15th of Hearthfire, 4E 192

The biting wind tugged at my loose hair, and the skirt of my woolen dress blew around my ankles. Even if autumn had just begun, it did not last long in Eastmarch. Papa and I had just finished selling the last of our crops for the year, and were now heading home where we both hoped a bowl of Mama's fresh-made stew would be waiting for us.

"You're turning into a good haggler, little pup," said Papa as he laid his arm over my shoulders. He wrapped the edge of his thick traveling cloak around me in an effort to fight off the wind. "Old Elda didn't know what to do when you started barterin' with her."

"Only because she was expecting you to be the one bartering," I said. "But you got sneaky and played me, the cute little girl, against her."

Papa laughed, a rich, powerful sound from deep in his throat. "You've discovered my new strategy, have you? Always knew you were sharp as a knife's edge. Maybe if your ma and I can afford it, we can send you off to a college when you're older, get you a better education."

I shook my head as our homestead came in sight. "But I don't want to leave you and Mama. I want to stay right here, where I belong."

Papa tousled my hair, smiling down on me. "Precious girl. Come here!"

He scooped me into his arms and carried me the rest of the way home. I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face into his tunic, shielding myself from the ever-growing wind.

"Aldia!" called Papa as we stepped inside our warm house. "We're back!"

No answer.

I wiggled out of Papa's arms. "I'll go check outside. Maybe she's behind the house."

"Stay warm out there, little pup. It's almost dark."

I nodded and left the house, running around the back towards our gardens. My mother was nowhere in sight. I furrowed my brow and placed my hands on my hips. It did not make sense. Where would she be?

I had just turned around to go back inside when a spine-chilling growl rumbled behind me. I froze, too afraid to turn, as the growl grew louder. Shaking, I turned my head and looked over my shoulder, unable to turn my whole body around.

I found myself staring into the eyes of a white wolf.

I had never seen a wolf so big before. Its coat was the color of dirty snow, and its long snout was stained with old blood. Its fangs gleamed as it snarled, ears pinned to its skull and hackles raised.

Now more afraid of taking my eyes off the beast, I spun around and stood rooted in place. I was too afraid to scream for help, too afraid that the wolf would attack if I even opened my mouth to speak. The only thing I wasn't afraid to move was my gaze. I looked around for something to use as a weapon against the wolf: a rock, a stick, a trowel. Anything I could swing or throw at the beast to distract it long enough for me to get away.

"Ylva, sweetie!" called my father behind me. The wolf stopped growling, and I gasped. "I found your mother! Come on back inside!"

The wolf chose that moment to start growling again, and it readied itself for an attack.

I knew now that if I did not move at all, I would be dead. So, despite my fears, I turned and ran.

The wolf's jaws snapped shut around the hem of my dress, and it pulled me off my feet. I screamed and clawed at the ground, kicking at the wolf as it dragged me away from my house. "Papa! Help me!"

I rolled onto my back and kicked the wolf in the snout. It yelped and let go of my dress. I started to get up and run, but the wolf lunged forward and pounced on me, pinning me to the ground beneath it. I screamed again and wrestled with it. Its jaws snapped closed near my head, missing my ear by inches, and I let out another shriek.

"Ylva!" yelled Papa as heavy footsteps thundered towards me. "I'm coming!"

I swatted the wolf's snout again, but this time it did not yelp or reel back. It bit down on my right cheek and yanked.

Ripping pain blinded me as warm blood gushed from the opening in my face. I was in too much pain to scream; I tried to kick the beast off me, but it had my legs pinned firmly to the ground.

"Get off my daughter!" screamed Papa. He tackled the wolf off me, and the animal let my face go. I clapped a hand over my wound, holding the hanging skin to my face as blood oozed between my fingers.

Papa and the wolf wrestled in a tangle of snarls, grunts, and growls. Papa nailed the beast in the side. It yelped and swung its massive paw into Papa's face, but he ignored the blow and shoved it away from him. As the beast recovered, Papa dashed to the pile of tools only a few feet away and grabbed a pitchfork. He stood between the wolf and me, pitchfork pointed at the animal.

The wolf snarled and paced closer to us, hackles raised and ears flat against its head. Papa jabbed the pitchfork at it, yelling at the top of his voice.

My head spun, blood covered my hand, and my eyes started to close. "Papa...."

"It's okay, little pup," Papa said without taking his eyes off the wolf. "I'm right here."

The wolf let out a blood-chilling growl, taking its chance to strike. It leapt at Papa, jaws open and bloody teeth bared.

I screamed and Papa yelled. He thrust the pitchfork out, catching the wolf in the chest. Still yelling, Papa pushed the pitchfork deeper into the beast's body, throwing it to the ground. The animal lay still, tiny rivulets of blood running past the prongs of the pitchfork.

