The small fire flickered as a fierce jet of wind ripped across the frozen plains of the Bleak Expanse, licking the face of Artick and his precious Cathline. The fleeting remnants of a storm plagued another night.

The past few years have been difficult. Predatory by nature, Artick had spent the last six years laying in a bed, cared for by his guardian and mentor, a magic man called Nayef. He suffered from a mysterious contagion that severely damaged his muscles, but left his skin tough and leathery.

His whole life, that he can remember, was spent here in the ice laden land of the Expanse. He was brought to the home of Nayef, after his parents had died, when he was barely more than an infant. The circumstance of their death was never spoken of to him and to this day he knew nothing of their fate or how it had come to pass.

Cathline perked up her head as another gust rushed by, sniffing the air. Ever since he had found the artic wolf, back before his illness, they’ve been inseparable. Snow poured down on the morning forest that day, as Artick stalked his prey; an elk he’d tracked since the previous day and he was getting close. The trees were thick and weighted down by drifts of snow from the beginning of winter. Little more than a superficial separation of days separated the seasons here. The summers were often only slightly tamer than the winters.

Artick kept one eye on the tracks and the other ahead of him. Spotting the bull elk between the trees, some 50 yards ahead, he drew back the taught string on his yew longbow, a stone tipped arrow, sharpened to a fine edge, on the shelf. One shot. That’s all it’d take to bring it down.

A snow bank at his feet whimpered as he stepped forward. Hearing the cry the elk looked up and bounded off deeper into the woods. Glancing down he noticed the muzzle of a tiny she-wolf pup poking through the snow. Artick looked around for any sign of others. The time he’d spent here in the Expanse had taught him that wolves don’t venture out on their own. But apparently this one did; alone in this wasteland, no friends, no family, just surviving; and only just. He reached down, wiping the snow from her face, and picked her up, tucking her under his arm, beneath his cloak. It had been a particularly vicious season and she was barely alive. But she was a fighter, a survivor. It took several weeks of vigilant nursing and care, but, between Artick’s diligence and Nayef’s expertise, she steadily began growing stronger. She reminded Artick of himself. A solitary soul, out in the wildest places of Seralla, living day to day with nothing more than the desire to survive.