She had tried.
By the ancestors, she had tried.
Elowyn had dragged the travois toward two neighboring tribal settlements, hoping for a shred of mercy. But the moment their border patrols spotted a human-formed runt hauling a bloodied, broken body through the drift, they didn’t even bother to take a look at the unconscious soul.
They leveled their iron-tipped spears and barked orders for her to retreat. Elowyn raised her hands in surrender, stopping right in her tracks. They didn’t even grant her the chance to plead her case.
When she dragged the travois toward the gates of the Leopard territory, the onlookers crowding the wooden palisade didn’t bother hiding their amusement. Cruel snickers rippled through the onlookers as they pointed at her battered frame.
"Is she the one?"
"The shiftless one from IronFang, they say."
"Watch your males, sisters! She’ll try to jump on your mate the moment your back is turned."
Raucous laughter echoed off the timber walls. Elowyn’s cheeks burned hot with shame, her head hanging low under the weight of their mockery. Before she could even open her mouth to plead for a healer, the gate sentries stepped into her path, hands on their weapons.
"Our Chieftainess is away. Clear out."
The heavy wooden gates slammed shut before she could utter a syllable.
Every village after that was a mirror image of the last. Archery towers trained their bows down on her, the guards bellowing venomous threats through the snow.
"We don’t take in IronFang garbage!"
"No clan shelters a mate-stealing runt! Keep walking before we put an arrow in your gut!"
"We don’t shelter outcast strays!
Each shouted slur struck harder than the freezing weather. Elowyn stood frozen in the drift, her knuckles white where she gripped her vine harness. She knew her lackings were obvious, but how had the lies traveled faster than her own desperate feet?
Nysa.
A cold, bitter dread coiled in her chest. The current Chieftainess hadn’t just exiled her, but she poisoned every waterhole, every village, and every border patrol route. Nysa had framed her as a scheming, husband-stealing creature to ensure that no tribe would ever grant her sanctuary.
She was utterly alone.
In fact, she was fortunate they had settled for shouting threats instead of putting a spear through her chest. It seems Nysa was already a step ahead of her.
But... What did the stranger do?
He hadn’t done anything, yet they refused to help him as well.
She could accept their hatred for her, afterall, she was used to being the outcast everyone spat on, but how could they look at a dying, bloodied man and slam their gates shut? How could people be so heartless?
"Don’t worry, stranger," she rasped over her shoulder, her voice shaking with fatigue. "Just hold on a little more. I won’t give up on you, okay? So don’t you dare give up either."
With that, she dug her toes into the snow and continued pulling.
Her boots felt like lead blocks, her knees buckling with every second step. The vine harness had already cut through her thin clothes, grinding against her collarbone until every breath felt like a serrated blade scraping against her ribs.
She marched blindly, driven by pure stubbornness.
Just ten more steps, she bargained with herself, her head hanging so low she could barely see her own feet. Just ten more steps, and then she can give up.
At least she could tell both their ancestors she tried. The stranger wouldn’t curse her spirit for failing when she had nothing to give... or would he?
One. Two. Three...
At step seven, she could barely pull the travois behind her.
Her calves finally gave out, and she crashed face-first into the deep snow, the impact knocking the last remaining air from her lungs. Behind her, the travois stayed motionless. Elowyn lay in the drift, her chest shuddering as tears of exhaustion froze against her burning cheeks.
She couldn’t do it anymore.
Her muscles refused to cooperate.
Through the dimming haze of her failing sight, a soft, deliberate crunch of snow broke the heavy quiet.
Elowyn forced her leaden eyelids to part. Threading his way through the stark gray timber was a solitary traveler. As he stepped into her fading field of view, she unconsciously took in his dark, weathered hunting furs and travel-stained leather. Silver streaked the dark hair framing his face, yet he moved with a quiet, undeniable grace.
Settled atop his head was a pair of sharp, russet-furred fox ears that twitched against the icy draft, while a single, sleek fox tail brushed gently against the hem of his boots.
A fox beastman...
Impossible.
Was her hallucination worsening?
This was her first time laying eyes on one.
But what was one doing out here in the wilderness? And would he help someone like her? Would he leave them here to freeze?
Taking her chances, Elowyn gathered every last shred of her remaining strength, and she tried to push herself up onto her palms. Her throat stayed tight with unuttered pleas. But her body betrayed her. Her elbows folded, and she slammed back into the snow.
The stranger simply lowered himself into a crouching posture beside her. His intense amber eyes flicked from her trembling, frostbitten frame to the bloodied man bound tightly to her pine travois. He looked as though he was unable to make sense of what he was seeing, and was hesitant to try anything.
"Please..." Elowyn choked out, her breath ghosting around the snow. "Don’t mind me. Please, just save him. He needs treatment. He won’t survive the night... please."
Her whispers faded into the freezing wind, and her sight collapsed into pure blackness.