Once he knew it was dead, Papa let go of the pitchfork and turned to me. He had three, bleeding gashes on his cheek, but he did not even seem to notice them. He knelt down and scooped me into his arms, holding me close to his chest as he ran around the house towards our stable. "Hang on, little pup," he whispered gently. "Everything will be all right."

Mama was standing on the doorstep as Papa made it to the stable. She raced to see what had happened, knuckles white as she balled her apron in her hands. "Tolvar, what on Nirn—?!"

"Wolf attack." Papa handed me to Mama as he mounted our chestnut mare. "I'm taking her to the tavern in Kynesgrove. Raldr can help her."

Mama kissed my forehead gently. "What about the healers in Windhelm?"

"They'll demand payment. We can't afford it. And Windhelm is too far. She'd bleed to death before I even got to the gates."

He reached down after he was settled on the horse's back, and Mama carefully passed me back to Papa. He wrapped me in a blanket from the saddlebags and grabbed the reins. "Don't worry, Aldia," he said to Mama as he urged our horse out of the stable. "Raldr knows what he's doing. I trust him."

Mama nodded, her face bent with worry. "Go, then. Hurry!"

Papa clicked his tongue and gouged his heels into the mare's sides. She started galloping down the cobblestone path, her hooves clip-clopping rapidly along the stone.

I leaned backwards into Papa's chest as he urged the horse to go faster. The wind bit at my nose, making the blood on my hand go cold. I had to keep reminding myself to keep pressure on my wound; with Papa needing both hands to guide the horse, he could not help me. I had to help myself.

With the breakneck pace he had set, Papa and I reached Kynsegrove in record time. He wasted no time riding up to Braidwood Inn and dismounting. He tied the reins to the railing, then reached up and helped me slide off the saddle. He carried me inside the warm and noisy inn, gaze frantically searching.

"Raldr! Are you here?!" he called, carrying me over to an empty table. "Please! I need your help!"

A man with a burly auburn beard ambled forward, massive shoulders squared and barrel chest puffing out. "What happened to your ankle-biter?" he asked Papa, his voice deep and rumbling. "And what happened to you?"

"Ylva was attacked by an ice wolf. I fought it off. But that's a story for another time." Papa gently laid me onto the hard tabletop. "Can you fix her face?"

Raldr sat down on the bench near my head, thick fingers wrapping around my wrist. "It's okay, pup," he said in a soothing voice. "Let me see it." He pulled my hand away from my wound, leaning closer to examine it. He only kept my hand away from a few moments before retrieving a cloth from a pouch on his belt. He pressed the cloth to my face, then turned to Papa, who had been pacing back and forth since Raldr came to look at my wound. "I can fix this, but I'll need thread and a sewin' needle. Keep pressure on your kid's wound while I go get the things I need."

Nodding, Papa took over for Raldr as the burly man got up and disappeared. "Don't worry, Ylva," he said, stroking his free hand over my hair. "Raldr will have you fixed up in no time."

"You're bleeding, Papa."

He shook his head and gave a gentle smile. "Don't worry about me, little pup. It's just a scratch."

Raldr returned within a few minutes, a small satchel clutched in his hands. He moved Papa aside and sat back down, opening his satchel and pulling out a curved needle and some thick, black thread. He threaded the needle with practiced ease, then moved the cloth away from my face. "She's not bleeding so bad anymore. I can stitch her up."

Papa sat down on the tabletop beside me and held my hand. "Look at me, Ylva. Don't look at the needle. It's going to hurt, but this is how it gets better."

I obeyed and kept my gaze trained on his face. When I felt the sharp prick of the needle, I gasped and tightened my grip on Papa's hand. He squeezed my hand back and shushed me. He kept me calm as Raldr worked.

When my father's friend finished, he stood up and nodded. "I'll get a cloth to wipe up all the blood, Tolvar. Stay with your girl."

Papa helped me sit up as Raldr left in search of a cleaning rag. "How do you feel, pup?"

"Dizzy." I leaned into Papa's side and buried my face in his tunic. "Tired."

"Then once Raldr gets the blood cleaned up, we'll head back home. Your mother is bound to be worrying her lip to shreds, hmm?"

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I had told myself that I wasn't going to update anything else before I updated Victory or Sovngarde, but I got the sudden inspiration to write this the other day, and it just became so easy to get it done. Liz_Danly left a comment in To Kill A Dragonborn about this particular story, and I just thought, "Eh, why not? Let's do it!"

If you wish to make a request, feel free to do so! I always enjoy writing them, no matter what they are. Whether they're full of fluff or heart-wrenchingly painful, I love getting creative and writing them out.

Until next time! Love and sweetrolls!
~WG 💙