Heart Of The Wild

AN: Thanks for checking out

Heart of the Wild

! I didn't mean for this story to get as big as it did, but my fingers couldn't stop. Hope you enjoy!

For those waiting on

The Demoness' Champion

, chapter two will be released

7-10 days after Heart of the Wild goes live

. Stay tuned!

...

Here it comes, Grehka.

A stone's throw away was the biggest creature I had ever seen, scraping its claws in the dirt as it growled. Sharp teeth hung from blood-soaked gums, ready to tear flesh from bone. I'd faced bears before, but this one was huge. Its sheer size dwarfed the tallest trees and made the forest seem small. Being an ogre, I rarely met something bigger than me.

It charged, proving my instincts right.

I stood my ground as it lunged, blocking a swipe from its massive paw with the grip of my axe.

Crack.

It slashed the wood, and I knew the handle wouldn't take much more.

The bear swiped again.

I dodged and buried my axe deep in its side.

It roared, rattling me to my core as it knocked me down like a leaf.

I shot up, but not in time to stop it from slicing into my thigh.

It burned and stung, blood gushing from my leg.

The beast wasn't finished and kept swinging.

I weaved what I could before countering by slitting its muzzle, which only fueled its unrelenting rage.

With a sudden burst of speed, its jaws snapped around my arm.

I swallowed a scream, the heat of battle drowning the pain.

The force was so great that I began losing feeling in my hand, and I couldn't move my arm. If not for my ogre bones, they would've snapped.

Attacking one-handed with my axe at this distance was hard, so I dropped it and dug my thumb into one of its eyes.

Soft and gooey.

It howled and let go, but not without leaving a nasty-looking mark.

It roared so loud that my ears rang, but I wouldn't show fear.

I tensed every muscle and roared back, baring my tusks.

Deep down, I had hoped taking an eye would make it flee, but it only seemed to make it more enraged. More determined to kill me.

It charged again.

So did I.

We ran at each other and clashed in a test of strength. Its four legs had more balance than my two, and I began to slide backward.

My muscles flexed as I strained to get control, but the bastard bit into my side.

It was agonizing, and I endured it by clenching my teeth so hard I thought they'd shatter.

There was no time to dwell on the pain.

I smashed an elbow into its snout. Then drove a knee into its neck.

It staggered backward, slightly dazed.

I clutched my side. Blood pooled in my palm as it flowed down my ribs. I needed to end this. Now.

My eyes flicked to my axe on the ground.

I ran for it but stumbled. My wounds were catching up with me. It was like my body stopped following my commands.

The bear chased me.

I dove, fingers barely closing around the handle.

Too late.

The bear was on top of me--jaws snapping inches from my face.

I jammed my axe between its slobbering maw, stopping it from tearing my head clean off.

It snarled, pressing its full weight onto me. I pushed back, straining against the wood. We were locked in a stalemate until--

Crack.

The handle snapped in two.

I twisted my head, barely avoiding its next bite.

The broken axe handle had a jagged edge.

As it opened its jaws to attack, I stabbed the roof of its mouth, wedging it open.

The bear wouldn't be able to close it lest it impaled itself more.

With the bladed side of the axe, I plunged it into its head.

It trembled, allowing me to reposition.

I raised my hand high and hacked. Again and again. I didn't know when the beast stopped moving, only that when it did, the gash in its skull was wide. Its innards spilled, blood and brain bits weaving through its fur in a crimson stream.

Soon, the only sound in the nearby forest was my ragged breaths.

My green skin was maroon now, soaked in dark blood--no doubt a mix of the bear's and mine. The heat that flared through my thigh, side, and arm was intense--like lava running down the volcano that was my body.

I chose a direction and walked. It didn't matter where, but I couldn't stay here. More predators would smell the fresh blood and come investigate. As I was, I had no hope of defending myself if I was ambushed. The best thing to do was to get as far away from here as possible and tend to my injuries.

I trudged forward, but the world swayed, and keeping my balance was impossible. Each step took every bit of power I had left. Eventually, my feet stopped lifting and started dragging.

Then my legs gave out.

