"Right side!"
Skala swung his spear suddenly, snow splashing from under his feet.
As the massive white-maned Ice Wolf lunged at him, it collided with the thrusting bone spear, its sharp tip piercing through the wolf's neck, bringing forth a spray of cold blood mist.
The giant beast tumbled to the ground, struggling twice before falling still.
Almost simultaneously, a low roar ripped through the battlefield.
Intense air currents rippled in the sky, and a massive dark-blue silhouette descended from above, striking violently into another pack of wolves.
Sharp Dragon Claws raked the ground, tearing three Ice Wolves into shattered flesh and blood, which fell into the snow like discarded prey.
After landing, the Proto-Dragon turned its head to look at Skala, its amber vertical pupils fixed on him, as if confirming his condition.
Skala gasped for breath, wiped the blood from his face, and looked up at the Wolf King observing from a high vantage point.
"Don't just watch," he said hoarsely, "that one up there is yours."
The Proto-Dragon shook its head slightly, flapped its wings, and soared straight into the sky.
Seeing this, the Snow Wolf leader let out a warning howl and turned to flee, but its movements were far too slow compared to the hunter from the sky.
A dark shadow streaked across the clouds, and massive Dragon Wings cut through the icy wind like blades.
The next second, the Snow Wolf leader was bitten, torn open from neck to abdomen.
The battle lasted less than thirty breaths.
Skala stood in the center of the hunting ground, gripping his blood-stained bone spear, silently watching the descending Dragon silhouette.
It wasn't the first time he had witnessed the Proto-Dragon's combat power, but fighting alongside it truly made him realize the difference between them.
The Proto-Dragon lowered its head, sniffed the corpse, then retracted its clawed wings and slowly approached Skala.
The atmosphere between them was subtle; neither master and servant nor friends, but more like an alliance forged by faith.
"…Do you really understand what I'm saying?" Skala stared at it, asking in a low voice.
The Proto-Dragon simply looked at him silently, then gently nudged a remaining wolf corpse to his feet with its tail.
It lowered its head slightly—a gesture like an offering, or perhaps waiting for a response.
Skala gave a wry smile: "Alright, I get it. I'll offer it to my Lord."
After patting the Proto-Dragon's scales, Skala turned and squatted in the snow, holding a bone knife, and gently cut open the Ice Wolf's abdomen.
Ribs, lung lobes, stomach—all were clearly discernible. His fingertips moved slightly as he tentatively pressed the tissue around the heart, confirming the blood coagulation time and the wolf pack's food condition.
"No decay, firm meat," he murmured. "Edible."
He stood up, his gaze sweeping across the battlefield.
Eight wolf corpses were scattered around the battle circle; one killed by his hand, the others fallen at the feet of the Proto-Dragon.
The latter was now curled at the edge of the snowfield, licking the blood from its front paws, like a satisfied hunting cat.
"Good thing I brought a sled," Skala assessed. "Otherwise, I really couldn't take them."
He blew a short whistle, and three hidden followers emerged in response.
They appeared from behind the snow hill, carrying bundled ropes and bone frames, their expressions tense but steady.
"Group the meat, we must depart by sunset at the latest."
Skala gave the order without much superfluous talk.
He walked towards the young Proto-Dragon and stopped beside it.
The Dragon tilted its head, its gaze slowly sweeping between him and the followers.
"You cannot enter the village with us," Skala said in a low voice. "Tok-Aak isn't ready to accept you yet. We still need time between us."
The Proto-Dragon didn't move; it merely exhaled a low puff of warm air, as if indicating understanding.
Then, it slowly spread its wings, leaped up, and flew towards the hills in the southwest, hiding in the higher clouds.
Only after it disappeared did Skala truly relax.
The mature Ice Troll gazed towards home, where Tok-Aak, his tribe, and his trial grounds lay.
"At least we won't starve," Skala sighed, feeling that the struggle of faith was largely a happy burden.
The twilight snow fell silently, and the cold wind sharpened the snow hills like knife blades.
The outline of Tok-Aak finally appeared before them. The boundaries enclosed by wooden walls were partially obscured by snow, with only a flag bearing fragments of old totems swaying in the air, like drifting memories.
Skala and three hunters walked side by side, slowly pulling two sleds.
The sleds were covered with animal hides, concealing the eight Ice Wolf corpses, their blood already congealed, preventing a continuous red trail into the stronghold.
At the edge of the camp, the old guard merely glanced at them before lowering his head to continue weaving the broken leather rope in his hands, offering no greeting or obstruction.
"They're all at the shrine," a hunter whispered.
"Gulen is commanding quite strictly," another chuckled. "When I left, he was having Toka find a complete stone, saying he wanted to erect it next to the idol as a divine oath stone."
Skala nodded. He knew Gulen was cautious and steady in his work, and also held prestige. After receiving the blessing, he had become much stronger, so there was no need to worry at all.
Since that "Night of Covenant," most of the warriors, hunters, and even shaman apprentices of the Tok tribe had submitted to Obsidian's faith.
The remaining ones—primarily elderly women and elders.
They had not openly opposed, but they did not speak to the believers, no longer participated in gatherings, nor would they pass by the shrine that was under construction.
They still lived in the shadow of the old loa, unwilling to leave.
"We've fed the meat right to their mouths," one hunter muttered. "At least they have to eat."
"They will eat," Skala said flatly, "they just won't say thank you."
Passing through the empty stone ground of the central market, several children peered from a distance but did not run closer—their parents might not have clearly stated their stance, so no one encouraged them to approach these "people wearing divine emblems."
When they reached the old loa fire pillar, they indeed saw that familiar figure.
Xilika stood there, motionless, her silver hair gently swaying in the wind, her eyes like an unextinguished flame in the cold night.
"You're back," she said faintly, without approaching or reaching out to touch his forehead as she used to.
"The prey is here, it's edible," Skala said.
"The cold wind will shift tomorrow night, the fire pit needs reinforcement," she paused, then added, "You have something to say tonight."
"I will say it," Skala nodded.
"I will listen." She looked at him, then turned and walked towards the long council tent, leaning on her staff.
Elders always had a unique way of expressing their stance, neither approving nor compromising.
They simply watched, to see if you could sustain that "God" to the end.
Skala did not immediately follow.
He looked towards the other end of the camp, where no cooking smoke rose, but the sound of hammering and chiseling could be heard.
"You all process the wolf meat," he instructed softly. "Oh, and don't touch that one."
Skala pointed to the Snow Wolf that the Proto-Dragon had given him.
Then, he took a deep breath of cold air and walked towards the council tent.
The divine emblem on his chest shimmered slightly, as if responding, or perhaps reminding him.