Corban howled with rage and fell onto the giant, his pain threatening to overwhelm him. He dragged his blade up as the giant tried to rise, stabbed it into the giant’s groin, severing the artery high in the inner thigh. He collapsed upon the dying giant, struggling to breathe. He’d never felt pain like it, pulsing through him, a sharp spike in his chest every time he took a breath, but only one thought filled his mind.

Storm.

He left his sword buried in the giant, did not have the strength to tug it free, rolled onto his front and saw Storm lying flat and still, the spear protruding from her chest. He dug his hands into the ground, pulled, dragged himself towards her. He was sobbing, his vision blurred by the hot tears streaming down his cheeks. He must have been saying her name as well, for she raised her head and looked at him, whining pitifully. Her tail thumped weakly on the ground, blood foaming from her mouth. Her front legs shifted, paws scratching in the dirt, and she moved, just a fraction. Then she did it again, and again, dragging herself towards him.

That was how they met, both battered, bloody, bones broken, upon a grassy ridge above a white-flowing river. Corban gripped the spear buried in her chest and pulled it free, Storm yelping. He threw it away, tried to stem the flow of blood that pulsed from the wound with his hands. Storm licked his face and then laid her head upon his shoulder. He buried his face in the fur of her neck and held her close to him.

There was crashing in the undergrowth, giant voices.

How long have I slept?

Corban groaned, lifted himself from Storm’s side. She was still breathing, though in short, sharp breaths, not the long, deep movement of her chest that he had slept against so many times. She lifted her head to look at him with glazed, pain-filled eyes.

Hold on, girl. After everything I’ve lost I’ll not lose you as well.

The voices again, closer.

Got to move.

He tried to stand, pain exploding in his chest and leg, collapsed, almost fainted with the effort.

Right. Walking’s out of the question, then.

He listened to the sound of the river.

The thud of feet in the undergrowth, so close.

If they find us, they will kill us.