Yogar tumbled down the snowy path down the side of the mountain, wet snow coating his thick gray beard. He scrambled back up to his feet, his old knees aching with the effort. The Yeti roared behind him, the sound echoing in the dark night. It was about half a mile away now, but it had his scent, and it was getting closer with every second. He tucked the precious item, the object of his quest, into his backpack, and adjusted the straps. He’d gotten hold of his goal at the top of the mountain, but he’d alerted the monster of the mountains. He began his march again as the Yeti roared.

Squinting his eyes, Yogar leaned into the wind. He was no stranger to freezing temperatures, but in his old age it chilled his bones and made him shiver. The old man smiled as he thought back to his younger years. By the gods, he was strong then. A hero as powerful as anyone had ever known. Another roar interrupted his pensivity, and he continued to trudge through the shin-high snow down the winding path. 

Yogar made good time down the mountain, but the yeti was still getting closer with every roar, and he had a long way to go. Around the corner, he spotted a small figure walking towards him down the path, about 4 and a half feet tall. He could tell by its hunched posture that it had to be a goblin. Yogar’s village had friendly relations with the goblin kingdom in the mountains, but it wasn’t the figure’s Goblinoid heritage that gave Yogar pause. Anyone out here, high up in the mountains in a snowstorm, walking towards the direction of the Yeti’s roars was a person who needed to be treated with caution. Yogar stopped and planted his feet, raising his hand. The figure walked a few feet closer, then stopped.

The goblin raised his hand, his features still obscured by darkness and snow. Tentatively, Yogar walked towards him. He knew the traveler could be friendly, or at least not want a quarrel, but an intuition honed over years of adventuring told him there was nothing good for him with this goblin. Poised and ready but outwardly relaxed, Yogar approached him. He got closer and closer. The goblin didn’t move.

Ten feet.

The goblin took a step forward.

Nine feet.

Yogar shook out his sword arm.

Eight feet.

The goblin adjusted his hands, putting himself in a better position to strike.

Seven feet.

Yogar was close enough to see him now, and there was fire in his eyes.

Six feet.

The goblin tensed up. Yogar knew what was to occur now.

Five feet.

The goblin lunged at Yogar with surprising speed, closing the distance between them as he drew his sword and thrusted. Although he wasn’t as quick, Yogar had anticipated this exact move. He’d seen it a thousand times before. Draw into a thrust. He pulled his sword halfway out of its sheath and turned his wrist, parrying the strike. Then, he drew his blade and caught the goblin’s sword arm with his free hand, holding his arm down as he cleaved towards its neck. The goblin ducked and pulled its arm away, spinning out of reach. The two stared at each other, waiting to make a move.

“Humans bring dangerous to the mountain. Bad for family.” The goblin growled.

“I was just here to get something, and now I’m leaving. Let me pass.” Yogar responded, raising his hands.

“No.” 

The goblin said with a smile as he lunged forward again. Yogar laughed internally as he saw the goblin attempt the same move as before. With his sword drawn this time, the man would deliver a fatal counter this time. Only the goblin hadn’t done the same move. It was a feint. With frightening speed, the little adversary pulled his sword away from Yogar’s parry and swung it around his outstretched arm. In his younger years, Yogar would never have made such a mistake, and would’ve had no problem avoiding the repercussions of it if he had. But these were not his younger years, and the sword bore down on him.

The only way to avoid getting half of his neck cleaved into was to drop to the floor. Yogar fell back into the snow and watched the blade sail over his face. Quick to press his advantage, the Goblin swung his shortsword back at the prone human, who blocked it horizontally. Rather than continue to try to push the Goblin’s blade away, Yogar grabbed a handful of the front of his cloak and pulled him forward, using his momentum against him and rolling on top of him. One of Yogar’s best tricks, and it still worked. Maybe he did have something left from his younger years.

