The tiny Crescent Moon forged bravely through the waves of the Warp, like a fishing boat on Fenris's icy seas, stubbornly and resolutely smashing through the ice toward its destination.
It was difficult to judge precise distances in the Warp. Even if that flickering beacon appeared to be right before them, it might still take days of travel to reach it.
Fafnir kept his naked eyes fixed on the beacon's direction, though he knew it was useless.
Warp travel could not be completed by simply looking at coordinates. Here, spatial positions—and even temporal positions—shifted constantly. The Navigator had to continually report their bearing for the ship to maintain its course.
The Wolf's two great hearts pounded relentlessly, pumping more blood than usual.
He restrained his excitement and struggled to remain calm. He rejoiced at this glimpse of hope, yet feared that it might be extinguished and vanish at any moment.
Fenris's brutal nature had taught the Space Wolves one lesson: hope and opportunity came only once. Miss them, and the defeated would freeze to death amid the bitter cold and blizzards.
"How is it? How much farther?"
The Wolf kept his patience, making his tone as gentle as possible when speaking to the Navigator.
They had only this one Navigator left.
"My lord, according to my calculations, we may still have nearly two days of travel ahead of us." The Navigator answered Fafnir while judging the beacon's direction.
His voice rose and fell erratically, while his limbs kept waving as if grasping at something. The Wolf knew that the Navigator was using his third eye to desperately catch the beacon's light.
"Is that Terra's light? The Astronomican?" the Wolves asked.
The Navigator shook his head. He hesitated, but still said, "I cannot be certain. The damaged equipment aboard our vessel