"Have you an alternative strategy, old man?"

  "I merely wish you'd conserve your arrows for circumstances guaranteeing success," the veteran courier replied with measured deliberation. "As for alternatives... one exists. Not particularly elegant nor pleasant. At least, not for me."

  Ivan Northes returned his bow to its resting position across his shoulders. "I'm listening."

  "Straightforward enough. We divide our forces. I serve as bait to draw them away."

  Ivan's eyes widened with incredulity. "Are you kidding me right now?!"

  "This is no jest, lad. I lack Raymond's propensity for humor." Old McKenzie's countenance hardened with grim resolve. "Allow me to reiterate. You continue toward Borna Plain while our paths diverge here. With fortune's favor, both wolves will pursue me instead. Predators instinctively prioritize the elderly, the infirm, the vulnerable. Even should I fail to divert both, surely one might follow. Thereafter, you must improvise accordingly..."

  "I suspect your faculties have abandoned you, old timer," Ivan declared, shaking his head emphatically. "Duke Dear commissioned Raymond and myself specifically to ensure your security. Now you propose separation, with yourself as sacrificial lure? If this constitutes some examination of my mental stability, rest assured my reasoning remains intact. If not, then your own sanity warrants questioning."

  "Regrettably, I retain full possession of my senses, Ivan Northes," Old McKenzie countered with icy composure. "Assess our predicament objectively. Our mounts approach exhaustion. Eluding these predators borders on impossibility. Furthermore, Duke Dear required your services to safeguard this," he patted the leather courier pouch secured against his chest, "not my person."

  "I won't sanction such reckless self-destruction," Ivan responded, nocking an arrow with deliberate precision. "One projectile per beast."

  Kendrick McKenzie remained resolute in his conviction. "We shall reconvene at Four Corners Rock upon Borna Plain."

  "Kendrick McKenzie! Royal Courier of Godma!" Ivan Northes bellowed. "Can you just shut up for a second so I can aim?!"

  The elder courier recoiled instinctively, momentarily diminished like a chastised child. Nevertheless, he persisted: "I cast no aspersions on your martial prowess, young man. I've witnessed both your archery and Raymond's swordsmanship firsthand." He attempted to temper his argument with reason. "Yet sometimes we must acknowledge environmental limitations... Certain feats transcend human capability. Under these conditions, even successful impact cannot guarantee mortal injury."

  "Silence yourself, McKenzie," Ivan Northes snarled through clenched teeth.

  The archer contorted his upper body into firing position, visibly uncomfortable with the awkward stance. (My lower back protests... Arms cannot generate proper tension... ) He braced his feet firmly within the stirrups, struggling for stability. (Excessive movement persists...) Ivan tracked the wolves' positions by their luminous eyes. Initially targeting the alpha, he observed its evasive pattern—constantly shifting trajectory and utilizing arboreal cover. (Cunning. Beyond ordinary Dire Wolf behavior?) He redirected his aim toward the trailing female—noticeably fatigued and lagging several body lengths behind the leader.

  (Can I make this shot?) A voice materialized unbidden within his consciousness—not his own internal dialogue, but Raymond's distinctive timbre.

  The old courier observed him, apprehension evident in his weathered features.

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  (A true archer releases before such doubt manifests.) A faint smile played across Ivan's lips as he elevated his bow and drew the string to full tension. The vibration resonated subtly against his cheek. "Any obstructing branches ahead?"

  "Pardon?" The old man hesitated momentarily. "Oh—none visible..."

  Before the statement concluded, Ivan Northes released his fateful shot. The broadhead arrow cleaved the air with lethal intent, hurtling toward the intercranial space between the female wolf's eyes. The creature's pupils dilated with primal fear at the approaching projectile. It faltered momentarily, losing footing and tumbling forward.

  The arrow carved a shallow path along its left flank, harvesting fur and drawing blood but inflicting no critical damage.

  The alpha continued its relentless pursuit without hesitation. The wounded female paused briefly, respiratory system laboring, before attending to its shoulder injury with methodical licks. Within moments, it resumed the chase with undiminished determination.

  Ivan's gaze hollowed, his expression eerily reminiscent of the deceased.

  "Lad," the old man attempted consolation. "Achieving accuracy under such adverse conditions defies reasonable expectation... Here, take this." He reached for his courier pouch.

  The elite knight appeared deaf to these words, swaying mechanically atop his mount. As Old McKenzie extracted the diplomatic cylinder, Ivan reached behind with automaton-like movements, retrieving his final arrow.

  "No!" the old man exclaimed with genuine alarm. "That's your remaining projectile! You must preserve it!" His voice rose with urgency. "Abandon this risk! You must attend to what I'm saying!"

  The young warrior's expression remained disoriented. "Why...?"

  "Because opportunity diminishes," the old courier declared, guiding his mount alongside Ivan's and pressing the wooden message cylinder into the knight's palm. "Why are your assertions validated? Why can't a single arrow terminate these creatures?"

  The old man faltered momentarily, words escaping him. "Compose yourself, warrior! Your subsequent shot will find its mark, I'm certain." He secured the emptied pouch. "We diverge here. Remember our rendezvous: Four Corners Rock. I shall appear before tomorrow's midday sun."

  "And should you fail to materialize?" Ivan Northes's eyes glistened with moisture.

  "Then ride like hell. Finish the job." He averted his gaze. "Your companionship has been a privilege, lad."

  "..." Ivan Northes redirected his focus to the path ahead.

  "One final request, if I may," Kendrick McKenzie continued. "Upon fulfilling your mission, I ask that you register formally as my beneficiary executor."

  "I decline," Ivan stated without turning. "Whether wealth, estates, or accolades—claim them yourself. I refuse executorship. Such services benefit only the deceased..."

  "Death likely awaits me, young man. Mortality claims all; existence proves finite." Kendrick McKenzie's demeanor darkened. "I've a wife, three sons, and two daughters dependent upon that compensation for survival. And a mistress," he added with melancholic amusement. "Actually, the cosmetics weren't requested by my wife but by her. My spouse abstains from cosmetic enhancement—she maintains that natural appearance embodies true beauty. I've contested this philosophy, primarily because her complexion bears extensive pockmarks. This disagreement generated considerable conflict in our youth—a wound that never properly healed..." A soft exhalation escaped him. "I recognize your disinterest in these matters, so I'll abbreviate. When you receive my entitled compensation, deliver it personally to my wife. I distrust intermediaries—with each transaction, wealth mysteriously diminishes. Should she inquire regarding my demise, construct a heroic battlefield narrative. Even should my actual end prove undignified, who rejects heroism? She harbors affection for such tales. This knowledge—that her humble courier husband achieved heroic status—might mitigate her grief. Regarding my mistress—unlike my wife, she lacks official documentation and registered address, requiring additional effort. Listen carefully:" Ivan Northes maintained attentive silence. "She serves at the Greenhoof Tavern in Tass City, within Dolenan Province. Inquire after a barmaid called Ruth Angwella. She possesses distinctive emerald eyes—unmistakable. Allocate some portion of the funds to her—the amount I leave to your discretion, but ensure she receives something. By my standards, she remains youthful. Encourage her to secure a suitable partner and establish a fulfilling existence. If circumstances permit, accompany her to local markets for cosmetic purchases—rural women particularly value such commodities... And she, too, appreciates heroic narratives. All women do, confound it. When she questions my fate, exercise creative liberty. And... one additional matter..." Old McKenzie paused, concerned about omissions. "Ah yes—the obligatory sentiment. Convey to my wife, children, and the lady that they remain beloved." With these words concluded, the old courier tightened his grip upon the reins.