"How many?"
"Three"
"Four"
"Three and a half"
"Two"
"Two?! What have you been shooting at?"
"Old Dead Eye Olaf!"
The five of them laughed before the Wolf Guard's voice cut through, "well, I've got three as well."
"It's not enough is it? We're going to die on this Throne-forsaken world aren't we?"
The Wolf Guard shot him a look that would freeze blood in the vein, "and if we do, then our saga shall tell of our glorious death. It will go down in legend how many of them we took with us. They will tell tales about us running out of ammunition but never taking a backward step, about losing our combat blades and fighting with our bare hands. And, when we do finally die, there will be a place for us in the Halls of Russ. Then, when the End Time is upon us, Russ will come to pick his chosen and we will be the first picked. He'll say, 'I know you five, I have heard your saga sung many times. Today you will fight with me, my brothers'"
The four Grey Hunters' backs straightened as they felt the pride swelling in their breast. As they looked at the Wolf Guard, they weren't sure if the fire in his eyes was a reflection from the camp fire or something burning deep inside.
Suddenly Olaf spoke up, "never mind magazines, how much ale do we have left?" They all laughed again. The Wolf Guard filled their drinking horns and then spoke again, "when they do come, they will find us - the Vlka Fenryka and, by the Allfather, they will regret it!"
Just a little fluff piece about some Wolves preparing for a last stand; hope you enjoy.
:D
ReplyDelete