If Altan thought he'd been cold before, he couldn't compare it to the chill he felt now. The brittle air pricked his lungs with every inhale, and came out in large white puffs. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, trying in vain to keep his blood circulating as the cold sank deeper into every inch of his exposed skin. When he wiggled his toes, they felt cold and leathery, and he hurt in places he didn't even know existed. Wasn't it supposed to be early Fall? It was on Earth, and the night certainly didn't get this cold this early, even in Canada!
  The flames of a small campfire shifted eerily in the darkness, casting dancing shadows on the surrounding trees that seemed to leer at him. He stretched his frozen hands towards it, curled impossibly close to try and stave off the cold. It was Altans watch, and he struggled to keep his eyes from sealing shut as he watched the hypnotizing flames twist and intermingle amongst a bed of blackening logs and dead branches. To the side was a small stockpile of dry wood to keep the fire going, beside an unremarkable shelter Griffin had thrown together before nightfall.
       "Help me gather wood", Griffin said, "the whisperhounds will be out soon."
"You still haven't told me what those are."
"Whisperhounds, one of Xorvad's abominations. Essentially, they are large, incredibly dangerous canines with glowing orange eyes that have been sent into servitude as hunters for Centurion. They're as large as two grown men, with bones that jut from their spines, complete magical immunity, and razor sharp teeth. They are immune to magic of any kind because feed on magical energy, and given a source, can track down its caster. After their initial howl signalling they've locked onto a target, you don't hear them until it's too late. Nothing they step on, nothing they disturb, nothing they do will make a sound. This makes them incredibly deadly-and extremely effective. Thankfully, like most of Xorvad's creatures, they fear light and won't come out in direct sunlight.
      "The light from the campfire should keep the whisperhounds at bay," Griffin had stated, leaning branches together to construct a crude shelter, "so long as we don't let it get too low. We'll have to take turns maintaining watch."
     Griffins warning echoed in his skull, and he blinked back into reality, noticing with a start he'd begun to doze and the fire had begun to die down. Though cold, he moved quickly to grab a few more logs. A plume of sparks swirled into the air, and the fire roared quietly as he placed the logs in. The sparks glinted and stung his eyes so he turned away for a moment as they floated leisurely into the night sky before vanishing. But when he turned back around, six sparks remained suspended in the darkness. Brows furrowed, Altan stared at the sparks, which he realized were not above the fire, but set amongst the bushes and trees beyond it. The sparks stared back. He cursed under his breath.
       "Griffin," He hissed quietly, scooting towards the shelter, "Griffin!"
       There was a momentary rustling before Griffins head peeked out from beneath the boughs, his bright golden eyes popping in and out of the darkness as he blinked blearily. "Mm? My watch?"
        Griffin crawled out, stretching as he stood to face Altan, grimacing as his back knotted. Altan opened his mouth to correct him, but he didn't need to. Griffins eyes shot open, all traces of drowsiness gone in an instant as he glanced past Altan. He grabbed Altan by the collar, dragging him to the ground just as a snarling mass barrelled past, crashing into Griffins shelter in a thrashing storm. They scrambled to their feet in time to dive out of the way of another beast, who's teeth snapped shut around air only inches from Altans shoulder. A third leapt over the fire, its massive furred form silhouetted against the roaring flames.
      They had caught up.
Griffins description did not do these monstrosities justice. Altan stood frozen in petrified fascination as he took in the three creatures, all standing taller than his shoulder, bright moonlight exposing thick matted fur caked with blood and filth that covered their angular figures. Claws the size of paring knives dug into the earth, and bones jutted out from swollen skin along their spines, from neck to tail. Puss filled wounds and oozing slashes riddled their dark grey flesh, which seemed to sag like it would slough off at any second. Fierce orange eyes that bore into Altans soul sat behind unhinged jaws much too long and opened far too wide to be natural. Long, green-red tongues spilled over rows of yellowed fangs and teeth, of which many were missing or chipped. Disembodied growls rang in Altans ears and he was too slow dodging to the side as one charged him.
        He stumbled and crashed to the ground as a whisperhound body checked him, pivoting and lunging at his prone form. Altan swung and struck the whisper hound in the snout, it's flesh ominously cold to the touch. It snarled, eyes blazing, more provoked than hurt. Altan curled and planted his feet against its chest, kicking with all his might. But it was heavier than he anticipated, much heavier, and the whisperhound reared only a tad before its head snapped back down, clamping Altans forearm in its powerful jaws. He screamed in agony as it's teeth tore through his flesh, eyes going white with searing pain as blood poured down his arm. It ripped its teeth off, blood flying into the air as its jaw once again unhinged and shot towards Altans throat, who was quickly losing himself to shock.
