The ridge swallowed us whole. One moment the torches and shouts of the hunters lit my back, the next, silence. No flame, no steel, no scent of men. Only the crunch of snow underfoot and the slow rhythm of the stranger's steps ahead of me.
He moved with the ease of someone who had walked these woods for a lifetime. I stumbled more than once on hidden roots, still dripping cold river water from my fur. But he never slowed, never looked back, as if he knew I would follow no matter what.
The forest opened at last to a clearing. Moonlight poured down in sheets, turning the snow pale as bone. The man stopped in the center and pulled his hood back.
A scar split his face from brow to jaw, old and ugly, but it didn't take from the strength of his features. His hair was ash-gray, pulled into a warrior's tail, and his golden eyes fixed on me like a spear through the chest.
I knew that face. Not by name, not by memory, but by blood.
"You've felt it," he said. "The hunger. The silence between heartbeats. The voice inside that tells you to kill."
The beast inside me stirred, recognizing him, and for a moment I thought I would lunge at him without will of my own. But the man—no, the wolf—did not flinch. He stood as if daring me.
"Who are you?" My words came out rough, half-growl.
He smiled faintly. "Skjor. Of the Companions. And if you want to survive the next winter with that blood in your veins, you'll come with me."
The name tugged at something buried deep in me. Companions. I'd heard whispers or rather, this body had—warriors of Whiterun, shield-brothers, shield-sisters. Some said they were mercenaries with honor, others said they were more beast than man.
Skjor's gaze never wavered. "Those hunters would've burned you alive. Silver in their blades, fire in their hands. You'd have taken half with you, maybe more, but in the end?" He shook his head. "Ashes and bone."
I didn't answer. I could still smell the pitch, the torches. Could still feel the cold of the river clinging to my fur.
Skjor's voice dropped lower. "You're young. Raw. You've barely scratched what you are. But I can teach you. We can. Or you can keep running until silver finds your heart."
The choice pressed in on me like the hunters' horns had. Fight alone, or follow.
I followed. It was an obvious choice.
"Wait, we can't have you walking around like a mutt." he halted, frowning as he stared at me.
"We'll find somewhere to wait until you burn it out"
* * * *
The road to Whiterun was long, but under Skjor's guidance, the miles fell silent. He didn't speak much, and when he did, it was short, sharp things. Training advice. Warnings about hunters. The way of wolves.
By dawn, the walls of the city rose before us, dark stone against the pale sky. The banners of Whiterun flapped in the wind, golden horse stitched on green.
We passed through the gates without trouble. The guards knew him. They eyed me suspiciously, but said nothing when Skjor grunted, "He's with me."
Whiterun smelled of smoke, steel, and bread. The clash of hammers rang from the blacksmith's forge. Merchants shouted their wares in the marketplace. Normal life. The kind of life I hadn't touched in… gods, I couldn't even remember.
But heads turned when I passed. Something in their eyes told me they saw more than a stranger. Maybe they smelled it, like wolves do. The beast hiding under my skin.
Skjor led me up the stone steps to Jorrvaskr, the Companions' hall. The great mead-hall crouched under the sky like the hull of a ship turned to rest on land, wood dark with age, doors tall enough for giants. Laughter and the scent of mead spilled from within.
"This is where it begins," Skjor said, his hand on the door. "If you're strong enough."
The doors swung wide, and the firelight inside painted the hall in gold. Warriors sat at long tables, feasting, boasting, arguing. A woman with fiery red hair laughed as she slammed a man twice her size into the table during an arm wrestle. Shields lined the walls, some scarred, some polished bright.
And then I saw her.
At the far end of the hall, near the hearth, stood a woman in a dark mage's cloak, speaking with one of the Companions. Raven hair fell in waves around her shoulders, and her green eyes glowed in the firelight. She laughed at something said, but when her gaze flicked across the hall and landed on me—
It stopped.
Sharp, appraising, as if she could see more than flesh. As if she smelled what I was.
My heart slowed for a brief moment. Her lips curled up in amusement.
Skjor clapped me on the back taking me out of my mind. "Welcome to Jorrvaskr. And welcome to the pack."
And for the first time since waking in this cursed body, I wasn't sure if I was still running.