One week. I'd been walking through the plain for one week, and I was already starting to miss the forest.
I know, I know. I complained about the forest constantly. The mosquitoes, the snakes, the humidity, the mosquitoes, the jaguars, and did I mention the mosquitoes? But at least in the forest there was SHADE.
Here, on this never-ending plain, the sun hit me like it had a personal grudge against my silver hair. And speaking of hair, I discovered that silver attracts heat extraordinarily well. My head was basically an oven with extensions.
"This is beautiful," I murmured, shielding my eyes with one hand as I contemplated the landscape. "It looks like a painting. A painting specifically designed to cook me alive."
The sky was a perfect blue, dotted with white clouds that looked like cotton. The sun shone with tropical intensity. The golden grass swayed with the wind as if in a shampoo commercial. Everything was idyllic.
And then there were the animals.
My God, the animals.
In the forest, the animals were big, yes. But on the plain... on the plain everything was COLOSSAL.
The first time I saw a deer, I thought my eyes were deceiving me. It was the size of a pickup truck. I'm not exaggerating. A pickup truck with antlers. It trotted by in the distance and I felt the ground tremble.
"Sure," I said, nodding with resignation. "Of course. Deer the size of motor vehicles. Why not? Makes perfect sense."
Then I saw a mammoth. Well, "saw" is a generous word. I felt its footsteps before I saw it. The ground vibrated for several minutes announcing its arrival. When it finally appeared on the horizon, it looked like a mountain with legs.
I hid behind a rock — a rock that barely covered me — and held my breath as the beast passed. Its fur was so dense it looked like a brown cloud. Its tusks were longer than me.
"Easy, Sunny," I whispered to myself. "It's just an elephant in overalls. Totally normal."
The mammoth ignored me completely. It probably didn't even see me as a threat. You know what? I prefer being ignored to being trampled.
But nothing, NOTHING, prepared me for the wolves.
---
It was my third day on the plain when I saw the first pack.
They were in the distance, gray silhouettes moving gracefully through the tall grass. From where I stood, they looked... normal. About the size you'd expect a wolf to be. Maybe a bit big, but nothing alarming.
"Oh, look," I said optimistically. "Little wolves. How cute. I'm sure they're not as dangerous as the ones in the forest."
Mistake.
Mistake number one that day: underestimating prehistoric wolves.
Mistake number two: getting closer to see them better.
As I walked toward them — YES, I KNOW, IT WAS STUPID — one of the wolves separated from the pack and began trotting in my direction. Still from a distance, it looked like a large dog. Nothing worrying.
It kept getting closer.
And closer.
And CLOSER.
When it was close enough to distinguish its eyes — yellow, hungry, intelligent — I realized my mistake.
This wolf wasn't big. It was HUGE.
It measured at least two and a half meters from head to tail. Its back easily reached chest height on me. And I'm one meter sixty, so do the math. Its legs were as thick as my arm. Its teeth... well, let's just say it could bite my head off without much effort.
"Ah," I said, with the strangely calm voice that absolute terror brings. "Hello, friend. Nice doggy. Want a bone? I don't have bones. Maybe a pet? I don't have hands available right now either because they're shaking too much."
The wolf growled.
It wasn't a normal growl. It was a deep, vibrating sound that seemed to come from the very bowels of the earth. A sound that clearly said: "You are my breakfast, my lunch, and my dinner, probably tomorrow's too."
And then it charged.
I ran.
God, how I ran.
My speed was good — remember, I could run like a horse — but this wolf was faster. I could feel its breath on my neck, its claws scraping the air behind me. At one point, it leaped and I felt its claws tear into my back.
The pain was instantaneous. So was the regeneration. But while my wounds closed, the momentum of the hit threw me forward, sending me rolling through the grass.
When I stopped, I was on my back, looking up at the wolf approaching slowly. Drool hung from its jaws. Its eyes gleamed with what could only be described as amusement.
"Sure," I panted. "It's having fun. This is a game for it. Great. I'm glad someone's enjoying themselves."
The wolf lunged.
Instinctively, I raised my spear — the same one I'd used for the jaguar, repaired and improved — and thrust it toward its chest.
