In this forest, where white was the dominant key, a strange procession moved forward. A Shadowcat led the way, followed by weeping women—three of them, one more mature, the other two appearing quite young.
The Shadowcat let out a frustrated growl at the women behind it, seemingly urging them to hurry, but this only proved counterproductive. The women, driven by fear, became even more timid. The Shadowcat cared nothing for their tears; it was merely annoyed. This was hardly the first time it had made this run, fetching new "guests" every few days. It did not understand the intricate dealings of humans, but it was intelligent. It knew that bringing these women back meant returning to a warm shelter and enjoying the food prepared for it by men. These were the only true rewards of being tied to the man who often slid into its skin. It's almost there, it thought. Soon... soon.
Near Varamyr's hall, Thorfinn's crew was already in motion. A dark-hued Shadowcat appeared from the shadows, a stag clutched between its jaws. The stag's carcass had been treated with the potion. Finding an inconspicuous spot, Alpha gently deposited the bloody offering, unable to stop the slight drool from his own mouth. Alpha's eyes held a hint of human-like reluctance, but more so, a profound longing. This was likely the most galling task Alpha had ever performed: surrendering his own kill, especially one that smelled so sweet and rich. In the end, reason won out over desire, and Alpha reluctantly slipped away.
The rest was a waiting game for the massive beast to take the bait. When the Snow Bear awoke, it would be lured by the scent, and the moment it devoured the stag's flesh, it would toll the death knell for Varamyr.
The temporary camp where the group waited gave them no view of the scene, but Lady Owl and Merek's goshawk served as their eyes.
They waited and waited. Slowly, the situation began to twist. Perhaps the Lure Draught was too effective; mice and rabbits appeared from nowhere, drawn out by the smell. Luckily, these small creatures did not cause any major disruption.
Next, Varamyr's three wolves emerged. They were led by an old wolf, followed by a male and a female. These were Varamyr's warg companions: One Eye, the old wolf; Sly, the female; and Stalker, the male. They were exceptional hunters, but the wolf nature is inherently greedy. While One Eye may have been suspicious, the other two lacked such discipline.
Sly and Stalker eagerly tore at the stag's hide, greedily lapping up the flesh. The still-warm blood only sharpened their desire to feed. They paid One Eye no mind, gorging themselves without restraint. One Eye hesitated. Though he could not control the strings of drool dripping from his jaws, he circled the stag's carcass suspiciously. His keen nose scoured the air around the kill until, finally... he caught the scent of a Shadowcat.
One Eye instantly became alert, letting loose a sudden howl that startled Varamyr, serving as a perfect warning. Varamyr snatched the sword from his table, casually tossing the scabbard aside, and stormed out with a fierce presence.
He scanned the surroundings, finding nothing obviously amiss, but then saw his wolves were acting strangely. Varamyr tried to control the two wolves, but his attempts failed repeatedly. Glancing at the stag, already torn open and stripped to the bone, he understood what had happened. A long-forgotten fury filled his heart, making the veins bulge on his forehead.
Just then, the massive Snow Bear shambled out from behind him. It surveyed the area and finally caught the seductive scent, though Varamyr's conscious control kept it from going fully mad. The diminutive Varamyr said nothing; the Snow Bear conveniently lowered itself, allowing Varamyr to mount its back.
The usually short Varamyr was instantly magnified, though his height came from the Snow Bear beneath him. He had played this game countless times. Some witless pup always tried to climb over him, foolishly believing that defeating Varamyr would grant them immense prestige and respect, entirely ignoring the consequences of failure. Varamyr had never unduly tormented those past fools, but this time was different. Whoever you are, he thought, to dare strike at my animal kin, I will teach you a lesson you will never forget. To his solitary soul, these animal companions were his only solace through countless lonely nights; they were as close to family as he had.
Now, the uncertain fate of Sly and Stalker had utterly enraged Varamyr. His mind was far from the women now; only dragging the enemy out for revenge could bring comfort to his empty spirit. One Eye, guided by its sharp scent, began tracking Alpha. Varamyr, eyes sharp as ice shards, clung tight to the old wolf's trail upon his monstrous mount—a seasoned Skinchanger tracking his prey.
All of this was witnessed by an owl. Lady Owl beat her wings, leaving the forest and returning to her master. The first phase of the plan had not achieved the ideal outcome of taking down the massive beast, but Thorfinn's team had contingency plans. Whether the later stages worked would be the true test.
Back at Thorfinn's simple camp, Thorfinn recovered his senses and reported concisely: "Two wolves are down. Varamyr is coming, riding the Snow Bear. He carries a sword, no bow. Prepare to move."
The group nodded, deploying their positions in an orderly fashion, without a shred of panic.
