. not today.