The tribes had always warred, from when the gods created them so long ago to now. For most Vulfan this was simply the way it was, and none of the men in the tribe questioned the traditions. Though, this year’s wartime was different, it was not the tribes fighting tribes, it was all the tribes fighting the humans. Freja did not trust the humans, they were odd, they lived in forts, and unlike the tribes only the men fought. Her sentiments are shared across most of her kin. Freja held one more conviction towards humans, she found their appearance odd, no fur, and while she had never seen an unarmored human, she found their metal shells unnerving. Today was the eve of the raid. Everyone in the pack-horde’s hair was on end, the males were silent, the females were drinking. Freja walked between the different tribes trying to find a friend to converse with. She stared out over towards the mountains where she knew the metal men were, but what she didn’t know is who was staring back. Her spear needed sharpening, her shield repairing, and her wardress needed hemming. She resigned herself to her quarters to catch up on these needed actions, but while she did so she wondered. She pondered the men on the mountain and swore she would see one humans staring down back at her. For Hans, the army was a required service to be honored, he was clad in steel plate blessed by the forge maidens. He too was unnerved, but not from the horde-pack, but from his people’s “cousins”. These men only wore cloth or a cuirass, and a helmet, they didn’t wield axes, bows, or swords, rather “rifles”, pikes, and “halberds”. They spoke the same tongue that all men do, but unlike his people’s women who had hair like summer wheat, theirs were red like rust in water. Something about it put him off, but he didn’t know what. Though women were far from Hans’s mind and had been for many years, ever since his birth-betrothed fell to consumption, not to mention it was the eve of battle. Hans had found a good conversation with some of the Sea folk that had come to aid his fellow mountain Norse, some spoke of their peoples wars long over, with blood crazed beasts that bore the shape of goats, black birds that were as cunning as they were creative called ravens, and of elusive tribes of nomads who never fought and simply ran called lynx. In all honesty, Hans did not care for war stories and myths, he was really only there for their “Bleak Beer” which they gave out freely. He had polished his axe, buffed his shield and washed his banner and was now going to get drunk. Though after some time Hans heard something from the Sea people that caught his attention “Funny, my wife loves to watch me bed the servants!” Such a statement caused Hans to do a double take. He had to ensure that he had heard right. As he continued to eavesdrop on the conversations, he heard some other alien, and “intriguing” from the men of the sea “My father brought home a rammite “housemaid” of sixteen years for my eighteenth birthday. I tell you old friend that I and no one in the village rested that night!” “Four women, one ranch, and a hundred head of cattle, life is good back home!” Hans could hardly believe what he was hearing that these men of the sea took multiple women. Before he got worked up, he reached into his pocket, counted winnings from a game of cards, and went to buy something stronger than free beer. The church would always claim that the Man-God only permitted one woman to every man. He decides thoughts of faith are not worth his time, buys a bottle of mead, drinks half, and goes to sleep. Freja cannot sleep, she finds herself eerily nervous, the clerics say that they have the blessings of the pantheons but she struggles to believe that knowing that the vanguard’s head was delivered in a bag. She hears the men howling, some snarl after, she knows sleep tonight will be scarce. All of a sudden, her eyes shoot open and fur stands on end. Screams come before the sound of a thousand thunder strikes. She leaves the female quarters to find a line torn through the main road of the camp. A dozen men are little more than twisted parts, her eyes are wide, her legs are shaking, she knew that the Norse-Humans had powerful mages but this, this was something else. The entire pack-horde seems to be on edge now, and a cub calls out saying she found something. Lodged a hands depth into the rear wall is a metal ball roughly as large a child’s head. Engraved on the ball, or at least the diplomat claims, is “You hath killed ours on the eve of battle, we shall respond in kind.” Followed by the serpent of the Norse-humans and the cross of the sea humans. One of the younger males demands to know if this was the work of one of those “vile” mages. One of the freemales claims it is not magic at all but new human “technology” he claims is far worse. Some people gasp, but the grey-ears simply shake their heads and mumble about the changing of times. The people around the metal ball dissipate, this time they do not go back to pre-battle festivities, rather they bury the twisted dead, and retreat for the night. Laying on her cot with a sheepskin blanket and bag of hay pillow Freja mind runs wild, of home where she and her tribe hunted in the woods undisturbed, of who she would choose as a mate after this, and of what color tent she wants to live in. Such things are important to the wolf-folk of her tribe because tonight was her last night as a child in the eyes of the Vulfan pack-hordes. Taking solace in the inevitable marching of time and one last prayer to the gods for protection, she sleeps. Hans was torn from his sleep by the noise of cannons, he was drunk enough to sleep last night through the first shot, but the liquor had worn off. He had slept in his armor bar the helm the blessed steel shining plainly, he felt odd about today, something was off he could feel it in the air around him. Resolving himself to the reality of his potential with a deep breath the weight on his heart lifted with the exhale of equal measure. Before leaving his quarters he stared at the sallet helm, the engravings of five generations of Woedan men were etched into it. Runes from before man left their mountain holds, before the words man and Norse meant different things seemed to flow across the steel. He looked over his axe one last time, its handle, blade, and loop still immaculate. He was ready. He left his quarters to report to his regimental commander almost hoping to bear the banner today rather than his shield. Hans is the first of the regiment to arrive, his commander is smiling as if gleeful to see him arrive. “Well Hans you’re the first awake, and therefore you get the honor of being part of the lord’s guard.” Says the Colonel, euphoric that one of his men, particularly, and unknowingly to Hans, one of his favorite and best in the fray. “Why would he want me of all people? Look at me! I am little more than a skeleton wearing metal clothing!” Hans protests. “Well the lord of this hold demands the first to rise of every regiment. So, you are now part of his retinue for the day.” The Colonel states still smiling. “Well where do I go to join his rank?” Hans asks, accepting his new role. “Just towards the gate, the guards will let you in. Take this you’ll need it Hans.” The colonel says handing him a violet cloth with an orange trim. Hans begins to walk towards the monstrous gates of the mountain-hold he calls home, a weight and foreboding hanging over the ornate arches. The guards bearing sashes of violet identical to the cloth, they loom in ornate, blessed, and custom armors, all are beyond dangerous in the fray, and if not for their sheer martial prowess, then from the fact that they are all powerful mages. As Hans approaches the gate the royal guard begins to fall in behind him, one unsheathing his blade, the other bringing a polearm to bear. “Where do you think you’re going coward?” Demands one of the guards “State your business or fall in line now” The other commands. Hans is almost paralyzed but he manages to remain cool as he retrieves the cloth from his pocket, presenting it to the guards. “Oh. You’re a candidate. Carry on then.” The guard holding the polearm says dropping the murderous, cold, aggression in favor a neutral, calm tone. With that, the guards return to their posts, still as the statues they will one day have made in their armored likeness. Hans pushes open one of the two titanic doors and all but scampers inside. It had been three years since he had been in the hold, the lines of defenses, the unscarred boys standing behind stone holding bows and the “firearm” gifts of the Albionic Sea Men. He walks through the ancient maze knowing it all by memory. He comes to the largest arched door, guarded by stone sentinels and living guards. The guards stare at Hans as if he were an assassin or traitor, the tension broken by simply showing the violet cloth. He walks to the door, before the obvious leader of the guards speaks just as Hans reaches for the handle. “Knock first candidate. And Kneel.” He says icy and cold. He follows those instructions. Soon the door opens with the prince standing over him, clad in an armor that seems to radiate power, might, and royalty. Hans stares up at the prince with awe despite his emotionless face. “Good morning my lord. How may I be of service?” Hans asks, keeping his composure. “You are the first of the retinue to arrive. You will bear our lord’s banner.” The prince says plainly. He offhandedly continues “And if you survive you may become a guard yourself.” Hans remains on his knee until the prince fully closes the door. As the latch closes the Guard-Captain addresses him. “What is your name soldier” He asks “Hans Woeda” Hans responds formally. “Follow me Hans.” He says turning to walk. The Captain leads Hans through another winding maze of stone passageways, one where he never was allowed as a child, when he still lived under the stone roof of the mountain. The guards travel through the maze of corridors and passages as if he saw some road or map before him. The ceilings got lower and lower, the light stones fewer and fewer, and the stone in which they were carved grew darker and more ornate. At the end of the tunnel the two are on there lies a vault, golden runes dance around its oval door, bands of silver and bronze form a net over the obsidian door. Hans stares into the black of the rock. There is something more than the craftsmanship on this door, something much more powerful and much more valuable. The pair approach the door, Hans's knees going weaker with every step. Hans could feel the coldness of isolation begin to once again grip his heart and hands, he was no stranger to it but this was different, this was almost sinister in a cruel, unique way. Hans could tell the Guard-Captain felt similar sensing a single crack in his resolve, the Guard-Captain approach the door as he would a rival on the battlefield, muttering incomprehensibly, on absolute edge, and with only one goal in mind, triumph. The two’s progress towards the door grinding to an inch, and while the Captain’s unyield resolve kept moving him forward there was something in Hans that allowed him to overtake him. In Hans’s mind this door was akin to an enemy officer in the sense that only one of the two would survive the encounter. Exhausted and worn he was the first to place his hands on the door’s handles, with a line of sweat on his brow he turned to the paralyzed Guard-Captain. The black and gold armored face of the Captain’s death mask seemed to look on silently impressed. A minute or so later a pair of greaves slams heavily onto the blackstone of the door. “You did much better than I expected. Hans right?” Says the Captain “Thanks, and yes.” Hans says his normal stone-like composure restored to normal, at least forwardly. “Well help me open this door, first we twist the handle then push in and finally pull.” The Captain says nonchalantly. The two push against the metal handles, and both lose their footing when the bolt breaks, the two then push inward until a click can be heard, finally the door is opened. Inside the room lies pristine rows of the typical obsidian and gold armors of the guard, racks of weapons of every kind, shape, and enchantment, though the thing that commands the most attention is the violet, black, and gold banner, the holy blade placed front and center, and placed in front is a white shield. “Take it Hans” the Captain says. Knowing exactly what he means Hans approaches the banner, he takes the pole bearing it, enchanted gold cool to the touch, light as a feather. The captain looks on, almost impressed once more for some reason. “Not many survive the curse of that banner, but it seems to have not affected you at all.” The captain says with a cuckle. “Now belt your axe and grab a weapon befitting of the royal retinue. “Is the axe not good enough?” Hans protests. “Absolutely not.” The captain says still cheerful. Hans decides it is best not to question the Captains judgement and belts his axe and begins to prowl through the racks of weapons, sabres from far off lands, axes from this very keep, swords from the lands of the Horselords and Zealot knights, though one weapon and one alone catches his eyes, it appears to be a cross between a sickle, axe, and sword. He grabs the weapon resting it in his hand, the gold seems to glow but it weighs more like steel, he feels something in its core, something sleeping. He tightly grips the handle, feeling the green stone handle resist any compression. Hans emerges from the rows of weapons seeing the captain toying with his mace. Without stopping the captain looks up and while his face is totally invisible behind his deathmask. “The Kopis? Fine choice.” The captain says. “Kopis?” Hans inquires. “Oh, yeah, it’s from the continent of the shelled ones, a gift from the war of the gods. Old and true.” He explains. “Yeah just use it, it’ll fix itself eventually, somehow it always does.” With a look of concern and disbelief behind his closed helm. The captain shrugs his shoulders and leaves the vault, Hans shakes his head, thinking about how terrible of an idea this is, and leaves. “Are we closing the vault Captain?” Hans asks “No.” He responds. Hans follows back through the blackstone halls and