The same, but different. A wolf did not think like a man. To defeat him, you must become him. Wolfskin. That was the trick of it. Circle up, softly still, bare feet curling and balancing on the uneven surface, body crouched low, ash-cloak blending gray with a landscape slowly illuminated, chill and bare, under the impassive moon. Slow, so slow. These cold-cramped fingers must be made to obey, to grip and control, or he could never succeed. I am strong. I am a hunter. And I will see him before he knows I am here. Under the trees, stooping yet watchful, using the last cover of shadows, Eyvind moved with stealthy purpose. It was the upper rim of the great forest; before him, a jagged mass of tumbled stones rose to high, bare crags, the eerie light turning their ledges and cracks and fissures into a place of mystery and wonder. It was a landscape of gray on gray, encompassing every hue from the pale sheen of a fine pearl to a profound shadow-darkness. Twenty paces before him, a ledge jutted out from the hillside like the prow of a great ocean-going vessel, and there stood the wolf. Eyvind gazed at him and felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and his skin grow clammy with sweat. The creature was huge, surely bigger than any earthly wolf, for he stood three times higher in the shoulder than the farm dog, Grip, and his long, silken pelt lent his form a grandeur that had something kingly in it. Such eyes: golden, shining. They were a savage chieftain’s eyes, deep and knowing, yet wholly animal. Staring up at his adversary, Eyvind understood the message of that gaze. You are come. I sense your presence in the darkness. Who is the hunter here, and who the prey? Come out. If you have the courage, come out and face me, for one of us will die tonight. Then the great wolf raised his muzzle to the sky and howled again, a cry to freeze the blood and still the heart, a call that rang out over the forest and into the very depths of Eyvind’s spirit. It is time.

If he had had a spear, if he had had a bow, he knew just how he would have done it. But this was to be a combat on equal footing. Equal. Naked flesh against thick pelt, small knife against many-clawed feet, stick against dagger-teeth: the idea was laughable. Still, he must win. His courage must be enough to tip the balance, for that was all he had.