Heat pressed down on the world, driven by the merciless spears of the sun. It spread through bodies, earth, and plants indiscriminately. For some, the heat and sunshine were a blessing. Broad, green leaves turned toward the sun; tall yellow flowers reached their faces to the sky like children seeking benediction. For others, even those of the same type and kind, the results were not so satisfactory. Small, delicate blossoms wilted beneath the cruel glare; lichens and mosses withered and died. The very young whined for their mother's teat. The old thought longingly of the summers of their youth when, they were sure, it was never quite this hot. Andvari relished the heat. It seeped into his tired bones and aching joints from both above and below, lending aid unasked to a wolf clinging desperately to a prime that crept farther and farther away with the rise of every new sun.

Like any smart soldier without a task, he was asleep. Napping anywhere was one of the first lessons he had learned to embrace as a green recruit. It was no hard task to sleep in this spot, however. The rock beneath him was far older than her, all the bumps and pokey bits long since smoothed by the wind and rain. It had gathered in the heat of the sun and held it close to its heart as if knowing that Andvari would need it. Now that he was here, the sheet of rock shared it gladly. It was quiet, too, free from the ever-present bustle of a military camp. Only the eerie singing of insects broke the silence. Even the birds were huddled in their shaded nests, fleeing the sun. The grizzled black wolf rolled over in his sleep, snored, snorted, and woke with a start. There's nothing quite like age to make you feel a fool. He raised his large, blocky head from the rain-pocked rock, peering around with bleary eyes. Almost at once his instincts took over and he was on his feet. Black fur stood up rakishly along his back and shoulders, forming a bristling crest as he growled deep in his throat, lips drawn back in a snarl that had been the last thing many wolves had seen before their death.

What was this? Where was he? When he had settled down to nap, it had been deep in a swamp surrounded by stinking mud and the nasal drone of mosquitoes. His soldiers had surrounded him, good boys if a little green. Surely they would not have left him slumbering there? No, of course not. He was a fool. Even if he had been left, it would have been tucked between the roots of a mangrove, not slumbering like a pup on an alpine boulder. Something was definitely fishy here. Slowly, the fur on his back lowered. There were no apparent dangers here. No enemies lurked unseen. In fact, there was nothing. Nothing at all to cause alarm. So why did it feel as if there were ants crawling all over his skin? There was something strange, something that set his nerves on edge. It would take a bigger fool than he to ignore instincts honed by eight years of war.

Andvari turned in a slow circle, his dark grey eyes sharp and wary. Once again, he could find nothing wrong. Some mist hung about, perhaps more than should have remained under the searing eye of the sun. Why had it not burned off? The old wolf shook his head. Sorcerers and magic were a thing out of tales to frighten children. Was he a child to be scared by a little mist? Duty bound him to find his men, to return to him. They would be lost without him, wandering around on the next battlefield like mice waiting to be plucked from the grasses by a hawk. They would die as easily. He must find them. Still, where was he to begin? He had fallen asleep and woken in a strange land alone. Perhaps those tales of magic were meant for more than to frighten pups. Perhaps they were meant to warn him. "Who's there?" he called out in a gruff voice better suited for shouting over the clash of battle than whispering loving words. He could not say how, exactly, he knew that someone was there. Only that the prickling between his shoulder blades had not disappereaed since he awakened. Thre was. more to this place than met the eye.

by sixsmith.