passageways running his hand along the carved runes and patterns. The Captain rounds the final turn and proclaims “We have our standard bearer!” before resuming his statue-like silence and stance. Hans makes the quick decision to join the fifty or so guard’s statue-esk position, resting the banner’s pole on the floor and letting his blade arm rest at his side. “Oh, no Hans, you go and eat, we’ll greet the coming aspirants.” Says the Captain before pointing him towards the canteen. “And eat lightly, a full belly makes for faulty fighting.” He calls. Freja had risen at her normal hour, the smells of the morning meal being the first to hit her. The smells of honey-meat and mushrooms are almost overpowering. She leaps from her cot and rushes to put on her war-cloth, setting the leather breast of it over hers ensuring easy movement. Her helm’s face-cloth hooks into the rings on her vest before she leaves, her snout, naturally, passes the cloth which is mainly for hiding identities from more vengeful enemies. Freja wondered if the humans even cared about individual Vulfan, much less enough to hunt down one. She pushed the thought of a hate-driven human hunting her down from her mind. She leaves the sleeping quarters astonished about how bright it is already. It is feeding time for the females, evident by the lack of males around the fires. She sniffs at the air alert to the anxiety of the pack-horde. The ears of everyone are locked straight up, tails unmoving and straight down. Freja moves towards the feed-fires to be greeted by a silver elder, who hands her a plate of food. “Eat quickly Freja, the battle starts when the females are done eating.” She says sweetly. “Thank you elder.” Freja says bowing her head. Freja eats in silence, which is hardly of not given her normal circumstance. She watches the males strap on their thicker armors, sharpen their spears and swords, and stretch before battle. She finishes and returns the plate and silently heads towards the weapon-hut. Once she arrives she is handed a bow without word for it is not a female’s place to fight with strength, a practice she had always questioned but accepted. A speckled snout shouts her to a position in the battle line, her breathing is getting less and less confident. The moment the battle-howl begins she can feel the wolf next to her become little more than red mist. A tear falls from her eye as she watches the first line fall limp in a series of cracks. The charge is stopped dead in its tracks, not a single wolf is moving forward. “CHAAAARRGGGEEEE” rings out across the field of battle followed by a horn bellowing. The silver tide of human warriors moves in from both flanks to be met by the flanks of the Vulfan in melee. Freja’s arm begins to quiver from how many times she has fired her arrows. As she reaches for the final arrow in her quiver she can see them approach the center of their defense. A banner the color of plums, adorned in gold, bearing the symbol of their god and people. Holding is just another faceless human wielding an unplaceable weapon. Hans’ only job is to protect the standard, at any cost, the handful of wolves that have slipped by the guards are often enormous and have been hard fought duels alone. His body is slowly failing him, the armor, the lack of a shield and being the obvious target have all culminated in a very dangerous situation. The royal guards are like whirlwinds of death, delivering it swiftly to the savages. Mustering some of little remaining strength Hans charges into the madness bringing his Kopis into the neck of a sizable wolf, and as the first falls the second his slashed. One of the other aspirants is dragged into the mass of wolves and is torn apart in a series of blood curdling screams. Another has his neck slashed through by a bladed spear, but before he fell he brought his axe into the leg of his killer, allowing Hans to avenge him with ease. The one hundred or so aspirants fell one by one, with Hans being the last standing. He is charged by the largest wolf yet, the colossal man-beast throwing back. Rising to his feet Hans can see the beast but three body lengths away claws fully extended, as he prepares to parry the claws he feels the jaws of the beast punch through his broken plate and sink into his shoulder. Letting out an unholy scream he sinks his blade deep in the beast’s gut. It staggers back before tearing through Han’s faceplate tearing three jagged lines but an inch from his face. Hans retrieves his blade from the bleeding wound in the wolf. The wolf punches him in the gut, forcing Hans to his knees. “You carry cloth on a stick human. What does it mean? That your women, land, and loot are ours to keep.” It mocks. Hans says nothing, barely able to rise to his feet dripping with sweat and now blood. He raises his blade to the beast in silent defiance, only for the wolf to grin a godless grin. “For a human you are strong, like a twig to a leaf.” It again mocks. Hans looks on as it charges at him once again, forcing his aching body to move he manages to sidestep the monster. With a desperate thrust and an enraged roar Hans plunges his blade into the spine of the wolf. It’s legs go limp mid sprint it turns to face Hans with a look of hate and fear. It watches silently as Hans approaches its neck, only grunting when it’s jugular is split open. Freja does her best not to yelp as she watched the banner-human cut down her chieftain. She looks to her left to where the fellow archer was killed to find a full quiver, she squats down and takes the leather tube of arrows. One arrow, two arrows, three. All land themselves squarely in the human’s shoulder, despite that he still holds the banner. He turns to face Freja, the coldness of fear washing over her. He points and raises his blade to his neck as if to cut it. The human’s compatriots he had followed are mostly dead, only the black and gold ones remain, and even so they too are falling slowly. She fires a few arrows at the nearest humans. She sees four lines of humans approach the flanks, a series of cracks and a wave falls. The mountain roars and the left flank has well over a dozen lines cut through it. The army seems to stand still for a second and then turns towards the new lines. Freja had stopped firing to stare at the turning of the pack in awe. She hadn’t even noticed the flag-human approaching until he was upon her. “ARRRRRRRRAGH!” Shouted the human, his blue eyes visible through the tears in his mask as he charged towards Freja. “I will not be slain by a human.” She responded trying to muster the courage to counter-charge, but only drawing her dagger. He slammed into her bringing his blade near to her face before she could try to keep herself from oblivion. Their blades locked, Freja smiled for a moment before she saw the golden rod in the human’s other hand be brought to her helmet. Freja howled in pain only to see it brought down again, and with that her world went black. Hans brings his blade to the fallen wolf’s neck. His hand shakes more and more violently. He winces as he tries to resolve himself to killing it. This one had fired arrows into him right? Why give it mercy? Opens his eyes once more remembering the last words of his brother; “To slay a bested foe bears no honor only shame for every reward.” He instead looks over the fallen wolf. Hans grunts in pain as he drags his almost dead self towards the remaining guards. One or two small wolves lunge at him before meeting their maker with a single cleave each. He turns to the female he beat down with the banner, there’s something scratching in the back of his head. “What better weapon to demoralize a male than a defeated female?” His conscious whispers over and over. His resistance to those whispers breaks before he can get out of sight of the unconscious wolf woman. He shakes his head downwards and moves back towards the female he knocked unconscious. He wonders what made him think it was a female. He looks it over scrutinizing over the details. It curves like a maiden is the first thing he notes, followed soon by the breasts he ignored, again too small to be a mother and too large to be a girl. He decides that this is a she, and she has brown fur with some white speckles throughout. He throws her over his shoulder, and restarts his walk back towards where the guards are fighting. His knees feel like they’re constantly two steps from buckling, his face now has such a grimace of murder that most wolves turn tail and run the moment he stares them in the eye. He rejoins the thinned number of the guard. The whirlwinds of death seem to slow upon seeing Hans return. “FORWARD UNTO DEATH,UNTO HONOR, UNTO VICTORY! FOR THE HOLD FOR THE NORSE FOR MAN!” Hans bellows raising the banner higher. The prince looks up towards Hans before raising his blade to him and bringing it down into the shoulder of a wolf. Hans can feel his strength bleeding from where the bite and arrows connected, from the wetness coming from the back of his head. His vision blurs, he slams the pole into the dirt. His muscles cramp so quickly he thinks he’s seizing, his head and arms twitch, unable to move at all except his fingers. His vision blurs more and he goes lightheaded, his mind racing as to why this is happening. His mind is put to rest when his vision goes dark, the sensation of falling being the last thing he feels. The prince, captain, and a half dozen or so guards would look near terrified if their faces weren’t fully concealed behind blood-drenched metal. A scream of NOOO can be heard from the farther lines. Four men from outside the guard are ordered to drag his body, and what they think is his trophy back to the hold. The banner still sways on the hill overlooking the battle from its center. A throbbing pain is the first thing Freja feels once her sight returns. The next is the winged human on the ceiling above her. She’s no longer wearing her war-cloth but rather an ill fitting tunic too tight on the hips and too loose on the breast. She looks around the room, she notes only one other person than her, a human half covered in bloody bandages standing in the corner gripping tightly onto two bronze bars. She waits silently on her bed waiting for something to break the silence and to make the human move. She smells the air once more, trying to pick up any scent. Only smoke and metal, she feels the singe of panic ping in her heart. She pats at where that human slammed the rod into her head, a nasty bruise and a small cut but nothing serious. She looks around the room once more trying to take in every detail, the swords and heros carved into the walls, the faux arches and strange patterns beneath them. She listens closer to the human noting his pained breath, shallow and difficult. Freja rises from the bed silently moving towards the door. She tries to open the door only to hear the thud of wood against stone. `The human turns his head, two ocean blue eyes staring back at Freja. She had seen those eyes before, this is the same human, the chief-slayer. He looks broken physically but his eyes still burn strong. “What name wolfess?” He demands. “What?” Freja stammers “What. Is. Your. Name.” He says as if annoyed. “None of your business human filth.” Freja barks back. “Your horde is destroyed, the bodies of our own are still being counted a day later. To the men of this keep you are mine. I didn’t want that.” He says ashamed. “I am a maiden without master human.” Freja barks. “Not any longer, not to them.” He says bitterly. “Them? What about you, filth?” Freja responds with equal venom. “I was going to use your unconscious body as a lure for your male ilk, but I nearly succumbed to my wounds. My kin dragged me back here and you with me. I never fancied myself a trophy-taker, nor a slaver. And yet here I am.” The man answers. “So to your vile kin I am yours, but about you?” She inquires. “To me? A mistake.” He says plainly. “How so?” Freja demands. “I should have taken your head when I was still able to fight.” He says anger seeping into his plain tone. “Kill a fallen enemy? How dishonorable.” Freja mocks. “Oh yes as if your fellow savages are much kinder, eating the wounded and the dead, truly bastions of honor and righteousness.” He responds angrily. “WHAT?! I HAVE NEVER EATEN A HUMAN!” Freja shouts. “Emphasis on the I. I have fought your kind ever since I was a man, I have seen your race’s worst.” He says. “Well human have you ever seen our best? Of the open forest, of a feast after a hunt. Have you ever considered how we view you.” Freja retort. “My father always said “You are judged by not what you do best, but what you do worst.” Howev-.” He says Freja cuts her off “Oh yes cause mankind is perfect, living in caves keeping their women in stone cages” She spits. “Cages? What?” The human says confused. His face almost perplexed. “We hear that you keep your women in massive cages, I heard that from the keep-taker tribe.” Freja says bitterly “You mean behind a gate? To us humans we put our families before our lives, at least the men do.” The human says. “Gate, cage what’s the difference.” Freja says, seeming to lose her bitter edge. “I-I mean a cage you’re put in by force, a gate you close. Are you talking about Keep Fellreach?” The human says, still a little confused. “I don’t know the name of your homes.” Freja snaps. “Well Fellreach locked the doors to their farms and left the surviving women and children in the farms to await relief. I would know. I was there.” He says trailing off. “Your women lock themselves away rather than fight?” Freja asks curiously despite her anger. “All serve the war effort, men fight, women make more men. It’s the way it is in the kingdoms of man.” The human answers. “We have gotten wildly off topic, I am Hans, you are ?” He follows up after shaking his head. “Freja.” She answers. “Finally.” Hans says before limping to the only other cot in the room. He falls into it and instantly falls asleep. “Wait” Freja protests. “What?”Hans says, opening a single eye sounding exhausterbated. “Why is the door sealed?” She asks. “It is torch-low, they will open it once the glow-patterns light.” He says. “What?” Freja demands. “You’ll know when you see it, rest for now” Hans says, drifting into sleep. Freja crawls over to her bed, anger still boiling