A small warrior clung helplessly to the teetering iceberg, its jagged edge digging into his numbed fingers. Closing his eyes, he waited for the icy embrace of death. But it didn’t come. Suddenly, rough, unfamiliar hands enveloped his freezing grip and hauled him upward with the strength of several men. Before him stood a giant of a man—burly, wild-haired, and completely unfazed by the frozen winds that howled around them.

  The man grunted, staring at the boy as if he hadn’t seen another human in years. Pressing a large, calloused hand to his chest, he said in a deep, booming voice, “I am Gethru. What is thy name, little one?” His small, dark eyes peered down at the shivering boy.

  “I am Kael, son of the chief of the Drooga village,” he answered, his teeth chattering despite his attempt at dignity. Kael was draped in a simple red cloak, and a blue helm with two curved horns adorned his head, though it did little to shield him from the bitter cold.

  “Come,” Gethru beckoned, turning without waiting for a reply. Kael stumbled behind, struggling to match the wide strides of the giant. He studied the man as he followed. Gethru was immense, his face nearly lost beneath a wild tangle of hair and an unkempt black beard. His only protection from the cold was a crude garment—little more than a sabretooth pelt slung over his waist and shoulder. His muscles, broad and thick, spoke of countless battles, though his gut betrayed a man past his prime.

  Kael’s small boots sank into Gethru’s massive footprints as they trudged through the deep snow. A large brown sack was slung over Gethru’s shoulder, likely filled with supplies from a recent hunt. Though the man seemed brutish and simple, Kael had been taught never to judge by appearance alone. Strength often hid wisdom.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  The smell of wood smoke reached Kael’s frozen nose long before he saw the flickering campfire. When they reached the encampment, Kael scurried to the flames, thrusting his trembling hands toward their warmth.

  “Eat,” Gethru said, not unkindly. He fetched a large pot of soup that simmered over the fire, ladling a hearty portion into a crudely carved wooden bowl. He handed it to Kael, along with a massive wooden spoon, comically oversized for the boy’s small hands.

  Kael devoured the soup in great gulps, its warmth spreading through his frozen limbs. The rich broth tasted of wild game and root vegetables—simple but nourishing. Gethru watched him eat before vanishing briefly into his tent, returning with a bundle of thick furs. He draped them over Kael’s shoulders.

  “Thank you, sir,” Kael said gratefully.

  “Not sir. Gethru,” the man corrected, his stern expression softening slightly.

  “Thank you, Gethru,” Kael said quietly, still clutching the furs. He sat by the fire, its flames licking the night sky, and tried to appear strong—like his father, a great chief and warrior. But the weight of his near-death and separation from his people overwhelmed him. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks as he stared into the bowl on his lap.

  I should be strong, like Father, Kael thought bitterly. But I’m just a boy. I was lucky Gethru found me, or I’d have perished hours ago.

  Wiping his tears with the back of his hand, Kael steeled himself. I will survive. I will see my people again.

  The fire crackled, a log shifting beneath the blaze. The dancing flames soothed his restless soul, and Kael felt the heaviness of sleep pulling at him. His eyelids fluttered shut, and he drifted into slumber.

  Gethru glanced over and saw the boy resting. Silently, he draped another pelt over him and carried him gently into the tent, laying him on a makeshift bed of furs. “Sleep, little one,” he whispered before returning to the fire.

  The stars hung heavy in the night sky as Gethru closed his eyes, the fire casting shadows over the snow-laden ground.

  Kael awoke to the smell of cooking food…