Page 19 of Untethering Dark

A low growl rumbled in the back of Gudariks’s throat, mouth slick with saliva as hunger set in, gnawing at his insides, demanding retribution.

Letting go of their poles, the hunter dropped to their knees, bowing in supplication. “For you, Wald Vater,” they said, voice shaking as they unstrapped the rabbit from their back, and pushed it toward him, a small smear of blood tracking in the snow. “Please.”

The growl died.

An offering.

Anger, then hunger ebbed away, and calm fell over Gudariks. So few remembered. But this human did. It was a good offering, too—all the hunter had. Picking up the rabbit, Gudariks tore off a leg, but left the rest, feeling merciful.

Though the hunter quaked, heartbeat spiking as Gudariks chewed through bone and gristle whole—likely uncertain of their fate—they remained bowed and still. No sudden movements or meeting his eyes, which would be a challenge whether intended or not.

While each forest predator reacted differently to prey, dissuaded by different behaviors, deference was owed to them all. If only the hikers and skiers that flocked to his stretch of forest were so wise, they would be spared, too.

As Gudariks withdrew into the deep shadows of the approaching night, leaving the hunter in peace, he felt the distinct sensation of being watched. Not by the hunter. Something else. Something deeper in the woods.

He sniffed the air again and caught a whiff of cigarette smoke.

Another human. So many out this night.

“Oh, mighty Gudariks. Where was your mercy before?”A woman’s voice, whispered on the wind in an ancient, long dead tongue.

He whirled around, scanning the trees.

A pair of red, narrow-set eyes stared back, flickering like fire.

He lurched away with a warning roar, ready to strike, rend, destroy.

And then they were gone. Just like that.

He searched the area where he’d seen them, obsessively sniffing the air, scratching at the snow, and searching the tree canopy. But nothing. Just a figment of his imagination.

Better to focus on what he could sense.

Cigarettes and bleating goats.

Chapter Six

The weather turned, burying her darlings’ tracks in new snow. Whipping winds cut through Astrid’s coat, buffeting her again and again. While her Winter Hexe training made her resistant to the cold, until she came into her full power as a hag, she wouldn’t be immune. It could still kill her.

A harsh shiver stole over her body. She tightened a scarf around her nose and mouth, mumbling a spell into the threads. Toasty warmth chased away icy sting, and she nuzzled into the fabric, sighing with temporary relief.

It would stave off frostbite for now. Magic lasted only as long as the strength to cast it, and it was late, and she was tired. Trudging through thick snowdrifts, she crawled along, making forward progress at a snail’s pace. Her lungs and legs burned from the effort.

Tracking magic wasn’t doing much good either. The spell Astrid knew relied on a visual component—a disadvantage when she struggled to see two meters in front of her, let alone the muddled collection of latent heat signatures on the ground. As the blizzard raged around her, it was getting harder to parse out whether the fading heat signatures belonged to her goats or other forest critters.

The crushing weight of futility bore down hard.

But she couldn’t give up on her darlings. She had to keep pushing forward.

Fritz and Liesel were out here all alone. Scared and cold. Mutter Holle, she hoped they were at least sticking together.

A faint tinny sound snagged her attention. Both her goats wore bells on their collars, and it was her only hope of findingthem on this vast frozen mountain. She paused, straining to hear.

Hope flared, then died. If she had heard bells, she couldn’t anymore. All sound was swallowed by the howling, swirling wind.

Something shifted in the corner of her eye.

She whirled around too fast, nearly tripping over her own snowshoes.

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