The point penetrated the skin, but not enough. The wolf recoiled, surprised more than hurt, and I took the opportunity to get to my feet.
"Look, friend," I said, the spear trembling in my hands, "I don't want trouble. Really, I don't. Can we talk about this? Negotiate? Maybe you're vegetarian and don't know it?"
The wolf growled again. It didn't seem interested in diplomatic negotiations.
It charged again.
I dodged by millimeters. Felt its teeth graze my arm. Stabbed it in the side as it passed. The animal howled, more furious than hurt, and retreated a few meters.
It looked at me with hatred. I looked at it with terror.
"Look," I tried again, as my heart attempted to escape my chest, "I'm immortal. You understand that? Immortal. I can't die. So this is a waste of time for both of us. Why don't you go find a mammoth or something? They're bigger. Tastier. More meat."
The wolf didn't seem convinced. But it also didn't attack. It watched me, studying me, as if trying to process what had just happened. It had hurt me, yes, but my wounds healed. Its attacks were useless.
Finally, with a growl of frustration, the wolf turned and began to walk away.
"That's right!" I shouted triumphantly. "Go! Tell your friends not to mess with me!"
The wolf stopped. Looked over its shoulder. Our eyes met.
And then I understood.
It wasn't giving up. It was just being strategic.
For the rest of the day, as I walked toward the mountains visible on the horizon, the wolf followed me. Always at a distance. Always visible. Always there.
A gray shadow among the golden grass.
---
That night, when I stopped to rest — I didn't need to sleep, but the mental exhaustion was real — the wolf sat about fifty meters away and watched me.
I lit a campfire — very, very carefully this time — and stared back at him.
"Are you going to be there all night?" I asked.
The wolf tilted its head.
"Of course you are. You're going to be there all night. Of course."
I sighed and leaned against a rock, keeping the spear close. The wolf didn't move. Its yellow eyes gleamed in the darkness, reflecting the flames.
"You've got perseverance, I'll admit," I told him. "That's admirable. Also terrifying. But mostly admirable."
The wolf yawned. Showed all its teeth.
"Yeah, yeah, impressive. Now get some sleep. You can keep trying to kill me tomorrow."
I closed my eyes. I didn't sleep, obviously. But I pretended to, just to see what it would do.
The wolf didn't move.
---
The following days were a recurring nightmare.
The wolf — whom I started calling "Larry" because naming things that terrify you makes them less terrifying, according to some psychologist I read once — followed me everywhere.
During the day, it walked in the distance, always visible, always watching. At night, it sat near my campfire and observed me. It never attacked, but it never left either.
"What do you want, Larry?" I asked him on the third day. "Why don't you give up?"
Larry blinked slowly. I think he smiled. Wolves can smile, right?
On the fourth day, I tried to scare him off by throwing stones. He dodged them with insulting elegance. Then he looked at me like "seriously, human?"
On the fifth day, I tried talking to him. I explained my situation, my immortality, my plans to find a dragon. Larry lay down in the grass and fell asleep while I talked. His snore sounded like a broken engine.
"You're a terrible listener," I complained.
On the sixth day, I finally reached the mountainous area I'd seen from the plain. The mountains rose imposingly, with snowy peaks and forest-covered slopes. A river flowed down from the heights, forming small waterfalls and crystal-clear pools.
"Water," I sighed with relief. "Fresh, clean water. And probably full of enormous fish, because of course, why not?"
Larry stopped at the boundary between the plain and the mountains. He looked at me. He seemed hesitant.
"What's wrong, Larry?" I asked. "Don't like heights?"
Larry growled. But he didn't advance.
I shrugged and began exploring the river. The water was cold and crystalline. I could see the stony bottom, and among the stones...
Fish.
Enormous fish.
The size of my leg.
"Oh, yes," I smiled. "Dinner."
I found a section of the river where the water was deeper and fish congregated. Using my spear as a harpoon, I prepared for the hunt.
My first attempt was pathetic. The spear moved in the water, the fish fled, and I fell on my ass in the river.
"Great," I muttered, soaked. "Now I smell like fish too. Perfect."
My second attempt was slightly better. I almost caught one, but the spear veered at the last moment and I only managed to scare every fish within a ten-meter radius.