in her veins. She growls as she closes her eyes. After some time she begins to feel at peace, letting the soreness of her arms let her drift to sleep. Hans is woken up by a set of claws pinching in his back. He knows his body is still much too broken to fight. He stares straight into the glow-patterns, the holy sword staring right back at him. His mind reads of the heroes of the old sagas, the great wizard king thronebound and strong, the Avatar of God wielding the first blade of man, the founders of each of the great kingdoms, Constus of the Byztanii, Old Man Christian of the Teutons, Francis of the Grailic, Shangshi of the Horselords, Kaito of the Eastern Knights, just to name a few. Hans turns his head to see the wolfess freja staring down onto him. “Is it day now?” She demands “Yes, the glow patterns are bright.” Hans responds. He moves to get up, hesitant to do so. He decides there is no time like the present and rises, winching from the pain of his soreness and injuries. He shambles towards the door pressing against it. From the other side a guard asks if it's him or his trophy, he says it's him, obviously, while shaking his head to the word trophy. The door creaks open at first a pair of naive eyes staring back. Hans leans against the door harder pushing it even more open. He then stumbles out limping. “Freja. Follow.” He says to the wolfess. “Fine. Hans” Freja responds in kind. Hans works his way through the winding passages knowing where to go. Freja follows Hans unsure of where she’s being led. Thoughts of simply killing Hans and making a run for it slip into her mind. She can feel her claws slowly rising towards the back of the wounded man, she decides that he may be her best way out and follows begrudgingly. He pushes open one final door vanishing behind the iron. Frejo too opens it and realizes that the world of man lies not under the sky. She arrives at a forested path, she sees Hans resting on a bench covered in vines, looking solem and peaceful. Freja approaches the resting man, staring him down before looking around. She sniffs at the air, the full scents of a forest, deer musk, flowers, fruit, and greens, her mind runs wild, the thoughts of how, when, and what she was in aforest. “Where am I Hans?” Freja asks, still awestruck. “The heart of the keep.” He says softly. “What?” Freja asks confused. “All the Norse Keeps are like this, some are colder, other warmers, dryer or wetter, but this is my home. We have two more levels to go before we come to my family’s cavern.” He gets up and resumes his limping down the path. As the two walk down the path Freja inching closer to Hans with every step, soon the two are walking side by side, Hans’s only slightly larger body just letting him keep pace with Freja despite his compromised body. Freja looks around once again, seeing a stream with a statue of some ancient hero wrapped in vines. Hans is dead focused onto the gold trims of the royal manner ahead. The manor seems to jump from the forest, the guardian statues of every captain to have fallen in the service of the Keep radiat the sanguine peace they felt as their bodies failed their spirits. Freja looks onto the statues fearfully something about them gives her the sense that they are not as unliving as they seem. The fountain the statues are centered around have three figures on three pillars, one frail man on a throne, one a strong old man with a beard to match the size of his axe, the last is featureless human ambiguous in every sense. “Who are the humans in the fountain?” Freja asks cowering from the unmoving gaze of one of the fallen captains. “The old man is Father Ulf, the wolf-slayer, king from when the wolf god besieged the last keep. He was there when the wolf god was slain, and under his rule the Norse reclaimed all the Keeps and built a hundred new ones.” Hans answers seemingly at peace. “The one on the chair?” Freja asks. “The great wizard king, his name was lost to time, but when he was born weak in the body but was as strong as the gods of old in magic. He broke the elves invincibility with a wave of his hand.” He says, still calm and collected. “And the last?” She asks “The unifier. Yet to be born, or maybe they have. They will be the one to find the lost race and unite our Gods.” Hans answers before continuing to hobble down the path away from the manor.” “Lost race?” Freja demands “If I knew there wouldn’t be that figure in the fountain.” Hans answers backhandedly. “Tell me of your legends, human!” Freja pleads “Once I get home and rest wolfess.” He says. “What are you going to do once you heal, human?” Freja asks “Tell you my people’s story, buy a wagon and two horse, then head to the warmer lands south of here.” Hans answers “Why?” Freja asks. “I haven’t a future in this hold.” He says solemnly “How so?” Freja asks curiously “Am I not in enough pain, wolfess?” Hans snaps. Freja remains quiet, realizing she had unwittingly struck a nerve with the human Hans. Hans however, remembers the utter hopelessness he felt the night his birth-betrothed had died watching someone he loved so much die with nothing he could do. He can still feel the warmth of her body leave through his hands, the bruising on his hands from how hard she had gripped them that night. He feels the resentment that he pushed away for so many years boil inside him once more, but rather than the anger that had once given him an edge in battle, the hollowness of sorrow is all that embraces him. The descent is silent between the two, bar the occasional sniffs of Freja and Hans grunts of pain. The second layer is orchards and fields that seem to go on forever. The low hanging sky of sun-bright stars being the only constant reminder of the fact that they are underground. Some of the women in the field wave to Hans who raises a single hand, the strain of just doing that showing on his face. One voice calls to him from afar, a young man with hair the color of oak bark. “Hans! How are you? You feeling better? The man asks “Who are you?” Is all Hans asks. “Your former captain.” The man says sternly “What?” Hans asks. “I am the Captain of the Guard.” He says adding a bit of coldness to his voice. “I never saw your face, sorry sir.” Hans answers trying his best to remain military-formal “Forgiven. Now are you doing better?” The captain says. “I really couldn’t tell you sir.” Hans answers. “I think he’s doing better” Say Freja The captain glares at Freja before turning back to Hans. “Keep your pet in line Hans.” He says with contempt “She’s not a pet.” Hans protests. “Sorry. Trophy.” The captain says, still disgusted. “Yeah about that, that was a mistake, I never meant to try to claim her as one. I was trying to use her as a way to break the male’s focus” Hans confesses to the captain. The disgust seems to drain from the captains face. “Good to hear Hans, I always hated the trophy takers, but you know the rules.” The captain says. “Yes, but I will leave once I heal.” Hans says. “Oh. For what reason?” The captain “My birth-betrothed died just before I entered the service, I have no future here.” Hans says still formal. “My condolences Hans. You would be in the Guard if your body hadn’t sustained so much damage last battle, but the price has decided to carve your name in the wall anyway.” The captain says equally formal. “For what reason would he have my name carved? I simply bore the banner.” Hans asks confused. “You slew a wolf warchief alone, that is no small feat even for a veteran.” The captain says. “Thank you captain, please give my thanks to the prince.” Hans asks humbled. “The name is Sven, I will fear not. Remember you are always welcome back home” The captain says. The rest of the walk home is uneventful, a few “Welcome home Hans!”s from old friends and one or two “Quality trophy!”s from passersby. The Woeda family cavern is less so a cavern as it is a mix of a hold-within- a-hold, farm, estate, and clan housing. From the outside the hawk of house Woeda can be seen engraved onto the bronze doors. Above it is a polished stone wall with windows of blue glass looking outwards. Hans reluctantly goes to the door knocking it three times. He waits for a minute, his anxiety building but not showing. Finally an older woman opens the door, her hair a mix of wheat-gold and silver, Hans sighs at her sight. “Welcome home son!” The woman cheers. “You too mother.” Hans says his strength is nearing its end. Lady Woeda fully opens the door and lets the two in, the maroon walls and checkered lapis and sapphire banners draw attention like a golden statue in an otherwise plain and empty garden. Hans' lip curls slightly in a mix of silent contempt and remembrance. His raising in this place had not been the way a proper Nord was supposed to. Freja shared Hans’s distaste of the place but that was mainly for the absolute appealing color pallet in her opinion. Lady Woeda gestures to them to sit before calling for a Sir Otto. “I see you’ve claimed yourself a trophy Hans, your father will be proud.” Lady Woeda says, a mix of formality and disgust strewn across her face. “Thank you mother.” Hans says staring at the floor. “Eye contact Hans, you know the rules.” Says a maid from the corner. “Your vigilance is always so respectable Olga but unwelcome for now.” Lady Woeda chastises in a way that almost sounds complementary. Lady Woeda almost struts over to Freja, inspecting her as one might a horse. “Mouth open wolf.” the Lady demands. Freja turns to Hans who only gives the slightest of a nod. Freja lets the woman inspect her teeth resisting the urge to bite down snarling. Lady Woeda’s face of disgust seems to fade to that of utter apathy to her son’s trophy. “Fine beast. What *was* her use to you?” Lady Woeda demands. “Your intuition is palpable mother. She was supposed to cause disorder among the enemy ranks.” Hans says as bitter as he was honest. “And now?” She asks with a hint of intrigue behind the sternness. “Unsure.” Says Hans. “Think of something before your father arrives, something appropriately hedonistic.” Lady Woeda warns before leaving the room. The silence and awkwardness of the interaction with Hans’s mother has seemed to have driven Hans to silence. He sits his hand on his chin, a look of shame and deep focus carved into his face. Freja too is lost in thought, wondering why Lady Woeda had warned Hans about his father. Hans knew, he knew all too well his father’s overt hedonism, more particularly his sadism. “What is it about your father I should worry about?” Freja asks a drop of fear mixing with her voice. “Nothing. Not if he has any shred of honor left.” Hans says anger mixing with his stone-like demeanor. Freja’s hair stands up as if a thunderstorm is coming. Hans was accustomed to the feeling of dread, he had been around his father his entire life. Perhaps that was where his nye suicidal discipline came from Hans reflected. Freja was alien to the feeling, that sensation of tightening chains around one’s heart, she felt exposed, bound, like a failed usurper awaiting his own death. The cold “be calm Freja” Hans tries to reassure her with only heightened her fear. Freja sees the man enter, she finds it hard to look at him for his skin looks as if rivers had been painted on it in scars. “Son…” Says the smiling man. “Father…” Hans replies trying to sound formal. Han’s father has a look of absolute unhingement about him, the way his mouth sits unevenly open, the look of exceptional curiosity and fury in his eyes. The robes he wears are wrinkly, worn, and covered in stains of all varieties. “How was war?” The disheveled man asks. “Bloody.” Hans says icy. “Hmm. Any accolades? you know I don’t follow politics anymore.” He says a grin forming as he turns his eyes to the wolfess. “I was for a day a member of the guard.” Hans says plainly. “How was that, son?” The man says now twisting his fingers. “I claimed this wolf.” Hans affirms staring his father in the eye. “I hear you have a statue being made on the crown dime I hear.” Lord Woeda says inquisitively. “Yes, I was a member of the guard as I said.” Hans reaffirms. “Good.” Hans' father says, beginning to pace. “... now for the wolfess. A gift for me or a prize of yours?” He says smiling ear to ear, shedding any semblance of sanity in a single grim. “Mine to keep father. Consider it a testament to your raising of mine.” Hans says a faux delirious grin. Lord Woeda’s grin sinks further into increasingly obvious madness “I raised you very well. I realize that now. Much more akin to I than I thought.” “I only realized that after I had sent an axe deep into the back of one of the hold-takers. I grinned, I felt joy in the melee, something unique, almost calming in a way.” Hans confesses not a drip of insincerity in his voice. “Good. Good.” Lord Woeda says as he looks to his son's wounds. “You need to rest, take your wolfess with you.” Hans takes Freja’s by the wrist and leads her through the winding hallways. With his spare hand Hans feels the family history of the carved out cavern. He closes his eyes knowing the rest from feeling. Freja is increasingly anxious, the lack of anything other than the smell of dirt and iron. As the pair winds through. Freja notes that two doors are sealed from the outside with a metal bar, a metal plate with some markings on them above the doors. “What are in those rooms, human?” Freja asks with anxious curiosity “My stillborn brother in the one labled Karl, and my grandparents in the one labled Fitz and Katherinia.” Hans answer’s unphased. “Why not bury them?” Freja asks “They already are.” Hans answers “How so? They are in those rooms” Freja asks. “Where are we?” Hans responds. “Right.” Freja says her eyes wide with realization. “It’s just how things are in this hold, some have other traditions, on the coast they throw the body to the sea, and towards the southern hills they entomb the skeletons in grand mausoleums.” He says. The pair continue on in silence once more, the occasional stumble of Hans keeping it from being a droning sound. Along one of the halls Hans stops, winces in pain, and falls to the floor breathing heavy. Freja approaches the man slowly, curious to his situation and to better hear his unintelligible mumbling. Between pained pants he seems to break a little more, every breath growing more and