My face lay in the moist greenery, the damp earth cool against my scorching skin. Each of my shallow breaths shifted the blades of grass near my lips, the scent of fresh soil and crushed vegetation filling my lungs. The ground seemed to drink the heat from my body, leeching away what little strength remained. I twitched my fingers, searching for something to pull me back up but found nothing. A weight heavier than the bear pressed down on me. Exhaustion. My strong and agile limbs now felt like dead weight, sinking into the earth as if we were becoming one.

This can't be it. Not yet. Not like this.

I spat on the life they wanted for me and cursed the burdens I never chose to carry. I learned to fight, to bleed, to endure--alone. Every wound, every scar, was a price I happily paid for freedom. True freedom where I answered to no one. Where my choices were mine and mine alone.

I don't regret leaving. Even dying in the heart of the wild, torn and battered, was better than being shackled to a future chosen for me. A future where I was nothing more than a husk to bear children, a body to be used for their pleasure, and a name to be forgotten. A life of silent suffering, feeding on scraps until I withered away.

No.

If this was it, at least it was my choice. A warrior's death that I earned instead of the slow one forced on me. It would be the end of my journey, not theirs.

The darkness was becoming greedy, swallowing the edges of my vision. Dragging me deeper. I tried to resist, but I was losing the fight. The world blurred, and the ground cradled me like an open grave. Every part of me was slipping away--my strength, my breath, my fire.

And then, there was nothing.

...

Light forced my eyes open through a window above me. I was lying on something soft--too soft. This wasn't the cold, wet grass I should've died on.

A fireplace crackled nearby, its warmth flickering over a small shelf lined with wood carvings. Against the wall, a stone-headed spear rested, silent and worn.

And--

My axe?

It rested on a small wooden table beside me. The handle was still split, the head caked with dry blood. Why was it here? Why was I here?

I tried to sit up, but agony flared through me, sharp and unrelenting. My ribs felt cracked, each breath grinding them together like broken glass. Tightly wrapped bandages bit into my skin, sticky with blood. My muscles throbbed--torn and aching, every limb leaden with exhaustion.

I had killed the bear, but it left its marks. Deep bruises throbbed where I'd been slammed down. My thigh burned where claws had ripped through flesh, now hastily stitched together.

I clenched my teeth, forcing my still-numb fingers to flex. My body screamed in protest. I was alive but barely. Who helped me? Why did they help me?

The door creaked open, and my question was about to be answered.

My instincts screamed at me to reach for my weapon, but my body betrayed me. My arms weren't doing what I told them to, the pain locking them in place.

A man stepped inside, holding a wooden bucket.

He was thin with a skinny build, short brown hair, and wore a simple tunic. He wasn't much, so it couldn't have been him that carried me here.

His eyes met mine before he smiled. What was he planning? I glared at him, but his expression didn't change.

"Hello," he said. "How are you feeling?"

His voice was soft and unthreatening; it irritated me.

"Who are you?" My voice came out harsh, raspy.

"My name is Rowan. And you are?"

"Release me."

He scoffed. "You're not trapped."

I narrowed my eyes. "Then why am I here?"

"Because you needed help."

He said it as if it were a simple truth.

"I don't need your help," I spat like venom.

"You say that," he said casually, "but I'm sure you're in a lot of pain. You were on death's door when I found you. Judging by the claw marks, I'd guess a bear."

"Why does that matter to you?."

"Just curious," he shrugged. "It doesn't matter now, so let's check on your bandages."

He stepped closer, setting the bucket down and pulling a wet cloth from it. I braced for violence, but he stopped.

"Don't worry..." His voice got softer somehow. "... I'm not going to hurt you."

Him? Hurt me? I would've laughed if I didn't dread the pain.

Instead, I watched him carefully, weighing my options. I could try to push through the pain and rip his throat out before he could react.

He was small. Weak. It would be easy.

And yet--

I didn't move.

I couldn't, but I also didn't understand him. Why was he helping me? What did he want? I had nothing except a useless axe and a broken body.

I scowled as he reached for me. He was lucky I could barely lift a finger, or I would've given him the same treatment as the bear.

He peeled back the blood-soaked bandages. The wounds were uglier than I remembered. It hadn't seemed so bad in the rush of battle, but now, it was clear how much I had lost.

"Just as I thought," he muttered. "Your bandages need replacing. I'll clean what I can, but you'll have to do the rest. There's a river just down the path. You can bathe there when you can walk."

