Growls echoed. It was a distant intermittent sound, faint. Nonetheless, it struck him deeply. There was nothing that he could not see, everything was black. He was growing awfully aware of both facts; his mind began to wake to pain and dread.

He jolted upright with a wheeze, hearing yet another animalistic cry. Where he expected bloodied maws and claws, there was only darkness. His vision was blurry, and it did not help that his surroundings were barely lit. It only took a second and a rasped, urgent breath for him to try to stand. He regretted it immediately. A whimper escaped him when he put some weight onto his right leg, tumbling back onto the ground due to a fierce flow of pain.

He was confused, dazed. There were no sturdy, sharp wings around him, and he was not bleeding. When he winced and dropped, it was not humid earth what he brushed. He stared blankly at what looked like a rug. It was not only under him but wrapped slightly around his body.

He heard it again, a muffled howl. For it, he acted in instinct, trying to cower more into the shadows and ignoring completely his strange surroundings. In his life, he had only witnessed one kind of creature snarl in that way, and that was all he expected to pounce. He was sure that those wings would tear closer and snatch him again in an instant… For it, he flinched and cried when sunlight brushed him abruptly.

He braced himself with an arm, blinded by the warm hues that crept into the shadows that concealed him. In his daze, he gawked at the figure that peeked into view. He finally saw that he was inside some sort of tent and that the one who was looking down at him was not murderous or voracious. The voice was soft, comforting.

“You’re awake.”

“Sa-“ He sobbed the name, propping himself up to look at the man in a baffled manner. “Samir?”

The brunet stepped closer and let the folds of the tent fall, blocking the light behind him. Nestor shivered when he kneeled beside him, eyeing him in a focused caring manner.

“We were afraid you would-“ Samir shut up, refusing to say they had been watching him for any signs of the disease. “Thank god you’re alright, Nestor.”

Things were not alright. That was all Nestor could think while the pain in his leg intensified. The simple act of fidgeting was sending a terrible ache through his body, and he could not help but wonder how he had survived the hold of that beast.

“Where am I? Where has that thing gone? How-?”

“Hold still.” Trying to get onto his feet would do him no good. Even then, he understood his urgency and panic. “It’s dead; there’s no need to rush.”

“Dead?” That word was inconceivable. Killing a fledgling was hard enough already. Bringing down an elder was only possible in the tales that survivors would exchange to lift the spirits of the young. “No, no. It was ready to bite into me. I couldn’t have been dreaming! T-these cuts, my leg, I can feel them!“

He would have kept yelling and expressing his fearful bewilderment, if not for a snarled comment that echoed into the tent.

“You wouldn’t have gotten hurt if you had stayed away from the river, idiot.”

Samir glared back at Cyrus, who strode into the tent with a scowl.

“This idiot saved your life. All of us, to be precise.”

Cyrus scoffed, crossing his arms and ignoring the way Nestor groaned with a hand on his head.

“Hm, yes, he has indeed. Does not excuse the fact he could have been torn to shreds. You were as pissed as me for his little daring deed, Samir.”

“A foolish suicidal attempt, I agree, very similar to your usual ones.”

“It’s not the same. If someone must perish, it better be me.”

“An injury is much better than death.”

It was not. Their heated argument reminded Nestor of a very important fact, one that would make anyone dread to be alive.

“G-guys…” They stopped, hearing him pant. He was extremely pale, staring down at his lap. “My leg is broken.”

As soon as Samir heard that ghastly tone, he stopped looking at Cyrus. He gave Nestor a sympathetic stare, quick to address the implications of such grievance.

“Nestor, listen.” Cyrus took a deep breath and kept quiet, feeling the same care as Samir. The next words were important, extremely so. “First of all, it’s only sprained. You’ll recover.”

“But I can’t-“

He tried to interject, remind them that he could no longer match their stride, only for a finger to lay on his lips.

“We’re not leaving you behind.” Samir moved his hand away, only continuing when Nestor stayed silent, eyeing him in confused suspense. “You won’t slow us down. We have the means to take you along, and we do not need to flee in a rush. Please, breathe at ease; you are safe. We all are.”