"Come on, Sunny," I encouraged myself. "You just need to calculate refraction. Light bends in water. Aim lower than where you see the fish."
My third attempt: the spear pierced the water and hit... a rock. The point broke.
"Damn it!"
I got out of the river, frustrated, and sat on a rock to repair my spear. Larry had finally crossed the boundary and was sitting upstream, watching me with what could only be described as amusement.
"Laugh it up, laugh it up," I said while tying on a new point. "We'll see who laughs when I have roasted fish and you're still hunting prehistoric rabbits."
By my fourth attempt, I'd perfected my technique. I aimed lower, calculated the water's movement, and thrust hard.
The spear pierced the fish cleanly.
"YES!" I shouted, raising my trophy. "I did it! Take that, Larry!"
Larry looked at me expressionlessly. I think he was impressed. Or bored. With wolves, you never know.
The fish was enormous. It must have been about a meter long, with silver scales and eyes that looked at me accusingly.
"Sorry, friend," I told it. "But nature is cruel. And I'm hungry."
As I prepared to clean the fish, I felt a chill. Not the chill of wind or cold water. The chill of being watched by something that shouldn't be watching you.
Larry became alert. His ears perked up, his body tensed, and a deep growl escaped his throat.
"What's wrong, Larry?" I asked, putting down the fish.
Then I felt it. A vibration in the ground. Heavy. Rhythmic. Approaching.
And then the roar.
A roar that didn't belong to any animal I knew. It was deep, thunderous, a sound that seemed to shake the very air. The leaves on the trees trembled. Small stones rolled down the slope.
Larry and I looked at each other.
For the first time in days, we weren't predator and prey.
We were two creatures who had just realized they weren't at the top of the food chain.
The roar came again. Closer.
And then I saw it.
Emerging from the forest, upstream, appeared the most enormous creature I'd ever seen in my life. It was a bear. But not a normal bear. It was a giant bear. A bear the size of a small house. A bear that walked on four legs but whose head reached the height of the lowest trees.
"Oh, no," I whispered.
The bear looked at us. At me. At Larry. At the dead fish in my hands.
Its eyes were small and black, but they conveyed terrifying intelligence. An intelligence that said: "I've been hunting since before your ancestors were monkeys, and nothing in this river is going to deny me my dinner."
"Run, Larry," I said.
Larry was already running.
I was too.
I left the fish. I left my spear. I left everything and ran as if the devil himself were chasing me, because in essence, that's exactly what was happening.
The bear's roar behind us was deafening. I felt its footsteps shaking the earth, closer and closer. I looked back — mistake — and saw it galloping toward us with a speed an animal that size shouldn't possess.
"THIS ISN'T FAIR!" I screamed as I ran. "BEARS AREN'T SUPPOSED TO RUN THAT FAST! IT'S UNNATURAL!"
Larry, the traitor, was faster than me. He passed me in seconds, his tongue hanging out as he fled.
"LARRY, DAMN IT! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT ME, NOT USE ME AS BAIT!"
Larry didn't look back. Coward.
The bear was almost on top of me when I saw a rock formation to my right. A narrow crevice between two large stones, barely wide enough for me to slip through.
I dove for it without thinking.
My shoulders scraped against the rock walls as I squeezed through the crevice, scratching, pushing, struggling until I tumbled out the other side.
The bear tried to follow. Its head entered the crevice, but its shoulders — its enormous, gigantic, colossal shoulders — wouldn't fit.
It snorted. Growled. Stuck a giant paw in, trying to reach me. Its claws scraped the rock inches from my face, leaving deep marks in the stone.
"Can't reach, little bear!" I shouted, my heart pounding in my throat. "Can't reach, big guy!"
The bear roared in frustration. Its black eyes looked at me through the crevice with such pure hatred I could almost taste it.
And then, slowly, it backed away.
I waited. Held my breath.
The bear moved off, growling, and disappeared into the forest.
Several minutes passed before I dared to come out.
When I finally did, trembling like a leaf, the first thing I saw was Larry. He was sitting on a rock, about a hundred meters away, looking at me with an expression that could only be described as "well, you survived."
