Two days after finding the Frostfang Wolf Pup, whom I'd started calling Frost, we entered a new stretch of forest known for bandit sightings. Frost trotted close to my side, still favoring his injured leg but growing stronger with each day. His natural instincts proved useful as he alerted us to subtle sounds or scents that we'd otherwise miss.
As dusk fell, we decided to set up camp by a creek, the steady rush of water a soothing backdrop. I prepared a small fire, grateful for the warmth against the growing chill.
We were just settling in when Frost's ears perked up. His eyes locked onto the darkness, his body tense and alert.
"Something's coming," I whispered to Bran and Sera.
They moved swiftly, weapons drawn, as Frost let out a low, warning growl. Moments later, shadowy figures emerged from the trees, closing in on us. Bandits.
One of them stepped forward, a smug grin on his face. "Travelers, eh? Looks like you've got some valuable supplies. Hand 'em over, and we'll let you walk away."
The glint in his eye suggested otherwise, but I stood firm. "We're just passing through. There's no need for trouble."
The bandit laughed, stepping closer. "Too late for that, healer."
Before I could react, Frost lunged forward, his tiny frame deceptively fierce as he snapped at the bandit's leg. The man yelled, stumbling back. The distraction was all we needed. Sera and Bran moved quickly, engaging the bandits in a swift, brutal fight.
I focused on keeping Frost safe, pulling him back to avoid any stray strikes. Despite his small size, he growled and barked, his presence enough to shake the bandits' confidence.
After a few intense moments, the bandits retreated, cursing as they disappeared into the darkness. Bran and Sera, panting but unharmed, exchanged relieved glances.
"You're going to make quite the guardian, aren't you, Frost?" I murmured, scratching behind his ears. He licked my hand, his blue eyes gleaming with pride.