more shallow and strained. Freja stares into the eyes of the injured human, she realizes that he is not seeing whatever is in front of him at all Hans feels the itch of anxiety become an onslaught of deep slashes of panic, his heart pounds as loud as the dynamite explosions in the mines. He stares out in front of him, staring deep into the carving of the first Woeda, the outsider, the lone horseman. He remembers his grandfather’s stories about him, how he arrived soaked in blood, his sword broken at the hilt so he held a simple axe with his sword arm, and in his left is the head of three elves, the last descendants of the elven general that sacked this hold so long ago. He was welcomed in, the heads taken by the king and encased in gold. The legend ends there, but his grandfather always knew more, yet he never told him, taking the story with him to the next life. He found it funny, how his ancestor came here for a new life, and he is leaving to have one. Hans closed his eyes staring at the icon that was no longer there. He took in one last breath before trying to rise once more. Once he stood up he could still see Freja staring at him like some sort of trinket. She thought to herself why this human seemed to be so broken after what seemed to be such a short battle. She wants to go home, to the wilds, where the deer are plenty and the berries sweet. She also wants to find a life-mate, she should already have one at least if she were with her tribe. The more she thinks about her situation the more she realizes she may have already missed her chance. Anger begins to mount as she stares at Hans. Her mind begins to run through all the ways this human may have ruined her life, as she runs through these possibilities her vision goes a bit red, her mouth fills with saliva. Her jaw parts ever so slightly as she sees the unguarded back of Hans, she wants to taste his blood, to tear out of him in flesh as he tore from her in life. She has resolved herself now, she knows what she will do. She will flee the moment she can and leave this human to die on his own. She stares still at Hans, her anger burning in her heart and determination she had never felt before. As Hans was forged and broken on the anvil of war, Freja would forge herself on the anvil of hatred. Hans could feel the hateful glare of the wolfess behind him, and moreover he knew that if she were to attack him he could do nothing at all. His mind accepted that he has well outlived his time at a whopping twenty-five years of age. With his mortality staring at him hatefully he reflects on life while limping through these halls. He rounds the last corner, staring at a bronze plate hanging over a sealed door. The hollowness in his heart seems to cry out and grow when he sees it, “I wonder what she would say now. What a disappointing return from war, covered head to toe in bruises and cuts, barely able to walk, and to little more than scorn” his mind screams. Pushing the thought aside he distances himself from the door to make it towards his room. Behind him it makes a set of noises. “Human. Who was in this one.” Freja says Hans turns to face her “My would-be wife.” he answers before returning to his silence “What killed her?” Freja demands one more a snarl following. “Consumption.” He says saddened. “What is that human?” She demands once more “A sickness.” Hans replies a drop of anger falling into his sadness. Freja speaks no more, leaving Hans to enter his room alone. The sheets still perfectly straight as he left them, the spilt chalice of wine having long stained the stone, the hollow draft, and aura of crushing loneliness. This is Han’s room but this place was never his home. Freja only smells old musk, bad wine, and dead flowers, to her it is simply another cave in a set of them. Hans crawls into his old bed letting out a relieved groan as he does. Freja glares down onto him. Hans turns to stare at the wolf, wondering exactly how to manage this situation. “Well hop on it.” Hans says “No” Freja says. “It's nicer than the floor.” Hans tries to persuade. “Fine, there's a book in the nook if you can’t sleep.” Hans says before turning back over. “Fine.” Freja barks. Hans is asleep in moments, his breathing a constant droning. Freja cannot sleep, she is both too angry and too winded out, she stares at the book, its brown leather cover, the silver ornamentation on its spine. It seems to command attention, like a basket of sweets in a high spot, and the more she tries to look away the more it beckons her. Freja begins to think “Well the Human said I can, so what the problem?”. For whatever reason she found herself trying to justify grabbing the book, and after resolving that it was okay, she creeped towards the leather-clad parchment. She comes to hold the leather-clad parchment as if it were some kind of holy text. The content of the books disgusts Freja, while she cannot read the words she can see the drawings clear as day. Each page seems to be guide on torture of every variety, the victims of a species of both sexes. She looked at Hans, a look of morbidity on her face, she continued to flip through the drawing. It details races she had never seen before, humans with pointed ears and slimmer shapes, creatures akin to the mountain lions, beings akin to birds of all varieties. Between the full page drawings, are pages of text, text she cannot read, so to her they mean nothing. After “reading” the book through Freja is worn out, her anger spent. She decides that the foot of the bed is better than the floor and curls up there to sleep. A dream comes to her like none other before, it’s her tribe, rather than celebration of adulthood the village of tents is somber and quiet. In the center the bodies of the slain are waiting burial, and to dig the graves only a handful of males are present, the bodies bearing the red markings of death in the horde-pack lay next those with the blue marks of those who died fighting other Vulfan. Rather than the wine and dancing there seems to be little more than a people whimpering and mourning. She approaches the village to look for her father, arriving at the family tent she finds empty except for her juvenile brother crying over a clay pot of blackberries. She tries to console her sibling try to hug him and lick his ears as mother used to do, only to find she can’t lay a hand on him, she leaves walking through the scattered village, towards the center the bodies lay, the chief’s body is the first in the line, the one Hans killed in cold blood. She finds her mother’s corpse next, a red mark freshly painted between her breasts. Her father’s corpse is unlike the others, rather than whole or mostly whole, her father had his arms severed, his head separated from his body, and his heart cut out. Worst of all, it was not a red mark painted on his chest. But the blue of betrayal. Hans dreamed, but he had seen it before, after all the last time he rested in this bed was the last time he cried, he was holding the hand of his late love just before she passed to the next life whispering his promises one last time. He woke up with a tear in his eye, still tired, in a room totally dark. Soon he returned to sleep, this time the blackness of the room enveloping his mind. The light of the glow-day woke him up, and soon after Freja joined him. She glares at Hans, and Hans notices the book in her hands soon after. “I see you read my father’s journal, it shows him before his slip into madness.” He says somberly “It shows torture and horrors. Nothing more human.” Freja snarls. “Did you read the words? It’s a guide to surgery.” Hans says once more confused. “Surgery? What is that human?” She demands in a mix of curiosity and anger. “One of many forms of medicine, removing things or fixing things on the inside. My father was the best at it before he was trapped in a fallen mine for a half-year. At least that’s what mother says.” Hans says. “So your father was not always a madman. Impossible.” Freja states. “No one ever starts off as a madman wolfess.” Hans says a bit of anger in his tone. “You said he was a hedon, and had always been.” Freja says, mounting her own anger. “He was old before I was born, I never knew him before his hair grayed. Would you call one of your grey-snouts a blood-thirsty marauder from day one?” Hans raises. “Do not compare the noble grey-shouts to your race, human.” Freja snaps. “I’ll ask again. Did you read the text.” Hans states once more. “No, I can’t read human.” She says pridefully “Can you read at all wolfess?” Hans presses. Freja would be red in the face if it were not for her fur as she was asked that question, rearing a bit from it. “Answer me Freja.” Hans demands “No. I cannot read.” Freja says lowering her head. “It is to be expected from nomads” Hans says in a matter-of-fact way. “Is that some sort of insult human?” Freja snaps once more. “No, simply an observation.” Hans says plainly. “Either way I’m hungry and I’m going to get something to eat before I leave for the day, you are welcome to stay here if you please.” A moment of silence passes as Hans stumbles from the bed, resting himself on a wall. Freja weighs the offer in her head, on one hand food, on the other she has to spend time with the human. Her stomach chose for her. “Fine, yes, food.” Freja stammers the anger not fully having left her tone. “Alright, follow me then” Hans says limping out the door. “You need a walking stick human.” Freja says disconcerting. “Not a mage, so a cane will have to do.” “Cane? You humans are strange.” Freja says offhandedly. “I can have a sword in a cane.” Hans says smiling. “What?” Freja says unable to really understand what she just heard. “Sword. In. Cane.” Hans says hobbling along chuckling like an old kobold. The pair traverse the winding halls until they come to a wider gap, leading to two doors. Hans pushes the one on the left open revealing another maroon room with those horrible blue accents. He shudders a little before entering as if recalling something painful. In the room there is an inordinate amount of tables arranged in even rows. Each table is adorned with a blue cloth and glow-rock lantern. Hans gestures for her to sit anywhere she likes. She sits at one table and watches keenly as Hans goes to some sort of a counter and gets a tray with four things on it. He sets it down at the table, and Freja can finally get a good look at it, two rolls, and two bowls of mutton stew. Hans says “enjoy” before beginning to eat the meal in silence. Freja hesitantly takes a bite from the stew. The meat is a little tough and bread a tad stale, she looks over to Hans who has soaked the bread in the stew, and seems to be eating just fine. “Why did you soak the bread?” Asks Freja Hans raises a finger, finishes chewing a mutton chunk and says “We use the leftover bread from the last bake for breakfast.” “Why?” She ask curiously “Waste not, want not is what my father would always say.” Hans answers. “By the way what is bread made from?” She asks with the same curiosity. “ Two kinds of flour, yeast, water, milk, and sometimes egg. Well at least the ones us Nords make, though if you really want to know go talk with the chef.” Hans says, less confident than he’d like. “Odd, us Vulfan make bread by taking grain, crushing it to powder, adding water, and the basis.” Freja says, “Basis?” Asks Hans “Basis, it's very old and grows back, the elders keep it pots and have tended it forever seemingly.” She answers. “I am curious as to what your bread is like.” Hans follows before taking a large spoonful of stew. “It's a bit sour, lighter, and lighter than my fur.” She says. “Hmm, mother says if the bread isn’t darker than dirt it's a dessert.” Hans says half-joking. “Odd” Freja says before taking a large spoonful of stew. The two eat for a while longer before finishing. Hans returns the tray to the counter in silence. “Up” He says, before moving back towards the entrance as Freja scrambles to her feet. The door nearly closes before she makes it to it. “H-Hey Hans!” She calls out. Hans turns around in the hall to look at her, Freja then quickly walks up to Hans and says “You can go again.”. Hans continues forward once more through the winding halls, initially a tad annoyed by Freja’s antics but doesn’t let it get to him. Freja thinks about her dream from the night before, mainly that of her village being laid to waste. She knows that Hans slew the chief, in cold blood at that, or was it? Somehow the seed of doubt had been planted in her mind. As for Hans he is still resolved in his life as a traveller, but his idea of being a lonesome wander is also being questioned, maybe, just maybe, some company would be nice. Hans leaves the cavern-home of his family. He limps down the street, Freja walks just behind him. Hans heads towards the bank where his coin is stored, the ancient building being engraved with some of the finest work in the hold. Inside is a wooden interior matching any other building on the surface, the human trade-guild’s banner hanging from the banker’s bannister. Hans approaches the teller, a girl younger than him with hair the color of sun bleached burlap and eyes that of emeralds. “Ah, Mister Woeda! Mister Joakim would like to see you upstairs.” Says the girl after looking up from her papers. “Thanks” Is all Hans says before he feels a gloved hand on his right shoulder. He turns to face Mister Joakim, of whom he only knew as Otto. To his surprise Otto seems to have grown from his dwarf-like demeanor to that of a short-ish man. “How long has it been, old friend!” Otto cheers with the deep cheery voice as always. “Five years I believe, maybe six.” Hans says with an exaggerated look of concentration on his face. “Nooo. Really?” Otto says, almost confused. “Yep, I left six winters ago.” Hans says Otto nods accepting that time has gone by much faster than he’d like before saying “Where’d you go first.” “Fellsreach. The fallen hold.” Hans answers ice in his tone. “Come, we’ll talk over some Arak and Vician wine.” He says leading him and Freja upstairs. The stairs are simple planks of wood placed in steel slots, they give ever so slightly under the weight of Hans and Freja, while Otto doesn’t seem to bend them at all. His office is as ornate as a king's throne room with gold ornaments and exotic