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That night the axe vanished, it was as if the sky had fallen. Every man, woman, and child felt themselves hanging over a razor’s edge.
While panic reigned, the eight-year-old Naran mounted his direwolf Finn, gripped an ordinary woodsman’s axe, and plunged into the blizzard.
One boy, one wolf, one plain axe, gone for a full day and night.
When Naran returned, he was drenched head-to-toe in blood, eyes alight with exhilaration, and in his fist he carried the golden Khag ...
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