"You," I pointed with a trembling finger. "You're a damn traitor."
Larry yawned.
"No, I don't permit you to yawn. You left me! You used me as bait!"
Larry licked his paw.
"And now you're washing your face like nothing happened! Like you didn't just witness my near-death experience!"
Larry looked at me. Blinked slowly. And then, with insulting calm, began to approach.
I tensed. Grabbed a rock.
But Larry didn't attack. He stopped a few meters away, looked at me, then looked toward where the bear had been. Then looked back at me.
"What?" I asked.
Larry growled softly. It wasn't a threatening growl. It was more like... a warning.
"You're telling me we still have to worry about the bear?"
Larry wagged his tail. Once.
"Oh, great. Fantastic. Wonderful."
I picked up my spear — miraculously still there — and began walking upstream, away from the bear's territory. Larry followed.
"And now?" I asked him. "You're going to follow me? Going to try to kill me again?"
Larry didn't respond. He just walked beside me, keeping a prudent distance, but clearly following.
"This is weird," I murmured. "Very, very weird."
We spent the night in a small cave, narrow enough that the bear couldn't enter. Larry lay down at the entrance, as if guarding it. Or as if making sure I didn't escape. With Larry, you never knew.
The next morning, as I came out of the cave, Larry became alert. His ears perked up, his body tensed, and a deep growl escaped his throat.
I thought it was the bear again. But it wasn't.
It was another wolf.
A she-wolf, to be precise. Young, with light gray fur, sniffing around the area where we'd been.
Larry approached her slowly. The she-wolf saw him, growled, but Larry didn't back away. He came closer, wagged his tail, did that canine language that dogs — and wolves — use to communicate.
The she-wolf sniffed him. Looked at him. And then, to my absolute horror, looked in my direction.
"Oh, no," I whispered. "No, no, no, no, no."
Larry turned toward me. His expression was clear: "this is my pack now."
The she-wolf began to approach. Slowly. Cautiously. But approaching.
"Larry," I said, backing away. "Larry, buddy, we've been through a lot together. We've shared moments. I almost turned you into a coat several times, but I didn't. That counts for something, right?"
Larry didn't respond. The she-wolf was ten meters away.
"We're war brothers," I continued, backing away further. "We survived the bear. Together. Well, you fled and I almost died, but together in spirit."
The she-wolf five meters away.
"If you turn me into food for your new girlfriend, I swear I'll haunt you in the afterlife. And I'm immortal, Larry. The afterlife is going to last a long time."
The she-wolf sniffed my leg.
I held my breath.
The she-wolf sniffed my hand.
I didn't look away from Larry, who watched the scene attentively.
The she-wolf, finally, wagged her tail. Once. Then she sat down beside me.
"What... what just happened?" I asked aloud.
Larry approached slowly and sat on the other side. Now I had a wolf on each side.
"This... this is an ambush, right? You're surrounding me. Any minute now you'll attack."
But they didn't attack.
They just stayed there, sitting, looking toward the horizon as if they were my guard dogs.
Minutes passed. Then an hour. Then two.
"Really?" I finally asked. "Now you're my pets?"
Larry looked at me. His expression clearly said: "we're not pets. We're associates. Temporarily. Until we decide to eat you."
I sighed and started walking. The wolves followed.
"This is ridiculous," I murmured. "Absolutely ridiculous."
I looked at the timer on my wrist.
Year: 2 | Day: 17 | Month: 4 | Year: 6998 B.C.
Two wolves. Now I had two wolves following me. A wolf who'd tried to kill me for a week and his new girlfriend who seemed to have adopted me as part of the pack.
"Find a dragon," I reminded myself as I walked. "That's the goal. Find a dragon, learn magic, and eventually have an interesting life. Not get adopted by prehistoric wolves."
Larry howled softly. The she-wolf joined in.
"Shut up," I told them. "You'll attract the bear again."
They shut up.
Miraculously.
"This is so weird," I sighed, as I continued my way toward the mountains, flanked by two giant wolves that, according to all laws of nature, should be trying to devour me.
But oh well. Such was the life of an immortal, I suppose.
Full of surprises.
And wolves.
Mostly wolves.
I hate wolves.
...I think.