artworks on every surface, and yet it all seems to blend together to some perfect unknowable balance. Otto pours two cups of liquor from one bottle, and a wooden mug with some beer. He passes a bottle to Hans and the mug to Freja. “Vulfan, to my knowledge have a lower tolerance to alcohol than us humans do, so I hope you’re fine with some Helvetburger beer instead.” “You are strange among your kin, human.” Freja says “I’m a merchant Vulfan, I seek profit, I don’t see much of a difference between clientele. You call Otto though.” He says with a tad of swagger in his voice. “Well Otto, I do have a question for you.” Freja says with a degree of formality uncharacteristic of her. “Go ahead but Hans and I do need to discuss some matters.” Ottos says while Hans sips his Arak. “Has anything happened to the Buckhunter tribe?” She asks needily. “Hmm, let me check.” Says Otto before digging through a cupboard full of paper filled boxes. “You’re a Buckhunter?” Asks Hans a little confused. “Yes.” Freja says. In the waiting silence, Hans decides its best not to say that he slew their banner-bearer in the last battle. Freja, confused as to why Has would ask that brushes it off as just curiosity. The two wait in silence once more, the only interruptions being Otto’s comments of “Oops, wrong box… Not Vulfan… where was it….” until finally he cheers “Ah here. Oh.” Otto turns to Freja, a grim look on his face. “I don’t have the heart to tell you what happened to them, but you can read it here.” He says as he passes her a pristine white piece of parchment. “I can’t read human, Otto.” Freja says. “Get Hans to do it, and it's Nordic not human.” Otto corrects and suggests. Hans looks over the paper, wincing at what it reads. “Freja… I’m so sorry.” “What does it say Hans?!” Demands Freja. “The buckhunters don’t exist anymore.” Hans says, sorrow in his tone. “Are they dead?” Asks a now frantic Freja. “Most of the males apparently” Hans says. “What of the rest of them?” Demands Freja. “Joined the Longthooth to form the Longtooth-Buckhunters.” Hans says. “How did this happen?” Says Freja sulking. “It says your tribe took massive losses during the battle between our keep and the horde.” Hans explains. “And how did we decide on disbanding the tribe.” Cries Freja. “Apparently a Balder took up the mantle of leadership and was killed with most of the remaining males when the Black Eye tribe attacked.” Hans explains. “NO!... No… no... “ Is all Freja can say before tucking her head in arms and beginning to weep. “Well Hans, I believe we have matters to discuss regarding your service.” Otto says. “Yes, what of it.” Hans replies. “Your pay.” Otto says. “Am I not being paid for my years?” Hans demands “Not at all, I meant to discuss with you something of concern.” Otto explains “Well tell me Otto, what is the problem.” Hans says. “Your last year has what seems to be an extra zero behind it.”Otto explains. “That’s the issue. Did you collect any banners, or slay any foes of particular note.” “Yes, during the last battle of my service I took three banner and slew a warchief.” Hans explains. “What banners? If I may ask.” Otto requests. “Let me write them down.” Hans says. Otto hands him a feather quill, ink jar, and a sheet of parchment. Hans writes three tribes on it, Firedancer, Western Halk, and lastly the Buckhunters. Once he slides the paper back to Otto he understands why Hans decided to write them out. Otto nods at Hans, and stores the paper away in one of the boxes. “Onto the next matter at hand, I remember you wanted to become a traveller, yes?” Otto asks “Still do.” Hans answers. “Great, that’s the reason I wanted to talk in my office.” Ottos says sighing with relief soon after. “Calling this place an office is undermining its splendor Otto.” Hans says with a smile. “Thank you. I have an offer for you that you may like as a traveller to be.” say Otto “Oh, what is it?” Hans inquires. “The trade guild can offer a warrant of transfer, it’ll cost a hundred silver, but it means you can seamlessly transfer currencies between nations with one of our guild-houses.” Otto explains. “Anything else?” Hans asks. “Yes, means you have to become a guild member.” Otto says. “What does that entail?” Hans demands “Not much, it just means you can’t scam other members of the guild, abide by its minimum prices when in cities.” Otto hands him a sheet of paper, “Here just read it over.” Hans looks over the paper, nothing would really affect him overall, and most seems to be a benefit to him. “Yeah I guess I’ll join.” He decides. “Wonderful, I had you pre-approved once I heard you were no longer in the service.” Otto cheers. “Why?” Hans asks. “Because I knew you wanted to leave, and I figured I would repay an old debt.” He answers. “Ah.” Exclaims Hans. “Now, I need your payment for your warrant of transfer and I’ll get you in touch with a good carpenter I know.” Otto beams. “Alright, alright. Give me a moment.” Hans says throwing his hands up. “Please give me a moment. I'll have Beret bring up the paperwork and required funds. With that Otto leaves his office and calls for Beret to bring up “Hans’s package.” He refills his and Han’s glasses with another bottle and pours two shot glasses pushing them over to the still sobbing Freja. He stares at her for a moment, pity in his eyes before taking a sip from his new beverage. He sighs and says “A fine vintage, I’ll give a bottle to the prince later.” Hans takes a sip from the white liquid, the taste of grapes and honey being first to wash over him. The wine, somehow, tastes of a hot sun and ocean breeze, a faint saltiness in the aftertaste. It is smooth as silk and seems to entice you like a seductress in a room of vices. “Say where was the wine made?” Asks Hans excitedly. “Ah, yes, in the nation of Vici, a unique land, cities built in the sea with great floating vineyards, I travelled there to secure a deal between our Keep and the the city of Kageoa. If you ever find yourself on the western coast try to catch a ferry there.” Otto says swirling the wine in his glass. “I’ll make sure to go there one day.” Hans says before sipping the wine once more. The two men sit in the room, listening to the quiet whimpering Freja unsure how to handle the situation regarding her. Hans feels pings of guilt in heart while Otto just seems to drink more and more. She finally looks up Hans, her eyes red and face-fur wet with tears. Hans gestures towards the liquor of which Freja quickly pounces on, downing her beer with forceful gulps and then staring confused at the shots. “Human, what are those?” She says pain in her voice. “A much harder liquor.” Hans says with a furrowed brow. “Well they’re-” Han’s silences Otto with a raised finger. “No, no thanks Otto.” She whimpers before hiding her face in her arms once more. The two men continue to drink their wine in silence exchanging information with little more than nods and head shakes. Beret bursts open the door and the smile quickly drains from her face once she sees Freja. She sets about ten pieces of paper in front of Otto before the two exchange some whispers. She kisses him on the cheek and silently leaves. Otto checks over the papers one by one, takes out a stamp, and stamps four in the bottom left. He turns the set of ten around and pushes them towards Hans. Hans reads over the contracts scrutinizing any detail that may come to hurt him overall. Finding nothing of concern he signs his name on four of the papers and returns them to Otto. Freja’s whimpering grows quieter soon after and moments later stops entirely. Otto then places the papers into a leather satchel and places it into a larger bag with a plate reading “Delivery to transport mage”. The silence is broken as Otto says “The official business is done, but I have a rather clear schedule today and I have quite frankly had not one good conversation in the past month.” Otto, Hans, and later Freja, begin to just talk, Hans catching up on politics, Otto learning what the army has actually been up to, and Freja learning just how large and dangerous the world beyond is, from Otto’s tales of serpentine societies that war with men with black hair and tanned skin that ride horses. Of cities made in treetops and built on the sea itself, of women that wear dresses of colors of wildflowers. Otto and Hans also share stories from their childhood, of playing in the fields and hiding in unclaimed caverns or empty mines. Freja tells the two of her childhood, to Otto’s entertainment and Hans’ intregie. The three become four as Beret joins the trio sharing her stories. All seem to pay an exuberant amount of attention as Hans’ tells his war stories about fighting with the Revan Legions, of the battles with the Avin republics and Felid Kingdoms, of flying men in golden armor brough to kneel by creative mages, and harems of lionesses turning on their husband with a well placed stab. He tells them of the battle of Fellsreach, of the brutal fighting in the tunnels, how the ground was slick with blood. Otto laughs during the tales of his adventures, and Freja tells the rest of her tales. Soon the four of them are a little tipsy and the meeting is over with a booming “farewell”. Hans limps his way out of the bank with a slip of paper for a guild wagon-builder and a horse breeder. He works his way there occasionally leaning on Freja to support, but mainly on his own. The two businesses are placed right next to one another, the hearth of the guild unfurled over the entrance and carved into the stone around the hollowed space. The wagon-maker seems to already know what Hans wants and has it drawn up, a simple cart with a solid cover for goods and a second level for sleeping. The carpenter promises to have it enchanted so it may never break so long as he lives free of charge. Hans pays the man a two hundred silver for the wagon, and goes next door to the horse breeder. The horse breeder is a bit more, pushy so to speak, offering war horses and riding horses, but finally relenting and showing him a pair of draft horses for a hundred-fifty silver each. Once again paying for the horses and the five silver stabling fee he and Freja begin to walk back to the Woeda cavern. The next week passes rather uneventfully, Hans sleeping most of the day, only waking up to eat and walk to check up on the wagon. Two days before the carpenter is set to finish the Guard-Captain arrives at the cavern with a gift for Hans, the Kopis he used in his final battle. Apparently the royal family rather disliked the weapon, and seeing it as best in the hands of someone who would give it good use in the name of the Keep and mankind at large, gave it to him under the pretense of “He did bear the banner to victory.” Freja hates the kopis out of its sheath, as she partially blames the weapon for her tribe’s near destruction, but has grown comfortable around Hans, asking him questions about the book of surgery his father penned. She wishes to learn human, or nordic as Otto called it, but she can’t properly find the right time to ask Hans between his cat-like sleeping habits and generally silent demeanor. On the last day she finally pipes up. “Hans!” Shouts Freja “Yes Freja?” Hans answers. “I want to learn to read.” She states. “Okaaaay?...” Hans replies confused on how to respond. “You can teach me in your wagon right?” She asks once more. “I guess?” Hans says, still confused. “Good, then I shall join you.” Freja states before letting Han’s normal silence resume. As Hans hobbles into the wagon-maker’s shop he sees the mage still enchanting the wagon, the blue and violet wisps of pure magic seem to dance across the wood and metal. The carpenter hands Hans a cane before exclaiming how painful it was to watch him hobble everywhere like a three-legged dog. Thanking the man profusely Hans turns to Freja. “So what is it that you want to read?” Hans whispers “What?” Freja exclaims. “What. Do. You. Want. To. Read?” Hans clarifies. “Not sure.” Freja states once more. “I guess I’ll pick then...” Hans whispers. Hans rests on his new cane, admiring the craftsmanship of the wagon, the way the brown leather cushions wrap around the driver’s seat. The cover store of goods is fully sealed with two doors, one accessible by the driver and the other from the rear. The top level, which was supposed to be open, is about half-sealed by wood, the grey fabric tent seems to meld with the dark wood of the wagon. Hans watches the mage finish going over the wagon with her spells, turns to Hans, waves, and walks out of the shop. The carpenter runs his hand along the wooden chassis of the cart and rests his head on it soon after. He turns to Hans. “Take care of her would ya?” He pleads. “I wouldn’t dream of hurting her.” Hans assures. “Good, good.” The carpenter says before sitting down on a rocking chair. Hans walks with his cane down towards the center of town, past the bakery, past the armor, and right to the general merchant. Inside the store are dried goods, jars of preserves, spices, and books. Hans winds up paying three hundred silver for over a hundred pounds of food, alcohol, books, and hand tools. He wraps the pile in twine, and marches back towards the wagon-maker’s shop. Hans packs the wagon well, hanging the shovel, axe, and other tools on the exterior racks, putting the firemaker rod in its proper tube, and making sure all the food is packed around blankets. The wagon-maker wakes up to see Hans packing the wagon. “Leaving so soon?” He asks “Yep” Hans answers, he calls over to Freja “Could you yolk the horses please?” After all the prep is done Hans takes up the reins for the first time, Freja sitting beside him. Freja wonders what she’ll see, Hans is hoping to spend the winter solstice in shorts, preferably on a beach. As Hans drives the wagon towards the good-lift, a spiral to the gate, Freja reaches into the wagon’s hold and produces a book, it says “The sagas of humanity” but she doesn’t know it. Hans turns to see the book. He smiles as he says “Well I suppose that would fulfill an obligation I hold.” “You’re gonna start teaching me to read now?” Cheefully asks Freja. “By God no, that’s the legends of all humans. It’ll make a good start” Hans says smiling as Freja scowls at him. Chapter Two: The Ride Begins By the time the wagon is at the top of the