19 A Home...

A savage grin materialized on Jacob's lips. Without waiting for the wolves to finish getting into position, Jacob sprinted at the nearest. It was thinner than the rest, but it made up for it with a particularly savage growl.

Jacob swung his blade at the beast's neck, cutting deep into it. The snarl that had been meant to intimidate him died in the wolf's throat. The other members of the pack ceased their advance, wary of the danger the human in front of them posed.

Instead of pouncing on him, they did much the same as when they were engaging the wyrm. A circle was built around Jacob, meant to force him on guard. As soon as he slipped, they would be on him. Jacob didn't intend to give them that opportunity.

He abruptly shot out of the center of the trap, blade angled to kill another wolf. A few of its compatriots attempted to mount a rescue, but a blast of wind was enough to throw them off course. They were not massive enough to be completely resistant of Jacob's magic, not like the wyrm had been. The usage of his magic generated a pounding in his head, dull for now.

His second kill was as easy as the first. Only four wolves remained. Their leader, a large creature with an ashen pelt, eyed him. He didn't snarl as the rest of his pack. An uncanny intelligence surrounded him. He needed to go down next.

Jacob charged the ashen wolf, certain that it had been the one to target the family in the first place. Once it was dead, he could retreat in good faith. His aching chest was a constant reminder that he didn't have much longer to fight. Before long, he'd have to sit down and heal or risk fatal injury.

The wolf, for its part, responded with its own attack. It bounded towards the young warrior, its mouth open and ready to tear into flesh. There was a joy in the creature's eyes that didn't just speak of hunger. This being bathed in death, reveled in it. Jacob was determined to bring it down.

His blade met fang, and the two were locked for but a moment. The wolf ripped the blade from Jacob's hands, approaching the now weaponless Jacob. Jacob's mind blazed through options faster than it had ever before, but it was futile. He saw no way to get out of this. A single use of magic would result in a crippling headache, one that would incapacitate him. Inaction would result in a grapple with the heavier animal, and Jacob lacked the ridiculously oversized fangs of the wolf.

Still, he refused to go down silently. If he was going to die anyway, he was going to go out with glory. He summoned more molecules of air than he had ever attempted, his mind struggling to even hold on to so many. Jacob forced them to move in a funnel, creating a miniature tornado. His vision darkened before he could see the destruction the spell would bring. He knew nothing but pain.

When he woke – a surprise, given that he didn't think he'd ever wake up again –slight headache remained. His ribs still protested with each and every moment, but he took these to be signs that he was still living. The suns were setting, casting an orange glow within the forest. He'd been asleep for hours, then. Surveying his surroundings, Jacob was shocked.

The carcass of the ashen wolf and its brethren were in a ring about him. The floor of the forest appeared to have been ripped apart, and the wolves themselves looked battered. Clearly, the tornado had done its job. The results surprised him; the spell had been a last ditch effort to bring something down with him.

He tried summoning his magic, but it set off an intense headache. The price of magic beyond his means, Jacob supposed. Absently, he wondered when he would recover, but he was honestly just glad to be alive.

The clearing in which he had slain the wyrm was still nearby. Will had told him, once, that a wyrm's scales could be made into armor tougher than iron. Though heavy, it was among the best materials one could make armor out of. Many noble families paid through the nose for materials like that. Fortunately, Jacob had some skill at butchering due to his time in the kitchen. And it didn't take all that much talent to rip scales off a wyrm – he hoped.

When he tried to scrape off a scale, he found the task much more arduous than he had thought. It was like it was glued onto the creature. The Gorilla Glue back home was child's play compared to this. Using his sword, nearly useless due to its lack of an edge after the fighting, he tried to pry a scale off. His efforts were rewarded when it came off with an audible pop. Jacob repeated the technique a few more times, cutting into the wyrm with what little of his sword remained sharp to assist the process. By the fifth hand-sized scale, his sword had bent into an L-shape. It broke on the sixth.

His backpack, far emptier than when he had begun his journey, was fortunately able to fit the scales. Once again, for the umpteenth time since he began his journey, Jacob thanked his mercenary friend for forcing him to run all those laps. His strength and stamina was all the better for it. With a proverbial skip in his step – his ribs still hurt too much to actually skip – Jacob found his way through the woods and back onto the road.

Tears still sprung from his eyes when he passed the family's cart the next morning. The revenge he had carried out wouldn't bring them back. But it certainly felt like justice to him.

Leafburrow wouldn't be much further. Jacob had enough rations for the journey back, and he would treat himself to a nice meal when he got back home. For that's what Leafburrow had become: a home.