Cardinal Number

The surviving giants from the battlefield fled upon seeing the battle was lost. Most of the giants are wounded and some more than others. Retreating from the battlefield did not come as a relief to the fleeing giants as their Gurg had ordered them to not return to the cave after the battle.

To disobey their Gurg guaranteed the most painful of deaths while being eaten alive. Many of the wounded knew it would be impossible to find a hiding spot to hide them all. And especially more so for the heavily wounded who were leaving a blood trail behind for those in pursuit of them to track. By the end of the night, many more of them will have been captured or killed.

Dozens of leagues away from the fleeing giants stands the enormous figure of Wurfbog in the moonlight standing next to the heavy ugly giant, Karkus. "Kill any giant that returns," Wurfbog ordered without any hesitation. "The Gurg has no use for the weak."

"Yes, Gurg," Karkus unwillingly answered, before moving as soundless as possible a rather impossible feat for a giant of his size. Yet the giant had a talent for it barely causing the ground to move or shake with his every stem. An excellent skill to have if albeitedly made him a slow-moving target.

Not that Wurfbog was not capable of such a feat. No, unlike Karkus, Wurfbog could move swiftly and silently without so much as leaving a footstep behind even in the frozen ground. A small magical gift was granted to him that permitted him to grow and become such a successful hunter.

Traversing through the slumbering land Wurfbog glided across the frozen tundra until he arrived at a secluded forest with a small muggle village on the outskirts. Wurfbog licked his lips eagerly imagining stealing a tasty morsel or two. Unfortunately, he had things to do. Perhaps on his way back, he'd stop by for a quick snack.

Following a muddy trail, Wurfbog pressed deeper into the forest, before coming to a halt in a moonlit clearing. A tall, thin dark robed skeleton-like figure stands ominously in the clearing. The wizard is deathly pale with skull-like features, a flat snake-like nose, and glittering serpent, crimson eyes. "You are late, Wurfbog," Lord Voldemort matter-of-factly said as he extended his spider-like hand pointing his razor-sharp bluish talons at him.

"I was merely fulfilling thine orders, Dark Lord," Wurfbog responded without any sincerity. "Ah, my belated condolences on the untimely death of your friend, Dolohov."

Voldemort's hand clenched briefly as his crimson eyes rose to meet that of Wurfbog's. Wurfbog frowns and feels a headache begin to form in his head causing him to glance away first. A trace of unease creeps down the giant's back, but he quickly shakes off the feeling unable to accept the fact that he held any fear towards the wizard. It simply could not be so.

"Foolish little giant thinking that you could keep your innermost thoughts hidden," Voldemort knowingly mocked. "Did you think I would not learn that you did not participate in the raid and permitted Dolohov to battle alone? Dolohov is only dead because you desired it so, Wurfbog.

Wurfbog became still unable to understand how the wizard had learned of his actions except via magic. Feeling old hatred and resignation well up inside of him, he clenches he slowly reaches for his club. "You smell of fear, giant," Voldemort chillingly taunted.

Wurfbog's hand freezes mid-grasp before forcibly returning to his side in a clenched fist. "I fear no human," he hissed in anger.

"Is that so?" Voldemort's crimson eyes knowingly glittered, before growing cold. "Be as that may be, I have a mission for you to fulfill."

"Of course, you need the giants to do your filthy work, because your followers are utterly useless, Dark Lord," Wurfbog snorted.

"They have their own uses," Voldemort crisply responded not rising to the bait.

Wurfbog frowned before carefully glancing around. "I did not notice your stinking serpent slinking around."

"Nagini is elsewhere," Voldemort simply answered, before gesturing to the giant to move down the trail first. "After you."

Wurfbog's sharp teeth flash in the light before he follows the trail further into the forest. The entire time the hairs on the back of Wurfbog's neck are standing on edge. Despite his bluster, Wurfbog knew for a fact that the wizard before him was not prey. The wizard before him is a very deadly foe. The wizard was especially not to be trusted considering how he had set up and easily sent one of his Death Eaters to his death, Livius Rowle.

A large stone wall appeared abruptly appeared before them in the middle of the path causing Wurfbog to a halt. Without evening being asked, Wurfbog wordlessly stepped aside to permit the wizard to approach first. Voldemort fearlessly raises his wand and begins to cast a series of powerful spells. The wards of the mansion do not break, but rather Voldemort tricks the wards into opening widely before them.

"Step over the wall, giant," Voldemort curtly ordered. "Take care to not give us away."

Wurfbog does not deem a response except for a wordless snarl. Before Wurfbog can mock the wizard, Voldemort effortlessly flies over the wall to nimbly land on the other side. "Be silent, we must not arouse our prey," Voldemort coldly instructed, before gliding over the frozen snow-covered grounds without leaving a single footstep behind.

Wurfbog hid any personal reservations and carefully followed alertly studying his surroundings. There were over half a dozen tracks in the snow. The tracks were all different sizes suggesting their size, weight, and their manner of their walk.

The nostrils of Wurfbog move as he carefully scents the air. There are lingering traces of both masculine and feminine muggle perfume that have not yet fully dissipated. The tracks are not fully frozen nor fresh, the tracks could not have been made more than an hour ago.

Yet there was another thick, sickly clogging scent that almost made him pull back in disgust. It was a scent that Wurfbog had never smelled in all his years. It was a disgusting, vile scent akin to poisonous droppings. It made his very flesh crawl.

Barely refraining from covering his nose with one hand, Wurfbog subtly tried to breathe through his mouth rather than his nose. But that was even worse because he seemed to be able to taste the foul scent at the tip of his tongue. Turning somewhat green, Wurfbog closed his mouth shut and tried to breathe as faintly as possible. The sooner, they did what they came here to do. The sooner, he could leave this foul stinking place!