grand spiral Freja is already bored, her ears lay flat against her head. She perks up as she sees the grand gate’s interior, the silver designs covering masterfully crafted religious symbols, the sword of the Human God, the sphere of progress behind it with the banners of every human nation that ever was. Hans stares blankly at it, the beauty shrouded by the painful memories of his first departure from them so many years ago. Freja whispers “Wow.” under her breath, Hans smiles a little knowing that the gate’s’ majesty is not lost to everyone. As the guards stand watch as sentinels, they nod at Hans before brushing the door open with the might of their magic alone. Outside the gate is the fantastic view over Jesen’s Fields, the morning sun staring at them in all of its blood-red beauty. Freja recalls the day she was told that the tribe would march to war, the same sun shined upon them that morning, the thought of her tribe sending small pings of pain through her heart causing the smile to drop from her face. She turns to Anon, taking a good look at the human for the first time, how worn the man looked for how young he was, his eyes that of a man who has seen more than he cares to have seen. It reminds her of her older brother, the to be chieftain who just vanished. She smells the morning air, the smells of dew, flowers, and horses, all familiar, all welcome. The gentle rumble of the metalled wheels going over pebbles on the dirt road down the mountain slowly becomes less forward and more a gentle droning sound. Hans handles the horses with experience, he was often given the task of driving the carriages in risky areas, he smiles faintly like a craftsman after selling a favored work. By the time the pair are in the valley the sun is fully up, a figure atop an elk can be seen at the mouth of the trail. Han’s brow furrows at the sight, he hands the reins to Freja who seems unphased by the event while he grabs the sole ranged weapon he brought. A crossbow. He uses the crank to pull back the drawstring and loads a bolt. “What in the name of the gods is that for?” Freja asks nervously “We are not alone in these trees.” Hans says searching the treeline for movement. “Who else is here?” Freja asks now obviously concerned. “Smell the air, listen to the woods, something is watching us.” Hans says Freja smelled the air, apart from the normal scents of it all she could smell a moose, and nother smell she was unfamiliar with. She tried her best to listen from abnormal sounds, a strange chittering could be heard well beyond the distance Hans could hear, but Freja too knew the forest was too quiet for mid-spring. “What kind of beasts live here?” Freja asks. “I’ve seen trolls, cave bears, wolf packs, and the stray Dyir tribe in these woods, but the foresters and uplanders claim that they’ve seen dragons fly towards jagged jaw ridge.” Hans says, still totally alert. “Then what’s watching us then Hans?!” Freja asks frantic but quiet “Well do you know anything that rides Elk and wields a bow?” Hans asks. “Oh. Yes actually. Vixens do.” She says flatly “I doubt she-foxes ride elk.” Hans says doubtfully. “No vixens are Fofner widows.” She says seemingly elated. “Fofner?” Hans asks. “As we vulfan are akin to wolves fofner are akin to foxes.” Freja explains. Hans simply nods and returns his eyes to the road ahead. Not long after the cicadas begin to buzz and the bird songs. Hans’s focus seems to fade and his smile returns. Freja goes into the interior of the wagon and grabs the book of legends, she stares at Hans as if waiting for him to do something. Her tail swings gently behind the bench. Freja’s ears shoot up as she hears a single twig snap a ways beyond the treeline. “Hans. Look and listen.” She whispers. Hans slows the wagon, he stares out beyond the treeline. Hans knows that Freja has far better hearing but he thinks that humans would generally have better sight. Freja eyes can see as far, but at some point all the greens, reds, and oranges all blend into browns and yellows and violets become more like a blue. Hans catches a glimpse of an orange figure atop an elk with a flute in its hands mimicking bird songs. “I think its one of the Fofner you were talking about.” Hans whispers. “How can you tell?” Freja askes hushedly. “I saw a little orange figure atop an elk playing a flute.” Hans explains as he points deep into the woods. “How can you see color that far?” Freja demands. “Same reason you can hear and smell so much better than humans.” He retorts with prejudice. Hans looks at Freja and then too the book held tight in her clawed hands. “I suppose now is a fine time for a reading lesson.” he says. Freja’s eyes light up as Hans opens the book, the first page filled with thirty big and thirty small symbols, the second with different ones entirely. Hans points to the first symbol on the first page. “Aye.” “Aye.” Freja recites. “Good. Now Bee.” Hans praises raising his next challenge “Bee. You do know I know the syllables right?” Freja says. Hans points to a circle with a line through it. “What is that letter Freja?” He asks. Freja looks blankly at Hans. “Thought so. It's Oou” He says. As they pass the letter Z in the alphabet and the sun casts the smallest shadow of the day a small wooden fort comes into view. It’s a simple build with delimbed tree trunks forming the outer wall with a sizable wooden gate. A handful of lightly armored guards bearing longbows stand watch in green and brown uniform. “Ah the foresters fort, I was wondering when we’d come by it.” Hans exclaims with seeming relief. “Foresters?” Freja asks. “They guard the trails between holds, each fort is a different family, fresh men are drawn from the keeps during the raiding season, but I hear they are rather friendly, if a tad isolationist.” Hans says. “We'll eat within the walls.” Hans waves the guards who open the gate. Two foresters greet the wagon looking it over with prying eyes. “You with the guild?” The one of the guards asks. “Yes.” Hans replies in short order. “You look a bit young to be out of the service, why aren’t you with the army?” The other asks. “Just got out.” Hans quickly responds. “The Vulf?” The other asks. “Trophy.” Hans hesitantly responds. “What tribe?” the other asks. “Buckhunter.” Freja responds “Poor girl” the forester whispers. “Name sir?” The first forester asks. “Hans Woeda” He answers. “Ah. We heard about you from a guard on a compliance check, you’re good to make camp, water your horses or what have you.” The forester states stepping aside. The men close the gate behind the wagon placing two large metal rods to lock it. Hans leads the wagon over a water trough before dismounting and taking the horses off their yolk, seeming to struggle and wince a little while doing so. “You can get out, Freja.” Hans says while walking with his cane to the back of the wagon. Freja dismounts the wagon still clutching the book in her arms. She follows Hans who is grabbing a cast iron pan and a metal stand. “Can you grab the salt pork?” He asks Freja, who promptly grabs the salted half-carcass. Freja holds it up and Hans takes out his blade and cuts off about a half pound of meat off the belly. “lessons will finish after the meal.” He says grabbing the firemaker rod and walking over to the firewood pile on the sides of what seems to be a store or barracks. Holding the firemaker rod in his left hand, three quarter logs under his left arm and his cane in his right hand he walks back over to the wagon. Freja takes the logs from Hans and places them underneath the stand the pan is on. Once Freja is an arm’s length from the woodpile Hans waves the wand in a circle and then smacks its back with his cane making a small fireball to shoot onto the wood instantly setting them ablaze. “Thanks for the help.” Hans says looking down at the lit fire. “Aside from pork what else will we eat?” Freja asks. “Depends on what the foresters have for sale.” Hans says plainly. “Is money not an issue anymore to you?” Freja asks. “No. Even if I didn’t make an absurd amount of money my last year, and moreover the last battle, I would have more than enough to live off till the day I die.” Hans says pridefully. “How so?” Freja asks. “Do you remember Otto?” He asks. “Of course, the kind fellow from the guild.” Freja cheers. “Well I asked him to invest the money, every coin of the first three years.” Hans explains “Invest?” Freja asks. “That’s a bit complicated for a lunch conversation.” Hans says smiling as he shakes his head. “How so?” Freja asks. “I’d rather not talk about the intricacies of the guild’s workings.” Hans says resolutely in his position. “Pah. You humans and you overy complex lives.” Freja says annoyed that her insistence failed. “You have no idea tribeswoman.” Hans says distantly. Minute or so passes and Hans waves his hand above the pan. Determining it was now hot enough he takes out his kopis once more and cubes the chunk of pork belly. He takes the meat and carefully places it all skin side down. He sits down, letting the smell of the pork wash over him, he seems to begrudgingly get up once more to Freja's surprise and grabs a metal mug from the wagon and he walks over to a spring, filling it, returning and pouring it all into the pan. “What’s the water for?” Freja asks. “Its a salted meat, you have to add some otherwise it’s really too salty and tough to eat comfortably.” Hans answers before returning to the wagon to grab a loaf of black bread cutting four thin slices off. “Eat.” Hans instructs handing Freja two slices. “We never Vulfan never use salt meat, we smoke the meat for the winter.” Freja says between a bite of the brown bread. “Interesting.” Hans says stirring the contents of the pan. “We have a special tent we use for it, the men would dig the bottom down and place branches tied together over it. Then us females would fill it with the red-leaf hunt, everything was used from bone to brain.” Freja continues. Hans looks up from the pan and up to Freja across the fire. “If you’d like I could buy you one.” He offers. “That is not the way, you cannot buy them.” She responds flatly “Tell me why.” Hans asks. “Each year they are made from the hides of the first hunt when the days are warm and long. After curing the summer it is adorned with one in hundred beads made.” She says clutching the wooden necklace she had forgotten to take off the day of battle. “Such things cannot be bought, human.” She says “Can one be found?” Hans asks. Freja stares at him with cold eyes “I will not stand idly if you attack Vulfan.” She says her muzzle furrowing. Hans leans towards Freja “Between you and me wolfess, I don’t think I am in any way, shape, or form to fight a tribe alone.” He says staring at her with fire in his eyes. “You slew a chieftain, my chieftain no less, that carries more weight than you think.” She says back coldy. “He crippled me woman, It has been over a week and I can hardly walk without a cane like an elder, I doubt I could fight you off even if I wanted to.” He says, his eyes still burning. “Does that mean I am free to leave when I please?” Freja says, still staring at Hans. “If you’d like you can return to whatever is left of your tribe and live among your kin.” He says before stirring the pan. “I can’t.” Freja says her perked ears folding onto her head. “How so?” Hans asks once more. “Your mate died, I missed my chance.” Freja laments “Did he die?” Hans asks. “I don’t even know who he *would* have been.” She somberly says. “You didn’t have a betrothed?” Hans presses. “No, why would I have?” Freja retorts “Well in the keeps we’re often told who we are to marry the day the younger of the two is born.” He says casually. “What about the love between them?” Freja raises. Hans stirs the meat again before looking up once more. “Love’s a choice, sure feelings help, but at the end of the day you choose to fall in, stay, or fall out of it.” He says. “Love’s a feeling human, it’s warm and it's comforting, it blooms, you do not fall into it, it is not happenstance, and once you love someone you never truly stop.” She says. “I was once in love wolfess, I poured my heart and soul into her and she did the same with me. I was to marry her once I returned from my service, but you knew that already, so I stayed in the service until I forgot everything I could about her. And yet I couldn’t. It is a choice, you choose to love, you choose to devote your mind, body, and soul to protect love.” He argues letting anger slip into his voice. “Is that so human? Tell me then I have heard stories of your men, before you wore metal scales across your bodies, that you fought with red anger, was that a choice? Was that love? Did your ilk become little more than shrieking berserkers for… what was it? The choice of love? No, their emotions drove them to that, the heart leads the mind not the other way. Their love of their home allowed them to be blessed by the gods to fight us off.” Freja retorts. “I see you know of the legend of the five hundred wolfess, but then you should know that we humans have but one god, that we were cast from heaven unfinished, that we were given minds to leave the hearts. Their love may have driven them to such feats, but it was their CHOICE to do so, they gave themselves to our lord as tools willingly, they were not forced, they’re hearts did not betray their minds, but rather they gave their mind to their heart, letting it choose.” Hans argues. “Pah, the legend makes no mention of that.” Freja spits. “But it does, it says so in the legend.” Hans says confused. “Prove it.” Freja raised. Hans gives the meat a stir before taking his cane and walking over towards the wagon. He rests against the wagon as he uses his cane to pull the book from the middle of the bench. “Ah, there we go” he exclaims before the thing practically flies into his free hand. He then flips through it coming to a page that only he can read between the two of them. He sits for a minute reading three pages before. His confidence waivers and he sets down the book. Upon returning he stirs the meat once more. “We were both wrong.” He says. “What? How so? Freja demands. “God did not bless them, and it was not love that overtook them.” He says flatly. “That’s not the legend I was told as a pup.” Freja comments. “Likewise.” Hans agrees. “Well