“Ja,”another man said.
Coinneach’s heart thundered like an ominous drum echoing through the darkened landscape, a relentless rhythm of dread and fury. The modest stone-and-thatch dwelling that served as his family’s haven now stood vulnerable in the path of the marauding Vikings.
Shadows flickered grotesquely against the sky, their eerie dance created by flames from torches clutched in rough, battle-hardened hands. As the bitter chill of rage crept through his veins, Coinneach's eyes narrowed into slits of determination.
From his concealed vantage point in the tall meadow grasses, he observed the raiders with their wild hair and beards glinting gold in the firelight. There were eight in total—an ominous number that whispered unspeakable devastation. Their low laughter and brief conversations were coarse and foreign,promising nothing but chaos and destruction. They gestured among themselves, pointing towards his family's croft with greedy anticipation.
Coinneach knew he had to act swiftly. His pulse quickening with every heartbeat, he slipped through the shadows like a wraith, every step measured yet desperate. Keeping a careful distance from the flickering pools of torchlight that threatened to reveal him, he maneuvered towards the small croft—a sanctuary of love and memories now under siege.
His mind raced with strategies, each plan dissolving into the next in feverish succession. Was there time to warn their neighboring clansmen? Could he distract the Vikings long enough for his family to escape? Every second counted, and with each breathless moment, Coinneach's resolve solidified into ironclad determination.
He reached the edge of their land, hidden from view by thickets so familiar that even in darkness they guided him silently forward. He paused for a moment behind an ancient oak tree that’s gnarled branches had witnessed countless seasons pass.
The flickering lights grew closer as the Vikings’ footsteps moved through the meadow. Coinneach raced to the croft, far enough away from their torchlight so they couldn’t see him.
His heart racing, he rushed inside the home through the back door, startling his mother, da, and Tamhas, who were getting ready for bed.
“Eight Viking raiders are headed this way.” Usually, his da would tell them what to do if there was trouble like that, but Coinneach was impatient and already taking charge. “Shift. And I’ll join you. I’ll make sure the other crofters get to safety.”
His mother removed her nightshirt and transformed into her wolf, and his dad was doing the same. “Be safe,” his da said before he shifted.
“Aye.” Coinneach glanced at his brother, silently telling him to look after their parents.
Tamhas nodded, finished undressing, and shifted. The three of them ran out the back door.
With only a rudimentary sword that Coinneach had tried to fashion himself without the tools or metals for the job—he was not a blacksmith trained—he raced out after his family and headed to where the other families lived. As wolves, he hoped everyone would fade into the forest and never be found.
The castle gates were already closed for the night, so they couldn’t take refuge there.
He swore he had never run as fast as he had done this night, only pausing to howl in his human form to alert the castle guards and the other crofters of the danger. The croft, situated farthest from his family’s, also had the most vulnerable family because they had four bairns that were only a few days old.
As soon as he threw the door open to their new parents’ croft, he startled the mother and da. They jumped off their pallet in their nightshirts, looking shocked and worried.
“Viking raiders. Shift. I’ll carry the little ones.” Coinneach knew the mom was still recovering from having given birth. He wanted the father to take care of her while Coinneach tended to the wolf pups.
The da and mother quickly removed their clothes, and they pulled the swaddling clothes off the babies. Then she shifted, and so did her babies, both turning into little wolf pups. The da shifted after that. Each of the parents took a pup in their mouths.
“Go!” Coinneach said. “I’ll be right behind you.” He lifted the last two wolf pups, carrying them in his arms, and raced after the parents to the forest, keeping the pups close to his body, warming them.
Once they found a safe place to hide in the thick, tall bracken in the forest, Coinneach fully intended to shift into his wolf andoffer his protection when he smelled Aisling’s scent nearby. He placed the pups at their mother’s belly for nourishment and warmth while the other two supped at her teats.
“Stay here,” Coinneach told the parents.
He couldn’t help the way he felt about Aisling. Every time she was near, he wanted to see more of her. But he wondered what she’d been doing out there so late that she had been locked out of the castle, and he worried about her. He removed his clothes, shifted, and raced to find her.
So intent on finding her, Coinneach nearly ran headlong into a Viking warrior creeping through the trees, the breeze blowing his scent away from Coinneach, or he would have smelled him earlier. As soon as the large man dressed in furs and war paint raised an arrow to his bow, Coinneach knew he couldn’t dodge the arrow in time, even as a wolf.
Then, to Coinneach’s shock, Aisling in her gray wolf form raced out of the bracken, leaped at the man’s throat, and bit him hard, killing him instantly before he could cry out and warn the others.
As the man dropped onto the ground in death, Coinneach nuzzled Aisling, thanking her for saving his life, her muzzle covered in blood. Their hearts were beating hard as Aisling licked his cheek, telling him she was glad to save him.
They heard other Vikings moving through the woods, the bracken rustling, giving away their movement. Coinneach eyed the dead Viking’s beautiful sword, the hilt covered in serpentine motifs. He grabbed it with his teeth and moved deeper into the woods.
He dug a shallow pit for it and quickly buried it. As a crofter's son, he couldn’t afford to purchase such a beautiful weapon. Aisling followed and watched him while they listened to the other men moving through the woods.
Coinneach wanted his brother to have a weapon too, though it was risky to return to the dead man. He shifted. “Stay hidden. I’ll be right back.” He shifted into his wolf.
She shook her head and stuck right beside him, not surprising him. It appeared she was willful when she wanted to be, which appealed to him all the more. When they reached the dead Viking, Coinneach shifted and pulled a short sword from the Viking’s belt, the hilt made of hardwood and bone. To his amusement, Aisling grabbed the Viking’s yew bow and yanked at it, trying to free it.
