A few days after Seraphina's departure, a comfortable rhythm settled over the farm. My mornings were spent with my trusty hoe, breaking new ground at the edge of my field. The promise of a real steel shovel—and a small fortune—was a powerful motivator. I was humming a half-remembered tune from my old life, sweat dripping from my brow as I wrestled a particularly stubborn root system, when I heard it.
It wasn't the aggressive hiss of a Horn-Rabbit or the grating screech of a Mandragora. It was a high-pitched, desperate shriek of pain, coming from the edge of the Whisperwood forest. It was a sound that spoke not of monstrosity, but of misery.
I dropped my hoe and listened. The shriek softened into a series of panicked, whimpering yelps. It sounded like a small animal, trapped and terrified. With a sigh, I grabbed my hoe again—it was just good sense to carry a sturdy tool when investigating strange noises—and headed towards the trees.
The whimpering led me deeper than I usually ventured, into a small, sun-dappled clearing I hadn't seen before. The sight that greeted me made my gut clench. In the center of the clearing, a tiny wolf pup, no bigger than a house cat, was caught in a bizarre-looking trap. Its fur was the color of midnight, and its eyes were a startling, intelligent silver. One of its hind legs was ensnared in what looked like ropes made of solid, glowing light, which were anchored to glowing symbols etched into the ground. Every time the pup struggled, the light-ropes would flare, causing it to yelp in pain.
"Hey now, easy there," I said in a soft, calm voice, the way you'd speak to a frightened stray.
The pup stopped struggling and turned its silver eyes on me. It flattened its ears and let out a low, rumbling growl that was far too deep for its tiny body. It tried to look menacing, baring a set of needle-sharp puppy teeth.
"It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you," I said, taking another slow step forward. "Let's see if we can get you out of this thing."
I ignored the pup's defensive growls and focused on the trap. It was clearly the source of the problem. The glowing symbols on the ground all seemed to connect to a fist-sized, black crystal embedded in the earth. It pulsed with the same nasty light as the ropes. It looked like some kind of power source.
Well, when in doubt, break the power source.
Raising my hoe high, I brought the steel head down squarely on the pulsing crystal. I expected it to be tough, but it shattered with a surprisingly loud CRACK and a shower of harmless, fading sparks. The glowing ropes fizzled out of existence, and the symbols on the ground vanished.
The trap was broken.
The wolf pup looked down at its freed leg, then back up at me, its growl replaced by a confused silence. It was still wary, but the immediate terror had faded from its silver eyes. I slowly knelt down, pulling a piece of dried Horn-Rabbit meat from the pouch on my belt.
"Here you go," I offered, placing it on the ground a few feet away from it. "You must be hungry."
The pup sniffed the air, its little nose twitching. It took a hesitant step, then another, before snatching the piece of meat and gobbling it down in seconds. When it was done, it looked up at me, its tail giving a single, tentative wag.
Success.
I could see its leg was scraped up and probably sprained from fighting the trap. "Alright, let's get you fixed up."
Gently, I scooped the pup into my arms. It was surprisingly light, all fluff and bone. It stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, letting out a tired whimper and licking my hand. I carried it out of the woods and back towards my cottage, planning to clean its injured leg on the workbench outside.
I had just set the pup down on a clean sack when two figures emerged from the tree line, swaggering into my field as if they owned it. They were rough-looking men, clad in mismatched leather armor and carrying rusty-looking short swords. Their eyes immediately locked onto the tiny wolf pup at my feet.
"Well, well, look what we have here," the taller one sneered, showing a row of yellowed teeth. "Looks like the trap broke, but the prize didn't get far."
The shorter, stockier man pointed his sword at me. "Hand it over, farmer. That's a Fenrir pup. It belongs to the Blackfang Guild. You don't want any trouble."
I instinctively put myself between them and the whimpering pup. I didn't know what a "Fenrir" was, but I knew the tone of a bully when I heard one. These weren't hunters; they were poachers, trying to steal an injured animal.
"This is an abandoned pup, and it's hurt," I said, my voice firm. "And you're on my land. I think you should leave."
The tall one laughed. "Big words for a dirt-digger. That pup is worth a king's ransom. We're not leaving without it." He drew his own sword and took a menacing step forward.
I sighed. It seemed I couldn't even have one quiet afternoon. I reached over and grabbed the tool I'd left leaning against the cottage wall: my trusty hoe. Its weight was familiar and comforting in my hands.
"I'm not going to tell you again," I said calmly.
That was all the invitation they needed. The stocky one charged, sword held clumsily. I didn't have any sword training, but I'd spent hundreds of hours swinging this hoe. As he swung, I simply twisted my body and blocked his blade with the thick wooden handle, the impact rattling his arm. Before he could recover, I hooked the steel head of the hoe behind his ankle and pulled. He yelped in surprise as his feet went out from under him, and he landed flat on his back with a heavy thud.
The taller one stared in disbelief for a second before letting out a roar and charging me himself. He was faster, his sword aimed right for my chest. I sidestepped, letting his momentum carry him past me, and swung the hoe horizontally in a powerful arc—the same motion I used to break up large clods of earth.
The flat, heavy part of the steel head connected solidly with his ribs. The THUMP was sickeningly loud. All the air rushed out of the man's lungs in a pained gasp, and he crumpled to his knees, dropping his sword and clutching his side.
It was over in less than ten seconds. The first man was still trying to get his bearings, and the second was wheezing on the ground. They looked up at me, their arrogance replaced with a mixture of fear and confusion. They were looking at a simple farmer who had just effortlessly disabled two armed men with a common gardening tool.
The stocky one scrambled to his feet, helping his partner up. "This isn't over!" he spat, dragging his groaning friend back towards the forest. "You'll regret this! The Blackfang Guild will hear about this! We're coming back, and we'll have more than just the two of us!"
I just watched them go, shaking my head. "Make sure you close the gate on your way out!" I yelled after them, though I didn't actually have a gate.
When they were gone, I let out a long breath. Bunch of thugs. I looked down at the pup, who was now huddled against my leg, looking up at me with its wide, silver eyes. I gave its head a gentle scratch.
"Don't you worry," I murmured. "No one's going to hurt you."
I took the pup inside, properly cleaned and bandaged its leg, and made a soft bed out of an old potato sack in a wooden crate by the hearth. The pup immediately curled up inside, tucking its nose under its tail and falling into a deep, exhausted sleep.
I looked at the ball of black fur, a dark patch in the warm firelight. He needed a name. He was all black, so the choice was simple.
"Kuro," I whispered. "I'll call you Kuro."
I smiled, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire. Life on the farm was still quiet, but I had a feeling the peace had just been broken. I had a dog to protect and a "Blackfang Guild" to worry about.
I had no way of knowing they weren't simple poachers, but beast hunters who trafficked in monsters. Nor did I know that my new "dog," Kuro, was a legendary creature they would kill to possess. For now, he was just Kuro, the puppy who'd had a bad day. And I would make sure no one ever hurt him again.