Thorfinn led Merek to high ground, watching him draw his bow and nock an arrow, ready to meet the enemy. Thorfinn was not the only one transformed in these past two years; Merek had also changed dramatically. In archery alone, only Merek could barely match him; the others were far behind. Thorfinn knew a seasoned Skinchanger like Varamyr would show no mercy once he moved. Seeing the sheer size of the Snow Bear, he knew even a glancing blow would be excruciating. Killing Varamyr would be enough. Without its master, the Snow Bear could inflict no serious harm; an unintelligent Snow Bear was just a beast.
Varamyr, using One Eye's nose, had clearly picked up the scent of the Shadowcat, but he felt no alarm. In his mind, an ordinary Skinchanger could never stand against him; his past experience had proven that countless times. Just then, One Eye caught the scent of men. The cunning wolf's savage face took on a look of triumph. I've got them, it thought. Soon, I'll taste the fresh, tender flesh of men, a satisfaction no other meal had ever provided. It seemed both the wolf and Varamyr had once developed a craving for human meat...
One Eye was dreaming of the feast to come, when suddenly its foot missed solid ground. It plunged into a pit trap, where sharp wooden stakes pierced its body, draining its strength. Blood flowed freely, and One Eye could only emit a series of agonized howls.
Varamyr was startled to the core. Just moments ago, he had been inOne Eye's skin. After so many years, he had tasted death firsthand once more. Barring a miracle, One Eye was doomed. The enemy was near, and they would not allow him to save his wolf.
In that same instant, a cold arrow sliced through the air toward him. In a flash of speed, Varamyr reacted without hesitation, rolling off the bear's back and onto the ground. After a clumsy tumble, he glared around, his face dark with shock and fury. The arrow still left a shallow cut across his face. The flow of blood was a constant, stinging reminder of his near-death. Only after scrambling behind a thick tree did he allow himself to feel the terror. Varamyr knew he had been careless. This enemy was not like the others. However, the arrow had also betrayed their position. Now, I am the hunter, he thought. I will see what sort of creatures dare to plot against me.
That arrow was Thorfinn's. He had not expected Varamyr to be so quick; that evasive roll was a masterpiece of instinct. Varamyr had instantly heightened his senses many times over—a reaction that left even Thorfinn astonished.
Varamyr directed the Snow Bear to advance toward the source of the arrows, but the barrage did not stop. Though the Snow Bear's white fur offered some resistance, crimson blossoms of blood began to bloom across its coat. Through the Snow Bear's eyes, Varamyr saw his enemies: two boys? The sight stunned him, filling him with disbelief.
Merek and Thorfinn did not pause for a second, firing continuously. As the Snow Bear approached, the wounds they left on its body grew deeper. The injuries only intensified the Snow Bear's ferocity. It roared and charged toward its attackers. With their position exposed, the two boys' tree was no match for the beast. The Snow Bear lunged at the nearest boy, its powerful claw slamming into the already ravaged trunk, the sound of tearing wood fiber filling the air.
The boy in the tree was Merek, but he remained calm. Using the sturdy branches, he made a sudden leap, clinging to a much thicker trunk and scrambling quickly higher. Seeing Merek out of danger, Thorfinn finally let out a breath. He hadn't realized the Snow Bear possessed such tremendous strength. The tree, thick as a man's waist, should have been sturdy enough, but the bear's power was simply too savage.
No matter,Thorfinn thought. They only needed Varamyr to lower his guard, and then the potion would take its effect. Even such a colossal beast could not endure so many arrows. After all, the Paralysis Potion was highly potent; only a Snow Bear nearly ten feet tall could survive dozens of arrows, every single one of which had been dipped in the draught.
Merek's quiver was empty, and with his position exposed, he could only cling to the tree. Thorfinn stopped shooting as well, apparently out of arrows. Only then did Varamyr let out a sigh of relief. It was safe enough for him to step out into the open.
He called up to the two boys trapped in the branches. "You're out of arrows. You've lost."
Merek, looking down at the Snow Bear whose roars were now fading, replied without a hint of fear, "We'll see about that. What can you do to us, anyway?"
Varamyr smirked. "A single Shadowcat won't turn the tide. Don't forget I have one too. The choice of how this ends is mine."
Thorfinn scoffed. "But your Shadowcat isn't here, is it? The moment you lose that great beast, it's all over, Varamyr."
Varamyr, realizing the danger too late, finally noticed the strange affliction. Only now did he see the Snow Bear beneath the tree beginning to sway, gradually losing control of its massive body, just like the two wolves before it. At last, the Snow Bear could no longer stand. Its colossal, small-giant-like frame collapsed right before his eyes.
At that moment, terror finally gripped Varamyr. His pride shattered with his fall. He had lost this game, and he knew the fate of the defeated all too well.
Thanks to the sorcery of the potions, the roles of hunter and prey had now been reversed.