Suddenly a cry rang out and Altan watched through encroaching darkness as Griffin lunged at the whisperhound from the side, shoulder tucked and eyes wild as he tackled the beast, throwing it off Altan with ease. They crashed to the dirt not a meter away in a tangle of limbs, fur, and blood. Altan snapped his head towards Griffin who scrambled away as the whisperhound leapt to its feet once more, shaking its head. Long ragged gashes tore through Griffins shirt, leaking blood at a concerning rate, and blood dripped from his skull. In his hands he gripped his sword, blood running down its glinting blade, and Griffin turned to meet Altans gaze momentarily, breath ragged but eyes beaming wildly.
"If you don't want to die, pick up a weapon and fight!"
The command fuelled the determination in Altans veins and steeled his resolve. He took a deep breath, dirt, sweat, and musk chasing the fog from his mind. Fingers dug into soft grass and cold earth and Altan forced himself to his feet, squaring up with the whisper hound as Griffin darted to reengage the other two, his sword humming through the air in complex patterns and slashes. Altan searched, reached, and grabbed a smouldering branch from the fire, its tip smoking and pointed from the lick of flames. The whisper hound eyed him down, pacing, and Altan glared right back. He raised the stake in a challenge, ignoring his quivering knees.
"You can't stop me."
         With a vicious snarl, froth dripping from its gaping jaws, the whisperhound charged. Altan growled right back, stabbing forward. The beast dug it's front paws into the earth, pivoting away from the flaming tip of the stake. It leapt for Altan and he jumped to the side, turned, and stabbed. The whisperhound yelped in pain as the flaming tip pierced through its fur, breaking off in its ribs. It bounded away a few meters before turning to face Altan once more. Altan widened his stance, planting his feet firmly, willing his legs to stop shaking as he clutched the jagged stake. Charge. His grip tightened, knuckles white. Leap. He lowered his stance. Bite.
       He shot upwards, forcefully driving the stake between its unhinged jaw. The momentum of the whisperhounds jump carried it along the wooden shaft as it broke into its throat. Blood gushed down Altans arms and he collapsed to a knee under the weight of the whsiperhound as it seized with a whimper. It's piercing orange eyes locked onto Altan, and with what little life remained, the beast pushed down, driving the stake further as it descended towards Altan, fangs inching closer and closer to his head. His arms shook with exertion, splinters digging into his palms as he held the stake in place, knowing release meant death for him. The putrid breath of the whisperhound suffocated him, a sickly mixture of decay and disease. It's slimy pulsing tongue laped against his biceps, smearing them with blood and saliva. It's teeth began to sink into his arms, puncturing his soft skin with ease.
       The pain shot through Altan and he cried out in rage and pain, giving a final push. Angling it upwards, he forced the stake further, through and out the back of the whisperhounds skull with a sickening crunch, and twisted. With a gargling whimper as blood pooled in its throat, the whisperhounds eyes rolled back and it crumpled atop Altan, lifeless. He collapsed under its dead weight, shaking uncontrollably as he wormed out from beneath it, wincing as every move he made sent daggers of pain shredding through his mauled arms. Stars danced in his vision, his throat burned raw, tears pricked his eyes.
       "Agh- Altan...!"
       He turned blearily towards the call. There, past the completely severed head of a whisperhound, was Griffin. He was pinned on his back, and a whisperhound, larger than the other two, loomed over him. His palms were punctured fully through by many bloodied teeth as he held its snapping jaws centimetres from his face with his bare hands, streams of blood spurting from his hands and down his arm as the whisperhound thrashed its head. Eyes screwed shut and teeth grit in agony, Griffin wrestled its head away, but was rapidly losing his resolve. His sword, stained crimson, lay in a pool of blood out of reach. Altan looked from Griffin to the forest, and back. His heart pounded inside of his skull. He could run. He could find safety elsewhere, find another, safer way home. The whisperhounds had been sent after Griffin, lured by his magic, not him. He took an unsteady step back, towards the treeline. Griffins eyes shot open.
       "ALTAN!"
       His body reacted before his mind. Altan was halfway to the sword when his brain finally caught up. He bit back the urge to run the other way, the pain, the stupidity he felt for risking his life to save someone he quite frankly wanted to stab himself... and he picked up the sword. He had only a moment to appreciate the weapon-balanced, light, nearly alive in his hands, before he was plunging it into the side of the whisperhound. It snarled in pain, dislodging its teeth from Griffins hands as it reeled backwards. Altan pulled the sword out, releasing a waterfall of blood, and slashed. The blade split through the air, and the beast barely managed to jump out of its way. The swords edge bit into the ground, much too close to Griffins calf for comfort.
      He yanked the sword from the dirt, leaping over Griffin and bringing the blade down in a large overhand arc. It carved through the flesh of the whisperhound, from neck to chest as it attempted to rear and tackle Altan. With a sharp bark of pain the whisperhound stumbled back, crashing and wriggling on its back before rolling to its feet. Teeth gnashed towards him but another slice through the snout sent it stumbling away five, ten meters before collapsing with a whimper, lifeless. The sword fell from Altans grasp and he slumped to the ground, hanging his head in his bloody hands.
      He was alive.