With his superior weight and strength, and his position on top of the goblin, Yogar had no issue flicking the goblin’s blade to the side. Yogar swung down with his sword, but the goblin dodged his head to the side and caught his hand, pinning it to the ground. The goblin scrambled for his pocket, probably to grab another knife, but the tall man simply lifted him off the ground and tossed him off the side of the mountain path. The goblin’s screams faded into the snow, and the man stared off into the night sky, watching the snow fall. Age was catching up with him. Never had a foe so weak pushed him so far.

Yogar smiled. He didn’t relish taking life, but he’d done it many times before, and the goblin had attacked him unprovoked and without warning. Plus, he still had it. His thought was cut short by a roar, much closer this time. He had no time for more delays. He leaned into the wind again and started trudging.

The yeti had been silent for half an hour, and that worried Yogar. If it was silent, that meant it was close. He was almost down the mountain now, but an hour’s walk from his village and his destination. Despite the cold, sweat dripped down Yogar’s face. He’d been moving tirelessly for well over an hour. And now he had the stress of the now-close yeti to compound along with that. Every time Yogar paused, he swore he could hear footsteps in the snow.

He was minutes away from the base of the mountain when the Yeti pounced on him.

The monster stood ten feet tall, covered in white hair with an apelike face. Its claws were long and sharp, and its face was curled in an apelike snarl. With blinding speed, the  ape leapt down from a high point and landed on Yogar, crushing him with its immense weight. Yogar tried to draw his blade, but he was pinned down by the ferocious creature. It pulled back its claw to swipe at him, but he reached up and jammed his thumbs into its eyes. The yeti let out a bellow and stood up. Yogar stood up as quickly as his body would allow him. His ribs felt like they were broken. Yogar drew his sword, successfully this time, and faced the yeti. He wasn’t going to be able to meet it head on. Even his strongest attack wouldn’t stop it for long enough to keep it from ripping his head off.

The yeti swung, fast as falling rain. Yogar ducked, barely faster. He pivoted and slashed into its stomach, and it whirled and swung again. For a beast so large, the yeti was frighteningly fast. Yogar tried to get a slash in on the side of the yeti as it was left open by its swing, but it rebalanced itself far quicker than Yogar had expected  and swatted his arm aside, nearly knocking him off of his feet. He needed to make  another adjustment. He stuck his head forward and wiggled his shoulders, baiting the yeti to bite. Another trick, but not one Yogar had ever attempted on a wild animal, and never one so ferocious. But the yeti took the bait. When it lunged, he stuck his sword sideways into its mouth between its jaws, holding it at bay. It felt like struggling against a wall. He smashed his forehead into the creature's soft nose, and it howled and fell back. Quick to act, Yogar drove the sword deep into its neck. Though the wound was mortal, it was not instantly fatal. The Yeti was in the fight still.

Yogar had overextended himself into the yeti’s grasp as he lunged, and the beast grabbed him in a vice-like grip, rolling Yogar over onto his back. The yeti stood up, blood gushing from its neck, and began to maul Yogar with its huge claws. He felt the Yeti’s claws cut deep, then shallower, then shallower, as its life began to fade. Pain shot through his face and his side until finally it collapsed with a guttural groan. Dripping blood, Yogar slowly forced himself to his feet. He cut a horn out of the yeti’s head and trekked down the rest of the mountain.

The storm had subsided as he made it down to the bottom, and the sun was beginning to rise. The cold began to bite him less and less, and soon the familiar warmth of the valley was upon him. Yogar’s heart was filled with content and peace as he walked across the field towards his village into the sun, smiling as he saw it rise over the trees. He walked through them and approached the outskirts of his village, and saw his eight year old daughter run out to greet him. She pulled him into an embrace, but then pulled away. The girl frowned. “You’re bleeding!” She exclaimed. “That’s alright.” Yogar said, smiling. “I got you something.” Yogar reached into his pack and pulled out what he had fought so hard to get. A flower, deep purple, her favorite color.