Nestor relaxed visibly, even if he was still wary of his circumstances. Anyone who could not stride through the land was always abandoned, a threat to the whole group. Luckily, Samir always had a way with words, and his gentle expressiveness compelled the most well-founded of trusts.

“Where are we?” Nestor looked more attentively at the tent. It had not been lifted with the few cloths they carried along, that was for sure. It was too big and grounded to be theirs. There were soft rugs around him, far too detailed and elaborate. “How long have I’ve been out cold? What is this, and how-“

Cyrus sighed when another growl echoed from outside the tent, because it did not fail to startle Nestor. Samir stopped him from bolting to his feet. They couldn’t scorn his reaction considering what had pounced on him.

“He really does not remember a thing, huh?” Cyrus slammed his hands on his hips and nodded to the tent’s exit. “Better to show him what’s outside, or he’s not going to believe a word of it, no matter how much we try to explain.”

Samir cringed, remember the way Alma reacted to what lurked outside. It was a shocked response, to say the least. Nestor’s baffled apprehension could only grow with their vague exchanges.

“I don’t know, Cyrus. He’s gone through enough already; bruised and lucky to be alive. We should give him some time to-“

“No.” Samir frowned when Nestor interrupted him, shaking his head. “I’ve survived something no one ever escapes, and I don’t know how. I fainted, only to wake up in a strange place, hearing strange snarls. You are not fleeing the area and it doesn’t make sense. I need to understand, now, or it’s going to eat me inside.”

Nestor tried to stand, much to Samir’s disliking. Walking with his leg sprained was not a good idea, so he would not offer a hand. He would have preferred to explain slowly, but there came the urgent demand.

“Cyrus, help me up.”

The blond smirked, proceeding to grab his hand and pull him to his feet. Both were very stubborn, and it always fostered or drained their bond.

“Alright, see for yourself.” He let him lean onto his shoulder, to then help him walk out of the tent with one last warning. “Whatever you do, do not make any sudden moves. They are not bloodsuckers, but they can still smell fear.”

That comment made Nestor give Cyrus an incredulous look.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

The blond contained a chuckle, opening the tent instead. The light blinded the youngster again, something that delayed his next shocked reaction.  Cyrus almost did laugh when Nestor froze, as startled as Alma was.

His eyes fixated quickly onto was prowled not too far in the uneven glade. He ignored the human figures that roamed between strange wooden contraptions and tents, focusing entirely on the huge hairy animals.

Cyrus was amused, while Samir was sympathetic. The lad had not seen a wolf in his entire life. Most wandering humans believed canines to be extinct, much like horses, deer, or bears. Large animals were easy to trail by the huge beasts that ravaged the lands, and although their blood did not sate them, they were still hunted in desperation.

Nestor faltered as soon as the tent opened. Ages had gone by without humanity’s prevalence, allowing this genus of canine to double in size and might. They were bigger than a man, almost as huge as one of those feral beasts. Some variants of vampires were truly animalistic, so no one was surprised when he reached instinctively for his belt, where his knife usually was.

He soon realized he did not have his weapon. If he could have walked normally, he would have sidestepped behind Cyrus or Samir. Sadly, he could only stand there, held by the blond. Some wolves had perked up curiously due to his reaction, which did not help matters.

“W-what are those things?”

“Keep it quiet.” When Samir scolded, Nestor finally registered that there were people around. He received quite a few glares for his scathing comment. “These men revere their hounds. You should too. If not for them, you would have been torn by that monstrosity.”

Some wolves were loose, but others were tied to the contraptions he noticed. They were in a temporary camp, one that was much more affluent than any he had witnessed. These strangers used the animals to pull on their wheeled sleds, on which they piled their belongings while traveling through olden paths.

All humans were nomads, but few could afford to settle like this. They were more than thirty, something inconceivable. People always had to live in small groups or risk the chances of them alerting more predators.

“I am still sleeping, or dead, aren’t I?” Cyrus rolled his eyes, hearing Nestor stammer, incapable of registering men living so daringly. “There’s no way humans can stop a beast like that one. Those animals aren’t real either. Alma is not around, like Gereon. Right now, I’m being torn apart slowly by that vampire, losing blood and experiencing a hopeful delusion in my mind. This is-“

Both men jabbed his sides, telling him non-verbally to knock it off. They propped him a little better in their hold and made him walk around the tent, causing him to spot Gereon and Alma by a sled.

