By the afternoon, after a brief rest beneath the shade of the towering trees, Qen sat cross-legged in silence. His eyes wandered across the forest—its endless green, the scattered trunks, the moss-softened rocks. Survival weighed heavily on his mind. He was no stranger to battle, no stranger to hardship, but this place was different. There were no barracks, no comrades, no commander's orders. Only him, a white direwolf, and a young Wolfkin who appeared out of the night like a shadow.
"We can't keep sleeping on bare soil," Qen muttered to himself, hand brushing against the damp earth. "If we're to survive here, we'll need more than a campfire."
His gaze drifted to Freon, who was sprawled lazily a few paces away, and then to Hert, who was crouched on a log, sharpening his dagger. An idea began to form—rough, untested, but better than doing nothing.
"I'll build us a hut," Qen decided aloud, almost surprising himself with the words.
Hert's ears perked, amber eyes blinking curiously. "A hut? With no tools?"
Qen chuckled, shaking his head. "I don't even know the basics of carpentry. But nothing will happen if I don't try. Fallen trees are everywhere. We'll make use of them."
Hert tilted his head, then gave a simple nod. "Then I'll help."
And so they began.
---
The forest floor offered plenty—fallen trunks scattered like forgotten bones of ancient giants. Some were thick and sturdy, others thinner and crooked. Together, they carried what they could, dragging and lifting, their arms soon sore from the effort. Qen's palms burned, unused to this kind of work, but he pressed on. Hert, lighter on his feet, handled the smaller trunks with surprising efficiency.
The first step was to set a foundation. Qen paced the clearing, marking a rough square with his boot. With no shovel at hand, he plunged his sword into the soil, hacking and prying until the earth loosened. It was slow, messy work, but little by little he carved out enough space to wedge the trunks into the ground.
When at last the first thick beam stood upright, both men leaned against it, breathing hard.
"It's hard to do when you don't know what you're doing," Qen admitted with a laugh, wiping sweat from his brow.
Hert smirked faintly, ears flicking. "But it stands. That's what matters."
They laughed together, and for a fleeting moment, the heavy silence of the forest seemed lighter.
Freon, however, remained unimpressed—sprawled on his side, tail flicking lazily, he watched them with half-lidded eyes as though the work was beneath him.
---
Hours passed. They managed to raise more beams, slowly forming the skeleton of a small shelter. Qen struggled with balancing the uneven trunks, while Hert fetched long vines to bind them together. Their fingers grew raw from the twisting and tightening, but each knot held firm. When the sun dipped lower, shadows stretching across the clearing, they began setting thinner logs for the walls.
Qen took a step back, chest rising and falling, pride warming his tired limbs. "It's beginning to look like a home."
Hert gave a small nod, his tail flicking in quiet satisfaction.
But peace rarely lasted.
---
The forest suddenly stirred with harsh, guttural laughter.
A rustle—then another. From the treeline, green-skinned figures emerged one after another. Beady eyes gleamed, crude weapons in hand. Goblins. Dozens of them… no, more than a hundred, forming a circle around the half-built hut.
Qen's heart tightened, but his hands were steady as he reached for his sword. Hert drew his dagger, stance low and tense. Freon rose at once, fur bristling, lips curled in a silent snarl.
The goblins jeered, some clattering their rusted blades against shields, others baring yellow teeth in cruel grins.
Then the first unit charged.
Steel clashed. Qen parried a jagged blade, cutting his attacker down in a single stroke. Hert darted in and out, his dagger flashing as he struck at exposed throats and bellies. Freon lunged with terrifying force, slamming one goblin into the dirt before ripping into another.
But for every goblin that fell, more surged forward.
A slash slipped through. Hert cried out, stumbling as a jagged blade tore across his leg. Blood darkened his trousers, and he collapsed to one knee, unable to move.
"Hert!" Qen's voice cut like iron. "Freon—guard him!"
The direwolf obeyed instantly, planting himself in front of the wounded Wolfkin, fangs bared at any goblin who dared draw close.
Qen pressed on alone, his sword whirling, sweat and blood streaking across his face. But even he knew—this tide would drown them.
And then—
Fwooooo!
A sharp, piercing note echoed through the clearing. Hert, pale with pain, had blown a small horn. Its sound cut through the battle like a call of the wild itself.
The air shifted. The wind carried something heavy—something alive.
From the forest shadows, dozens of shapes appeared, their eyes glinting like stars. Wolves. A pack, large and hungry, answering Hert's call.
They struck as one.
The clearing erupted into chaos as wolves tore into goblin flesh, fangs and claws rending the horde apart. Panic spread among the goblins as their numbers were ripped to shreds, their mocking laughter replaced with screams.
Qen fought alongside the beasts, his blade cutting down any goblin that slipped past their fury. Together, man and wolf carved through the enemy until the last of the green-skinned raiders fell silent upon the blood-soaked ground.
---
When the battle ended, a massive wolf, nearly as large as Qen himself, stepped forward. Its presence silenced the pack—it was their alpha. The beast lowered its head respectfully toward Hert, who reached out and gently patted its crown.
"Thank you," Hert whispered with a faint smile.
The alpha's gaze shifted to Freon. For a moment, its body stiffened, ears flattening. It stumbled back a step, lowering itself in deference. Even a wild alpha knew—it was no match for a direwolf's bloodline.
Soon, the wolves melted back into the forest, forty strong, their growls fading into the distance.
Qen exhaled deeply, lowering his sword. He turned to Hert, who was still seated with his wounded leg. "That horn of yours… that saved us."
Hert smirked weakly. "And Freon guarding me saved me. Call it even."
Despite their exhaustion, both of them laughed, the sound ragged but genuine. Freon, content the danger was gone, flopped lazily onto his side once more as if nothing had happened.
---
They worked together to gather the goblin corpses. Piling them high, Qen struck a spark and lit the funeral pyre. Smoke curled into the evening sky, carrying the stench of blood and ash. For Qen, a soldier, it was a familiar smell—though never one he could grow used to. Hert bore it quietly, watching the flames with an unreadable expression.
When the fire died down, they returned to their task. With slower, steadier effort, they lifted beams, tied vines, and filled gaps with woven branches. Hours bled into the night. By the time the moon rose high, a small hut finally stood in the clearing.
It was crude, uneven, and humble. But it was theirs.
Qen stood back, arms crossed, lips curling into a rare smile. "Not bad… for a first try."
Hert, leaning on Freon for support, gave a tired grin. "It's more than I had yesterday. It's a start."
And with that, the three of them—man, Wolfkin, and direwolf—stepped inside their first shelter, proud of what they had built together.