The two humans sprinted down the path between the cotholds, the howls of the direwolves following close on their heels. "We've got to do something," panted Halla. "They'll destroy the village if we don't stop them!" Roald tossed her his sword. "Take this, and keep running," he told her. "I'll try to hold them off." He siezed a fallen stone and scribed a rough hagalaz on it with a smudge of dirt, following it quickly with the rune for fire. "We'll see if these things can stand up to a fireball!" "I'm not going to leave you here!" she protested. "Odin spare me from heroics," muttered the runethane. "Go, girl, run!" Halla started to protest, and then heard the low growl behind her. She gulped. "Too late," she said. Falling into a crouch, she hefted the sword, as the skald focused the power of the rune. About the warriors stood a trio of the Fenrir, eyes glowing red in the light of the Blood Moon. --- A scene from a hopefully-upcoming story of mine set in a viking settlement of Vinland. 95% Poser, 1% Vue, 4% Photoshop.