Trolls possess terrifying regenerative abilities; swords find it difficult to cut through their thick hides, and their wounds heal quickly.
Aside from fire, few things, natural or human, strike fear into a Troll.
He is a powerful predator, and many travelers who stray from the main path meet their end in a Troll's maw.
The woman was keenly aware of this, so she would never abandon her sword; she had to seize the opportunity to inflict irreversible damage on the Troll, otherwise, both she and her child would perish!
The Troll slammed his back against the tree; the woman's body was weak, her movements slowed by the cold, making effective evasion impossible, so she could only endure the impact.
Simon listened to the continuous roars, the thudding impacts, and the rustling of the trembling trees, and a sense of anger was not absent from his heart.
Anger is the pain of powerlessness.
At this moment, the doe appeared again, standing before Simon.
Simon looked up at her, and she looked down at Simon.
Stories of gods and demons circulated on Nirn.
There is a Hunting God, Hircine, who often appears in the form of various birds and beasts with stag antlers.
The struggle between the woman and the Troll concluded; she had won.
The Troll's back was soaked with black-red blood, like a cloak; he now leaned against a spruce, murky mucus flowing from his three eyes, like a film over them; he had given his all.
The woman pulled herself out from between the Troll and the tall tree; the bones in her legs were completely broken, dragging on the ground like two thick ropes, her ribs fractured and pierced her lungs, blood constantly frothed from her mouth, and her entire body was covered in bruises.
She took a small bottle of healing potion from her satchel, but instead of drinking it, she propped herself up with her elbows and slowly moved to the stone mound, where she saw the majestic doe.
She stared into the doe's eyes, realizing it was intelligent and divine; the woman suddenly understood who it was.
She bowed her head, "Great... *cough cough*, Hunting Daedric Prince, Father of Hunters and Werebeasts, *cough*, I believe in you."
The woman's voice was hoarse and low; her battle cry had scared away the Wolf Pack, but it had also torn her vocal cords.
She spoke indistinctly, coughing up blood intermittently, her forehead pressed to the ground, her posture humble; she was a warrior, and also a mother.
"...I beg you, protect my child.
I, Giana Blood-drinker, swear that after death, I wish to participate in the eternal Blood Drinker in your hunting grounds... to bring you joy... I ask that my child may grow up safely... I offer this Troll as a sacrifice..."
The doe gazed deeply at this mortal; her posture was proud yet gentle.
The clouds in the sky parted, and the twin moons appeared; under the sacred moonlight, Hircine's avatar gently lay down.
The woman smiled, plunging her longsword into the doe's side, piercing its heart.
Even in her dying moments, her movements were meticulous and sharp.
The doe's body transformed into a stream of light, grand and brilliant; from the light emerged a tall man wearing an antlered helmet.
He exuded a wild, primeval aura, radiating cold yet passionate savagery.
"Mortal, I accept your offering!
The descendant of a proud hunter will be respected by nature; he will live and receive the power of your offering!"
Hircine burst into laughter; nearby, the Troll's corpse exploded, its flesh and blood transforming into an ethereal red stream that surged into Simon, who was in his swaddling clothes.
Simon felt an unprecedented sensation of falling.
He was not submerged in water, but in a raging wind mixed with flesh and blood.
He couldn't breathe, and the red airflow felt like blades scraping his body, bringing a shocking, intense pain.
The intense pain was like a spicy appetizer of death, instantly seeming to obliterate even the subtle emotions deep within his brain.
Simon experienced a hallucination: a roaring head with three eye sockets, covered in short bone spikes—the Troll's skull.
Its crude, primitive jawbone constantly opened and closed, clacking, as if mocking him.
Falling.
Simon escaped the pain and instead fell into a chaotic dream.
Falling...
The woman watched as the figure of the Daedric Prince Hircine slowly disappeared, only his hearty laughter still echoing through the desolate and somber forest.
She hastily crawled to her child and saw him struggling and writhing in his leather swaddling clothes, white fur continuously growing on his body.
Gaelina had heard legends of werewolves and werebears; now her child seemed to have contracted a new lycanthropic disease, a Troll?
The woman showed a kind smile.
My child, as long as you live, there is hope for everything.
Your story will be passed down in Tamriel; you will have your own title, a name more resounding than Blood Drinker.
The woman poured the remaining small amount of healing potion into her child's mouth.
She watched as the painful expression on her child's face slightly eased, and finally, unable to resist the tumult in her heart, she unconsciously shed tears.
The tears could not wash away the bloodstains on her face, and the low temperature quickly froze the teardrops; the tears fell.
They fell, landing on the child's wildly waving palm.
An epiphyllum quietly bloomed, and the pale red teardrop shimmered in the air for a moment, then disappeared.
The woman smiled, lay down beside her child, and gently stroked his forehead.
Snow fell again.
Through the gaps in the trees, it gradually covered the woman's body.
...
Dawn was breaking.
Several Icefield Wolves intruded upon the aftermath of this tragic battlefield; they circled the woman's cold corpse for a long time, then began to gnaw at her flesh.
The hungry wolves devoured the woman completely, then gathered around the infant.
They gently licked Simon's face.
Simon weakly opened his eyes; he couldn't even move his neck, only able to see the wolf heads before him, the treetops, and the blue sky behind the clouds.
A majestic wild wolf picked up his leather swaddling clothes and led the Wolf Pack out of the forest.
Simon began to wander.
He wandered with the Wolf Pack; a female wolf would nurse him, and after the Wolf Pack acquired food, they would let that female wolf eat first.
Hircine had said that the descendant of a great hunter would earn the respect of nature.
Simon was a child adopted by nature.
The lycanthropic disease granted by the Daedric Prince brought him prolonged suffering; after transforming back to his normal form from a Troll, he spent a month in severe weakness and high fever.
Every day, besides sucking on the female wolf's milk, he was tossed about in chaotic dreams.
Before long, his swaddling clothes were covered in feces and urine, and he couldn't even notice it.
The Wolf Pack's territory was not large, with only a small river within it.
Simon would be thrown into the river to be washed, like a stone; fortunately, the water was shallow, so he didn't drown.
The dirty leather swaddling clothes were abandoned; Simon was now carried by a strong male wolf.
The Troll's soul wreaked havoc in Simon's mind and surged through his bloodline.
His hair grew very quickly, but it wasn't the iconic golden hair of the Nord; instead, it turned an abnormal and unhealthy grayish-white, dry like straw.
The Night Star Month passed, and a new year arrived.
As the Morning Star Month drew to a close, Simon also slowly recovered from his illness.
The child's body was too fragile; fortunately, while the lycanthropic disease brought Simon pain, it also endowed him with strong immunity and regenerative abilities.
With the care of the Wolf Pack, he managed to survive the ordeal.
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