Genre: Fantasy
Category: Grimdark
Title: The Dire Hand

The dire blood seared to his skin gleamed.
Aylen outstretched his arms, following the crack in the foundation stone, as it zig-zagged before branching all >around. With his fingers splayed the glowing red and blue mixed, painting the cracked wall in false light and >reminded him of the Violet Woods Weeping Willows gazed from below.
His den dimmed as the wolves fell silent.
It was strange.
The last time he saw the blood glow was five years ago, when the tattoos were gifted to him — from the Ancestor >herself — for killing the dire wolf mates, Grief and Sorrow.
At least that’s what his father made Aylen tell Ulfridge’s commoners. ‘It’s all about appearances,’ he’d said. ‘And >there is nothing wrong in the stretching of a tale — here and there — to lengthen a man’s shadow’. A rather large >stretch Aylen thought.
No, he had just laid there, hands above. Wide-eyed and scared shitless, as the horse sized canines approached >him, baring their bloody fangs—
The iron wrought door grated open. Light from the narrow corridor outside trickled in. The torch’s flickering flame casted dancing shadows along his >splotched forearms.
“Finally,” Siv said. “You’re up with the wolves howl. Might be hope for you after all runt.” Aylen hated that
she still called him that. After last night’s Nameday celebration he was now a man in the Eye of the Ancestor. He >may be a hand shorter than most, but he was still a man. “Got somethin special planned for you in the practice >circle today.”
Tried to hide the fact that the story starts waking up in bed, since I've seen videos saying to avoid this. General thoughts would be appreciated.