The two did not notice him being dragged closer yet, because they were speaking with a very tall buff man, clearly the leader of the group of strangers. Alma was interjecting in the conversation from time to time, but her gaze was fixated on the wolf sitting at her side, caressing it cautiously and softly. It was only when the man blinked and looked behind them that she reacted to their approach.

Nestor shivered, seeing the very same expression he would have displayed if Luce had evaded the disease. Alma gasped and smiled bright, rushing onto her feet without caring about startling the wolf; she ran towards the three and did not doubt to slam against him in a fierce hug, with stole him from Cyrus’ and Samir’s grasp.

“You’re alright!” Alma fidgeted and stammered, leaning back sheepishly when he hissed faintly. “Ah, well, considering everything… Mostly alright. Sorry.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” Nestor wiggled his leg a bit, brushing off the ache. She had tied bandages while he was asleep, something that helped greatly. “It could have been much worse… So, I think I owe a lot to this man, right?”

Gereon had turned to face them all, holding his staff tightly under his hands. He coughed and motioned to the one who had saved their lives, introducing him with clear gratitude.

“Nestor, make sure to give your respects. If not for Torin and his squad, you would have paid for your haste with your life.” It was clear that Gereon had not forgiven his impulsive escapade, because he was piercing him with a glare, much more intimidating than the gaze of the stranger. “It is also thanks to his inventions that you may stay with us. The strength of these marvelous animals allows us to carry you along safely.”

The wolf nearby yawned, displaying maws that could close around their heads in one single bite. All around, the men were tending to the hounds, eyeing the four of them cautiously and zealously. It was a sentiment that was shared by their chief, but in a lesser manner.

“Glad to see I won’t need to cut your head off, lad.” The man laughed grimly, stating simple facts. “Had those fangs even brushed you, I wouldn’t have doubted. You were lucky you were only clawed at; it lowered the chances of you turning greatly. The optimism your companions displayed also compelled me to wait and see. Made the right choice, I say.”

In other times, such threatening words would have prompted an offended response. Not anymore.

“I am thankful for your risky lenience.” Each group of survivors developed their own small culture, and for it, Nestor bowed respectfully. Torin chuckled, amused by each distinctive gesture he witnessed in his travels. He could not blame the young man for his next wary and curious question. “If I may… who are you people?”

Small groups like his would be lucky to cross paths with another crowd each decade. Humans in every region could be counted with a hand sometimes. Squad was a word that was not used anymore. There were no militias or fighters, yet these men seemed to be.

“I guess we are what you would call scouts, explorers. But then again, who isn’t one, hmm?” Torin crossed his arms proudly, noticing his suspicious perplexity. “I know this will baffle you, but we’re not trudging these lands to find refuge. Our folk expects our return while drifting through our motherland.”

“Folk? Land?” Nestor gave him a look, puzzled. “You can’t be saying there’s more of you. Much less that you’ve settled in a territory for good.”

Torin opened his mouth and muttered under his teeth, slightly bothered by his next admission.

“Well, settled is not the word, but we certainly do our best to challenge those regions from the claws of any beast who roams it. We struggle greatly, as any human does, but we have fought for centuries to stop hiding in fear. Our beloved companions were tired of hiding as well.”

Torin motioned with a hand to the distance, at the edge of the glade. By some trees, a big pack of wolves paced. Nestor could not help but pale when he noticed what they were gathering around.

“T-that is-“

“Something that would have gladly devoured them all. The tables are turned with our aid and cooperation.” The corpse of the elder vampire was being torn and eaten by the wolves, in a scavenging manner. A big bolt was still piercing through its chest, and the animals did not seem to mind the smell of oil or charred flesh. There was no way for them to become infected, and so, they helped themselves to a feast they rarely could enjoy. “Our people have wandered through snowy lands for decades. While a stag may be unable to hide in hollows to evade an elder, these hounds do. They learned to confront any fledgling that tried to make them bleed. Our ancestors came across their nests in their search for refuge, and instead of killing them for the warmth of their furs, they tamed them. Packs that know how to tackle the unspoken threats of a flock survive with less strife.”