what did it say?” Freja asks petulantly. “You’ll have to read it yourself.” Hans says with a grin. Freja just stares at him a mix of annoyed and hopeful. “Is that a promise or a challenge?” She plays. Hans looks over his shoulders. He leans in towards Freja “That’s up to you.” He stirs the meat once more, poking the kopis into the fattest piece of meat. It gives no resistance as the blade leaves. “It's done.” Hans says. “Freja can you get the bowls from the Wagon?” Freja gets up without a word and dutifully does what was asked of her. She sits down holding the bowls in her lap and begins to think. Why did I just do that? She looks up at Hans who just seems to be confused. “What?” She demands of Hans. Hans stares back for a second, crooking his neck. “You gonna give me my bowl?” He asks hesitantly. Freja just stares on at Hans, noticing things she never did before. How perfectly grey his eyes were, how that scar on his jaw just further refines its sharpness. The more she looks the more she likes. “Hey. Freja. Bowl.” Hans says snapping Freja from her trance. “Uh. Um. Yeah. Here.” She says fumbling her words and miraculously returning to a normal face. She looks at Hans once again, her seeming infatuation being lost. She stares more, just to make sure, watchin him scrape meat off the pan and into his bowl. “Freja.” Hans calls, the wolfess still staring at him. “Freja!” He calls again, this time getting her to look at his eyes. “What?” she says annoyed. “The rest is yours.” Hans says gesturing the meat. “Oh. Thanks.” She says seemingly distant. Hans pays that no mind. Infact, he didn’t even notice, much to the strange annoyance of Freja. He’s hyper focused on his food. She uses Han’s Kopis to scrape the rest of the pork cubes into her bowl. She frowns a bit. She looks at the meat, it's clearly cooked through and glistening with fat. She hesitantly grabs one of the cubes with her clawed finger, letting it rest before flinging it into her mouth. Meat. Heat. Salt. “Food for the women.” She thought remembering how the men always got the fresh game, roasted with fruit and herb while she got bone broth and wild onion with salted boar and stuffed lining. “Human. You claim to have loved. Yes?” She asks formally. “Yes.” Hans replies quickly. “Have you lusted?” She asks immediately after. “Lusted for what?” Hans asks carefully. “Your betrothed, did you yearn for her touch?” She asks. “Yes.” Hans replies. “Did it feel like every minute detail becomes more noticeable?” She asks. “No. Why do you ask?” Hans replies. “No reason, just curious.” She asks. “Have you not?” Hans raises. “I’m not sure, but there were not many males in the tribe that were of the same season.” She explains. “Why was that? I did notice more archers than warriors.” Hans asks. “Mother said that only a few males were born for whatever reason, most of the males that were born in my tribe died as pups from jaw rot.” She says “What in God’s name is jaw rot?!” Hans exclaims. “It’s a sickness that attacks male pups. It causes their jaw to rot. You can’t cure it, no blessing, no herb, nothing.” She laments before eating another cube of pork. “Did you burn the bodies?” Hans asks just after swallowing. Freja looks at Hands in disgust. “Gods no…” She exclaims. “Its how you prevent bodies from spreading plague. You dig a pit, lay in wood, and have the bellringers pile the corpses. We had a little rhyme to remember it as kids. ~Burn the sickly dead so the plague won’t spread!~” Hans chimes. Freja looks at the human in disbelief, wondering how and why you would teach children that. “You were taught that as kids?” She asks, seeking clarity. “Yes, before our first communions at fifth winter.” Hans clarifies. Freja stares astonished at the human in front of her. For what reason? She wonders while her hand feeds her almost unwittingly. Hans finishes in utter silence, occasionally looking up to the reeling Freja. He grabs a pail from the wagon and limps over to the watering hole and doses the fire out filling the pan with water which instantly boils The hiss of the water snaps her from her new trance, and back to the place she’s at. The familiar smell of dried wood, the lingering pork, and the forest itself. She sounds of birds singing and distant metal clinking. She smells the air once more desperate for something not human. Her eyes widen. There’s another Vulfan in the woods. A male. Something wells in her chest, and she’s overtaken by the need to see whoever it is. She hurriedly packs up the wagon as Hans yolks the horses. Her mind is racing in anticipation. She can hardly contain her excitement. She can smell the male shadowing the wagon. Hans can feel something’s wrong, while Freja may be ecstatic about being on the trail he thinks, he knows something is amiss. He swears he hears a stick snap occasionally and his arm hair stands on end. The feeling doesn’t leave, it intensifies the longer they go down the trail. Hans thinks as to what may be trailing his wagon. A troll? Too smelly. A bear? Too big. A rock worm? Not here. Hans thinks as he scans the treeline and brush looking for something, anything. He sees something move, but is unsure as to what. Not a troll, not a bear, not a worm. It’s smarter. A mountain lion? No, it wouldn’t feel this close. Hans takes the crossbow he loaded earlier and sits in his lap. Freja still seems unaware to Hans, but he’s beginning to notice that her nose is smelling something. As Hans whips his neck back he sees his stalker, a grey Vulfan. He stares at the wolf, as if challenging it to a fight. The Vulfan then vanishes into the cover of the brush. Freja can smell the male still nearby even as they come to an area filled with flowers. She hopes that the male is firstly mateless and secondly of a good tribe. She’s seen him, but so has Hans. She’s worried, the male smells young, and while stronger than Hans as most Vulfan are, Hans is a proven threat. She considers cutting Hans with her claws, but will she be able to fight him off? Hans has said he likely can’t, so what’s the hesitation for? She thinks. She looks at Hans once more that infatuation tugging at her heart once more, he’s strong, scarred up and down, and intense. It’s oddly attractive? Freja’s conundrum continues for what feels like an hour more. Before she can make a decision a throwing spear plants itself an Inch from Hans’ head. Freja turns to Hans who’s raising his crossbow. “NO!” She cries as the bolt flies from the device. She barely has enough time to look at the male fully before the bolt connects with his chest with a meaty thud. He stands on his feet for a second more, staring at Freja with an apologetic look before tearing the bolt from his chest and falling to his knees. Hans dismounts the wagon with his kopis in hand as he approaches the bleeding wolf. He leans in and whispers. “Give me the blade human, I will die on my own terms.” He growls. Hans reluctantly gives the wolf his blade. The males smiles and swings at Hans who sidesteps barely fast enough. The male rises, pointing a clawed finger at Freja. “I will have you once I have his head.” He boasts. Given the moment Hans grabs the crossbow bolt from the ground and raises his cane. The beast turns to Hans grinning.“For such a young human you’re rather frail.” The Wolf mocks “Are you a firedancer?” Hans asks with a smile. The wolf’s grin vanishes. “No human, I’m a keeptaker.” He says proudly. “Is that so? I killed a fair few of you when I was in the service.” Hans says before taking three engraved wooden necklaces from his pocket. “I kept the ones I didn’t cut through.” He leers. The wolf charges with Hans’ Kopis raised like an axe, Hans steps to the side and hooks his knee with his cane yanking hard until he hears a bone breaking crack clearly separating his paw from his ankle. The wolf howls and gets up,leaning on his good foot. “You aren’t frail, are you human? you’re a broken soldier.” He says with a growl. “We can go our separate ways here and now, just give me my blade.” Hans offers. “Why would I do that?” The creature scoffs. Freja shouted to the wolf “It's a chief slayer, like the human you foolishly decided to fight.” The wolf throws the blade down as if it’s cursed. “You. Slew. A. Chief?” The creature asks. “The Buckhunter chieftain, and I’ve captured three banners, all of which are in my wagon.” Hans boasts. “Keep your mate you reek of her, I hope she’s a buckhunter, just give me my spear and I’ll be on my way.” The wolfman sneers. “Why would I give you the spear you threw?” Hans demands. “Because I surrendered your blade.” The wolfman responds. “Fair enough.” Hans says walking back to the wagon. Freja is livid. She stares at the spear lodged in the wagon. Her anger doesn’t subside as she grips it. “Was it the Keeptakers who destroyed the Buckhunters?” Freja asks full of rage. The wolf seems confused. “Who else would?” He responds. “Tell me what happened.” She demands fire in her heart. “After we heard a human slew their chief. If a creature as weak as a human could kill their chief we decided that they were too weak to live. I heard they merged with the longtooth tribe, we keeptakers couldn’t care less about those failures of Vulfan.” Freja throws the spear into the male, watching his face from arrogant pride to terror. The point rips through his neck. Hans then approaches from behind and stabs him through his heart. “A kinslayer is not fit to live.” Hans says as he twists the blade. The wolf’s body is dragged into the bushes by Hans as Freja lets out a great howl. “Freja-” Hans says sternly. “Don’t. We Vulfan fight among ourselves regularly.” She states. “I know, but I’m not going to let someone become a kinslayer if I can avoid it.” Hans states. “He wasn’t my kin, my kin are dead.” Freja growls. “It doesn’t matter, a kinslayer is a kinslayer.” Hans says back “What is kin to you Human?” Freja snarls. “We are all the children of God. All of mankind is my kin.” Hans says back. “The Vulfan are no god’s child, the great wolf died long before we were born.” Freja says with a cold anger. “So be it, we need to keep moving.” Hans responds with conviction. “Fine.” Freja agrees. The ride is silent for the rest of the day, Hans does his best to recall locations and his unwavering alertness drains any energy that could be left for emotion. Freja is not as lucky as Hans, she hasn’t had years of bloodshed to sap her of her heart, nor has she the discipline and maturity of the older human but she’s faring well, at least Hans silently thinks so. Freja is still white hot angry. As night falls Hans is still keeping on. “You can sleep Freja, we need to get to the southern foothills.” Hans offers. “I’m still wide awake Human.” Freja states. “So be it, but that Vulfan hunter made these woods deadly.” Hans says clenching the reins of the wagon. “True.” Freja agrees for the second time in her life. The tension between the pair seems to slowly release as they listen to the grind of wooden wheels on dirt and catch glimpses of the star filled sky as they ride through clearings. Hans lets out a sigh as the flat trail they ride on slowly gains little rises and falls, Freja finds it soothing, letting it wash her anger away with every little hill. She can feel her eyelids go heavy and senses dull. “Is the offer of rest still standing?” Freja asks. “It never was taken down.” Hans replies with a yawn. Freja climbs up the noches in the wagon’s exterior and into the tented top. She finds an unmade bed and bag of Han’s things. She lies on the soft “floor” of it and rolls up in a blanket with a strange pocket for her paws. She lays on her side, letting out a larger yawn, one where her jaws open wide enough to sink into a man’s rib and shoulder. Her eyes flutter as she looks out of the opening taking in the moon at the end of the trail and how the trees seem to reach out to hug her. She finally closes her eyes, leaving Hans alone with his thoughts. Hans wonders about all he will see, the excitement of the new world beyond the mountains and the hills, of peoples other than the sea people from beyond the waves and the Norse of whom he hails. He wishes to see all that Otto has and more. He knows he’s getting tired, but he also knows the woods are deadly, and like the good soldier he doesn’t think he is anymore, he's going to march until he’s safe. As he feels the true foothills begin he relaxes a bit, taking a long deep breath, He knows that the Keeptaker hunting grounds end as First Fang Mountain stands ominously in the distance. He reflects not the battle he fought there but the friends he made, the children he told stories to, and mostly of the women who tried their best to make him feel welcome. While he doesn’t sleep he does lead the horses to a stream, letting them drink and eat the surrounding plants. He nabs a slice of black bread and smears a tiny pad of butter across it. He dismounts and drinks from the stream with his horses, content with the day’s journey. Morning comes quick, nights in the North are short in the summer and painfully long in the winter, but it isn’t the light that wakes Freja up, it's the grinding sound of the wagon moving once more. She peers out of the tent to look at the driver. The Horses look brushed, and the driver corpse-like. She feels a ping of fear before she realizes it is just Hans who is just a pale Human. She sighs, and it becomes a jaw stretching yawn. With a wet schlop she closes her maw and climbs down the ladder to where Hans is sitting. “You sleep well, human” Freja asks. “Sleep? No, I didn’t sleep.” The human replies. “And you think you’re fit to drive the wagon?” the Wolfess asks mockingly. “Woman. So help me.” He growls before raising a mug of a black liquid to his mouth. “The sun is up human, you shouldn’t be drinking.” Freja says unamused. “This isn’t liquor, though if this is how you’re going to be I may as well add some.” He retorts. “Pah.” Freja pouts. “Boo hoo, go awoo wolfess.” The driver exclaims with all the cheer of a corpse. Freja crawls back into the tent and hunger catches her slowly. She can feel her mood sour more as the emptiness in her stomach grows. “That damned human.” She growls. Soon something goes through the tent’s flaps, it reeks of smoke, meat, and pepper. It looks like an overstuffed sausage. Freja tries not pay