Rowan squeezed the excess water from the cloth, then pressed it against my ribs.

I jerked, gritting my teeth at its cold sting, but he didn't pull away. He just waited. Patient. Letting me adjust. Then, carefully, he wiped the wounds.

I watched his every move, searching for any sign of trickery, but I only gathered a quiet focus.

He tried asking questions. When I didn't answer, he silently continued his work.

My eyes flicked to my axe.

Strange. If he was after my weapon, he would've taken it already. If he planned to use me, he would've done so while I was out. So why? Why go through all this trouble? What did he have to gain?

Why fix someone so broken?

The silence stretched--until one question escaped me.

"How did you carry me?"

He hesitated, then chuckled. "Wasn't easy, even with a cart. I wheeled you here, but I had to stabilize you outside first. Getting you inside was the hard part."

I frowned. "But... you're weak. You must've had help."

He scoffed. "I wish I had help, but it's just me."

No hesitation or offense was taken, and I didn't like that. I wanted him to be rattled and thrown off just like I was. Instead, he just finished rewrapping my wounds. I hated to admit it, but I felt a little better. Even if the pain still lingered.

"Rest." He stood and picked up the bucket. "I've got more chores to do, but If you need anything, let me know."

Then he left, and I stared at the door, hating how helpless I was. Hated that I was at the mercy of such a twig. But most of all, I hated that I still didn't understand why he helped me. He had to want something. But what?

Eventually, the weight of exhaustion pulled me under. And before I knew it, everything was black again.

...

A few days had passed in a cycle that grated my nerves. I woke, ate what I could stomach, and endured the humiliation of letting him redress my wounds.

The worst part was the waiting.

Rowan would appear at the same times each day, bringing food and tending to my injuries. If he spoke, it was never mindless chatter. The man was testing my boundaries--a passing word, a quiet question, a trailing thought. Anything he could to get me to open up.

If I ignored him, he let the silence settle without complaint. If I answered, he accepted it but never pushed. He seemed just as content to speak as he was to say nothing.

It was... strange.

I was used to men who spoke to fill the silence, drowning out others just to hear themselves. Men who competed to be the loudest voice in the room, forcing their presence onto me. Men who always demanded something, whether it was respect, service, or pleasure.

But Rowan simply existed, and that confused me.

The evening sun bled orange across the sky, flooding through a small window beside me and casting long shadows along the floor.

A sound echoed outside--sharp, rhythmic, and unsteady.

The sound of wood splitting.

I sat up, ignoring the ache in my ribs, and peeked out the window.

Rowan was chopping wood.

More like hacking.

I cringed at the sight. His stance was wrong. His grip was weak, and he wasted so much energy.

It took him far too long to split a single log. He brought the axe down with all the power of a man fighting against his own weakness. His muscles strained with each swing. His breath came in ragged exhales.

It was infuriating.

So weak.

The warriors of my tribe would have whipped a man for being this slow.

And yet--

He didn't stop.

Rowan swung again. And again. The axe bit the wood in uneven slashes, but he refused to let up.

Sweat dripped down his brow, glistening in the glow of the dying sun. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, but he didn't give up. He never cursed. Never looked frustrated.

He simply kept going.

After a short while, he finally finished and stacked the wood into neat piles, then moved on.

To feed the chickens.

To fix a broken fence post.

To harvest something from a wooden-framed patch in the grass.

He worked tirelessly, taking no breaks, even as the sun dipped below the horizon.

And I--

...I kept watching.

I wasn't sure why.

I should have looked away. I should have laid back down and ignored him. But my fingers curled around the fur blanket, and I just kept watching.

The determination on his face...It was strange.

There was no fear of punishment, no desperation to prove himself. Just a calm patience mixed with a fire I didn't expect.

I hated to admit it, but... I admired his will.

I clenched my jaw.

I had to heal and leave before I got comfortable. Before I started thinking his way of life was anything but foolish.

I glanced at my bandages. Winced at the ache in my legs.

Was he truly the weak one at this moment?

Or was it me?

A scavenger, surviving off the kindness of a man I once would have dismissed?

A pang ran through my chest, and I tightened my grip on the fur.

I was getting soft already.

I needed to get out of here.

Soon.

...

A few more days had passed. I'd had enough.