Small or big, bands of humans were naturally drawn to each other, much like wolves. Their kind had almost been reduced to nonexistence, and any fated encounter was usually seen as a merciful blessing.

Gereon frowned sadly, noticing all too well how most men in the squad eyed them. Behind apprehension, there was interest. It was something that Torin acknowledged, with the kindest tone he could muster.

“We have only begun to rise anew. It will take generations for us to even compare to what was called a community in bygone times. Other smaller circles roam in those remote lands, but we only cross paths rarely. We suffer losses, no matter how much we protect our sick and wounded. To put it plainly, we need new blood.” Nestor glanced darkly to a side, staring at what had killed the beast. Torin spoke proudly, motioning to the small wooden ballista mounted on a sled, which was always dragged fiercely by ten huge wolves. No one could ever know when a monster would pounce, so oil and flints were constantly at hand. “We have the means to protect you. Our scavenging ventures have allowed us to find what humanity once used in its last stands against this plague. Our ancestors failed to endure the sheer brutality of the hunger, but they did reduce the number of threats with weapons such as this one. Each beast we kill allows us to wander a little more safely. One day, we may stop wandering and truly settle. But for that, we need time and more souls to aid us. For it, I would love to welcome you four into our herd.”

The way in which he said that last word irked them. All these men were armed with weapons that had been honed, much more adequate than any they had laid eyes on. They spoke of ventures and exploration, and a far distant land full of loved ones that needed to be protected. Gereon voiced what all were thinking.

“May I ask what has brought you so far from your people?”

Torin was much taller than any of them, yet there was intelligence in his gaze. As he towered over Gereon, there was no resentment or hate, only a knowing pity.

“Knowledge, something we strive for and that you lack, friends.” Cyrus would have barked an expletive for those words, but Samir prevented him from interrupting with a soft nudge. “Do you have any idea of where you were headed while following these southern rivers?”

None could answer that question. They all fidgeted, even Samir, because the man laughed sadly and shook his head, implying all too well that they had been headed for something dreadful.

“Ah, this is exactly why we need wisdom. Far too many go into the maws of danger blindly, hoping to find nonexistent shelter. Before we noticed that monster soar down through the forests to prey on something, we were rushing to reach the end of these streams. If our researchers are correct, they lead to a huge amalgamation of lakes and rivers, which surround a vast assortment of underground ruins. From past incursions, we know that big dark hollows are not only prone to house olden records, but also terrible dens. A change of course is required to keep you safe; our elders will agree that your lives are more valuable than a book.”

Nestor did not like the way Torin eyed him and Alma; it was a contemplative look, full of significance. Although such ideas were grim, Gereon was growing old, and the thought of her joining a bigger group comforted his worst fear: her possible solitude. He agreed completely that bonds needed to be tied, and he did not doubt having a non-verbal argument with Cyrus and Samir. She did not dare comment on their apprehension; this sudden meeting was a godsend, and all agreed on that.

The presence of the wolves and scouts had unnerved them at first, but now they offered a great feeling of solace. All were quiet, extremely overwhelmed by a feeling they had not felt in a very long time: hope.

It was Nestor who broke the silence, eyeing his leg and the sleds on which he would need to rest to travel.

“I distracted that beast for a reason; their safety is all I want.” He asked readily, eager for a shift in their luck. “When shall we part?”

Torin gave him a very serious stare. All could smell the blood of the elder, which now painted the glade. It was only a matter of time until worse beings sensed it, and for it, the leader of the squad commanded grimly.

“Now. You’ve finally woken up. We do not need to burn your body along those disgusting remains.”

The diseased flesh was charred, yet it would be lighted anew. They would not doubt to burn the forests in their departure to erase any trace of scent; the world was verdant, and it would recover from any scorching wound.

Torin moved away without further word, allowing them to converse with each other in private. He petted a wolf in his stride towards a sled, one that hid his personal flints and burning oils. His mind pitied them greatly, for he could have been powerless to save them.

That being had been vulnerable to fire… yet there were other abominations that could endure it. He hoped they would encounter none in their return to the northern mountains, and if they did, that a ballista would suffice to deter them.

This incursion was dangerous, and deep inside he was glad that it had been postponed. Ignorance was bliss, and he no longer could grasp it.