It is day twenty-eight of my hunting trek. My name is Torec Ulvarsson. Long have my father and his father lived in the mountains over Skiirsgaarde. I have slain two deer and snared four rabbits. I've seen multiple tracks and frozen droppings of what I believe to be a great wolf. I retraced my steps back to a small encampment two days north of Skiirsgaarde to store my bounty. I have brought slates to inscribe my pursuit of the beast, for I may not survive the attempt. Twice, evidence of it in this place has appeared. My location: Two days north of Skiirsgaarde is the encampment. Another day east are hot springs running southeast underneath dense forest. From here turn south, into a deep valley. There is no sign that any man has ever been here.
It is day thirty-five of my hunting trek. Seven days have passed since I found evidence of the direwolf. There are many caves along the western side of the valley, and most could house several men. I have found coarse white fur in the rocks, and small traces of drag marks in the snow. Snow falls fiercely each night. There are few deer here. The valley is very empty aside from trees.
It is day thirty-seven of my hunting trek. I have seen the beasts! Three of them wandered over the hills half a day to the south of the caves. I saw them from a high place from across a short canyon. By the trees beside them, I could see that they were close in size to a horse! I fear that these great wolves bear the blood of Fenrir himself. By the time I reached the place, they were gone in the bright snow. It was good fortune that I saw them from distance downwind.
It is day thirty-nine of my hunting trek. There are no traces of the group I saw two days ago. They are swifter than anticipated. I have followed the clear trail of a single monstrous beast. When I first spotted him, I am sure he also saw me. With struggle I stayed downwind of the beast as it moved among the rocks in the south-east of the valley. I have prayed to Skadi, and to Odin for admittance into the Great Hall. I will likely not survive any encounter with the beast, but I will stalk him until my end.
It is day forty-one of my hunting trek. I stumbled into the beast as I entered a small clearing beneath a hill. He stared down at me from the hill. Oh, what feral eyes! He snarled as I readied my bow, but I was too slow for his charge. I was quick to dive under his first bite, and wrestled with his foreleg. I broke its knee, but was slashed by its claws along my side. While tumbling to pin the beast, I kicked at its head, but only agitated him to bite at my foot. I was flung from the beast as I tried to wound its other foreleg. Before I could regain my footing its teeth were in my shoulder, and my whole left arm was torn from me. Weakly, my remaining fingers found my dagger, and in our continuous grapple I buried it deep in the beast's belly. With twitching throes, he wounded me again with his teeth on my leg before falling still. I cauterized my severed shoulder, and the gashes on my side. It took me a full day to drag myself back to the caves. I will not likely last the night. My exhaustion is too great. I am too cold. The beast is slain. Odin will welcome me.