A thick, meaty scent hung in the air.

Over the fire was a pot with steam rising form it.

My stomach clenched, but hunger wasn't the only thing gnawing at me.

Pain still throbbed through my body, but I'd be damned if I lay in this bed another second. One should never be still. To stay still is to die.

I forced myself upright.

Agony erupted across my entire body like wildfire, burning every inch of my skin. I had to swallow the urge to scream.

I shoved the furs off my legs and sat at the edge of the bed, breathing hard. The fact that something so simple took so much effort made my stomach churn.

My fingers gripped the side table, using it to steady myself as I rose. The wood creaked under my weight. I barely noticed because something else caught my attention.

This cabin was small.

My head nearly brushed the ceiling as I stood to my full height.

I took my first step in days. The bear had long died, but the pain it left behind still sunk its teeth into every muscle and bone. My legs trembled, threatening to betray me, but I refused to fall.

Then--Rowan entered.

He looked up at me, arms full of firewood. Smaller than ever.

That was right. He was the weak one, not me.

I tried to tell myself this, but as he leaned casually against the doorframe, standing without a struggle while I fought for every step-- rage boiled within me.

"Should you really be doing that?" He smirked, raising a brow.

I thought about crushing his skull--but I could barely carry my own weight.

"Be silent," I barked.

Step by step, I forced myself forward, every move harder than the last. My jaw ached from how tightly I clenched my teeth, but I didn't stop.

I reached the doorway, glaring down at Rowan, trying to impose myself through sheer presence. I was at least three or four heads taller. Even now, my thighs were thicker than his entire torso. One well-placed kick could've ruined him.

"Move."

He nodded and stepped aside.

I was surprised he obeyed. Maybe now that I was standing, he realized how easily I could kill him.

I ducked under the doorway and limped outside for the first time since that damn bear.

The air was crisp. Fresh.

I inhaled deeply, letting it fill my lungs. The breeze swept over my skin, cool and comforting. I had almost forgotten what it felt like.

But my reunion with the world was cut short. My legs screamed in protest.

Standing was becoming too much, but I wouldn't fall.

Not with him watching.

I'd sooner die.

"Here."

I turned. Rowan was behind me, placing a wooden stool beside my legs.

"You dare pity me?" I snapped.

He met my glare without fear. "I don't pity you. I admire you."

I blinked.

My legs, however, left no room for arguing. I sat down. Relief flooded me, but the victory was hollow.

I scowled. "What do you mean? You admire weakness? Is it because you are weak yourself?"

"What I just saw wasn't weakness. It was strength."

I furrowed my brows.

"I didn't think you'd walk again for at least another tenday," he continued, "yet here you are, proving me wrong. It takes great strength to push through pain like that."

I scoffed. "What would a weakling like you know about strength?"

For the first time, he hesitated.

His smile faded--not in anger, but in something else.

Like he was living a memory.

Then it was gone. Replaced by the same calm patience.

"I know enough to see you have it too."

Our gazes locked.

For the first time, I didn't have an immediate response.

I broke away first, staring at the dirt beneath my feet.

"You must be hungry, miss," he said.

As if on command, my stomach growled.

Traitorous body.

Rowan smirked.

I said nothing, and he took my silence as permission, disappearing inside.

That's when I realized something else.

Miss

I clicked my tongue.

The word felt delicate.

I was anything but.

When he returned, I narrowed my eyes at him. "Do not call me miss."

He blinked. "Uh... what should I call you, then?"

"Grehka," I said firmly. "My name is Grehka, human."

His lips curled slightly. "Grehka, huh? Well, help yourself to some food, Grehka."

There was something about the way he repeated my name. Like he was tasting it. Remembering it.

He presented a small bowl, steam lazily rising from it. Inside, chunks of something floated in dark liquid.

I squinted.

What was this?

"It's rabbit stew," he said, sensing my wariness.

I pointed at the strange lumps. "This is not just rabbit."

"No, there are vegetables too."

"Vegetables?" I repeated, the word fumbling from my lips.

He blinked. "Do you not know what vegetables are?"

I scoffed. "I know meat. I do not know... this."

There was a beat of silence. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully.

"They come from plants. I grow them in my garden over there."

I followed his gesture toward the strange wooden box. So that's what he had been pulling from before.