it any mind, but the smell seems to just grow in potency and variety. Spices that smell like a burn feels, onions, herbs and even the meats it was made from seem to split apart. Veal, pork, beef. A drop of saliva drops from her muzzle, her body yearning for the food. She turns to look at it again, studying the link of meat. It’s a dark violet, what seems like a hardened paste on the inside. It doesn’t look at all like the sausage from yesterday but almost like blood stew if made into a sausage, but the smell clearly has fats of three different animals. Her inhibition to take food from the rude human is almost lost after a particularly deep breath. Her mouth feels like its flooding, in the meanwhile Hans is riding the ancient pastime of Nordic soldiers: Coffee and daydreaming. While Hans is reverting to his natural state of not being in his own body, Freja feels the primal urge to eat what is given while her mind detests the very idea of eating what the human has given her. She wonders why she accepted the food yesterday, and why she didn’t kill him and run off when she had the chance. Just as her mind wanders back to yesterday's fight a burning fills her. It starts in her breast, and goes down her torso just above her nethers. Freja thinks its just a reaction to hunger and in two bites scarfs down the sausage, it gives her a brief respite, the flavor being that of blood stew but enhanced and added upon. Before the feeling begins to make her shiver she silently relents “for all humans are, they know how to make food.” Outside Hans can feel the forest begin to end as the forest gradually becomes the brush of the southern foothills. He knows this land, the Steppe. Hans loads the crossbow and keeps his kopis near, there are tribes here who do not take kindly to humans, and others still are allied and would let him have dinner with their clan. Freja in the tent above has never been here before, nor does she know this land as the Steppe, she knows it as Equis. The land of the Horses and the sworn enemy of her kind. Freja continues to have her breast and nethers burn, they yearn for something but she doesn’t know what. She writhes on the soft bed of the tent trying to fight this burning, it makes her nether feel wet and breast hot, and while it doesn’t hurt it is most certainly uncomfortable for her. “Is this the human’s doing?” She growls. “All good up there Wolfess?” Hans calls up to the tent. Freja scowls. “What have you done to me?!” She shouts. Hans furrows his brow. “Are you unwell? I'm coming up there.” He calls. “NO.” Freja shouts. “Not a debate. If you are ill I need to know.” Hans answers. With a tug of the reins Hans brings the wagon off the path and to a stop. As he climbs up the ladder-notches a pawful of claws nearly connects with his face. “Women and wolves…” He growls. Once he enters the tent he takes a sniff of the air. “By God it reeks of a dog in heat!” He exclaims as Freja scowls hatefully at him. “What?” Hans replies to Freja’s scowl. “What. Is. Heat?” Freja snarls her muzzle furrowed. “A bitch’s rut” Hans responds with a straight face. “You mean mating time?” Freja spits “Yes.” Hans replies flatly “I am not a goddamn hound!” Freja snaps. Hans ponders his experience with the wolfkind.“Why do you think marriage is at a certain year and always in spring Wolf?” Hans questions as he sits down. “It is the way.” Freja replies staring at the human intently. “Culture submits itself to nature at the end of the day.” Hans explains. “And how can you prove that?” Freja snarls the scent of the human filling her nose and mind. “Humans are always in heat once we mature, hence our spouses are given to us when the first us are born.” He says, beginning to take off his shirt. “What are you doing human?” Freja says with a mix of anger and confusion. “Never wear a shirt to bed.” He says. “Well if you can, my cuts are healed so I won’t bleed on it.” “And what does that have to do with heat?” Barks Freja who seemingly can’t bring herself to look away from the man. “Men aren’t mature when we can start having children, our bodies are far too frail, we don’t mature until between our twenty second and twenty sixth winter.” Hans explains. “And how many winters have you lived through human, I have lived through eighteen.” Freja asks anger still in her voice. “Twenty four winters, even if I had two years to grow, I would spend them healing now.” Hans laments. Freja’s face sheds its anger. “You’re a fair bit younger than I thought.” She says. Hans chuckles “Yes, I have yet to have grey in my hair and I have yet to grow a beard and yet I walk with a cane.” He says a somber grin spreads on his face. “By the gods you're a lame horse of a human.” Freja says with a sly grin trying her best to ignore the burning in her nethers. Hans scowls at Freja. “Masturbate or bathe in a cold spring.” He says before putting back on his shirt “What does masturbate mean?” Freja demands with a snap. “It is the age old pastime of soldiers, pleasure yourself and get on with life.” Hans says climbing down the ladder. “Pleasure. Yourself?” Freja stares at where the human was, his smell still hanging in the air. She looks down at her breast, ample, not a mother’s, but beyond that, the source of her burning, tucked away under her tunic and her softer undergarments.. She moves a clawed hand to her nethers exploring it, moving up her tunic, sliding the last layer aside. With a simple touch to her wet folds she begins letting the pleasures of the flesh flii her body and mind. She smells the scent of the human as she explores her dripping intimacy. She dreams of her perfect mate, taller, a revered warrior, scarred and resolute. As the first knuckle of her pointer finger enters her body her knees close together and back arches. She’s never felt anything like this before, it’s alien to her, but it feels right. Natural. She begins to move her finger in a circle from the bump that causes electric pings of pleasure to run through like a river to the gentler sensations of her insides. She grinds her hips on her hand panting as the heat in her body burns ever hotter. She arches her back instinctively and presses her snout harder into the soft, human smelling padded floor of the tent. The more she smells the more extreme the pleasure is, something wells within her like an eruption. One more rub. Release. Her mind floods with pleasure unlike any other she had felt before, once again the idea of a mate fills her mind with the smell. Just as she reaches her climax and screams from pleasure into the padded floor a person fills her mind. Hans, covered in scars, stands before a rocky coast. The first thing she feels is bliss, then shame, then anger. “That dammanable human is working himself into my head.” Freja growls, but can’t work herself up like before. She instead lies down and peeks her head out of the front of the tent staring out at the world around her. The earth seems almost entirely flat with a stray stream or low wide hills, the trees are sparse and short, clusters of bushes poke through the tall waving grass. The air is rather cool, much like the mountains and valleys she called home, but much dryer, it smells of flowers and grass but little else. Off the road she can see a family of Tusk-Moose striding along next to some strange feathered beasts. She stares at the behemoths, the largest bull moose of the wood stands as tall as a warchief at the shoulder but these things, those moose wouldn’t even stand at the hips of these beasts at tips of their antlers. Freja eyes up the beast wondering how something would go about hunting one, and if it could feed a tribe alone. One of the tusk-moose turns to face her, massive arched tusks coming from its lower jaw as long as the human is tall. For a beast that looks that fearsome it takes a look at the wagon for a minute before turning around and continuing on its way. Throughout that minute Freja was overcome with a fear, the kind that paralyzes men in the face of death. Hans paid its due respect, remaining quiet and just keeping on moving. Freja pulls her clothes back to where they belong and climbs down to join the human she quite frankly has little idea as to why she stays with. “You well?” She asks. Hans turns to her, the sun hiding the ghoul-like tiredness on his face. “Couldn’t sleep…” He pauses. “The stars last night you should’ve seen them, one seemed to glow like the moon, the woods sung a song. Did you hear it Wolfess?” He asks, staring past her. “The woods didn’t sing human. Believe me my ears are better than anything your kind could even fathom.” Freja responds with a degree of annoyance in her voice. “They sang, I tell you. ‘look out, look out, man is here the hidden are near. For those who can run and hide Do so, do so before you die.’” He sings. Freja laughs. “Are you serious? You need sleep.” She mocks. Han’s eyes return to their normal half-open but focused look. “Say what you will wolfess, I know what I heard.” He says ignoring her jab. “As for sleep I’ll rest once we reach Patras Hold at the mouth of the river Jeln.” He reasons. Freja shakes her head. “Forts, holds, cities, keeps. It's all so tiresome, why not sleep on the side of the side of the road like last night.”She suggests. “Because unlike the woods where we rested last night, which were under the protection of the Graniferro Keep, these lands have no such rulers, and no such permanent borders. If we are to rest hereit will be with a friendly Equis tribe or horselords.” He answers. “For a soldier you know far too much about the world outside your keep.” Freja states. “And you probably know more about the woods and valleys than I, men know men, wolves know wolves.” He says in a matter of fact manner. “I know more than just the woods human, I know of the Cats, of the birds, bears, and elk, of their forms that walk like you and me.” She says. “As a matter of fact we Buckhunters camp with the Grazzal tribe come winter. As for the cats I have been to one of their cities with my father.” She says proudly. “I have never met a bear on the battlefield, and my only time meeting a cat was when I saw them men of Vakcala march out their new slaves from the city of De’maka.” He responds. “Tell me what a Khajt city is like when people still walk the streets, I have only ever been in their ruins.” Hans asks with a slight smile. “If I tell you of the hidden claws you must give me today's lesson” Freja says with a grin. “Damn me, I forgot, it’s nearly midday isn’t it.” Hans says before smacking his forehead. Freja looks up. “I’d believe so.” She answers before smelling the air. “Good. We're on schedule then.” Hans replies while he scans the horizon for nomads. A smell fills the air that reeks of horses and sweat. Its far too faint for Hans to smell, but is just enough for Freja. Hans vision sharpens and a slight haze fills the air, he doesn’t actively notice it but it turns to the sky paler blue. “Somethings off human.” Freja says the calm dropping from her voice. Hans replies hushedly “I can feel it too. What does your nose tell you?” He asks as he reaches for his crossbow. “It reeks of sweat and animals.” She says quickly looking around for a weapon of her own. Hans’ face drops. “Say you prayers Freja. This may be our last day alive.” He says with wide eyes. “What do you mean?” Freja says shallowly. “I’ll tell you if we survive.” He mumbles before pulling the wagon into a thicket of low, dense brush. Hans shivers and climbs inside the wagon’ storage area pushing aside some of the bags and boxes. He then pulls Freja inside the compartment, she resists and hesitates for a second but decides that whatever scares the human is certainly worth fearing. She sits next to the strange human, noting legitimate fear on his face, something she didn’t see when he faced death itself. Hans takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. The image of a lance, saber, and bow fills his head. The tanned skin of the Scourge of God. Rank after rank of reptiles of every shape and size, armies of Norse, Uros, and the horselords who rejected the black stallion. Freja places a hand on Hans’ shoulder hesitating for a second before she lets herself embrace the human. She does not know why she felt the compulsion to get close to the man but it seems right to her. “Tell me human, what happened here?” she asks, trying her best to be comforting. “The Scourge’s horde met its end.” He says staring at the wall. “You fought here?” Freja asks Hans thinks back to the battle, wincing at the memory. “Yes. We were heading south to meet with our southern cousins, the Teuns, to help with what we thought was just a normal tribal confederacy.” He answers, stopping abruptly. “What happened?” Freja asks her curiosity getting the better of her. Hans continues to stare at the ground, his mind racing about the three months he spent on the steppe. “I’d rather not say.” He says. With that Freja pulls back, letting Hans go. “How long are we going to wait here human?” She asks. “Until the steppe people’s leave or night falls. Whichever comes first.” Hans answers. “Do they not kill at night?” She asks. “The Equis don’t see well at night and so they spend them drunk.” He says “So we’ll just sneak past them.” Freja comments “Hopefully.” Hans follows. The two wait in silence for a time before Hans has an idea. “If there ever was a time for a reading lesson it would be now.” He tells Freja “In the dark of a wagon?” Freja questions. “We have a lantern.” Hans raises. “Perfect” She responds somewhat relieved. Hans winces as he stands up He thinks to himself “where might the lantern be?” and begins to search through the first bag he thinks it may be in. He digs down the bottom trying to find it but after another minute or so he determines that it is not in the large leather bag and thinks it may be in the wooden box next to it. Much to his surprise the lantern and its oil are right there at the top. He prepares the lantern and lights it with a flick. “Freja do you know where I put the book yesterday?” He asks while adjusting the burn knob on the lantern for a perfect low burn. “I believe you put it by the pans yesterday.” Freja answers. A quick check yields results as right beside the pans, in front of the fire frame, the leather bound book sits. “Thanks Freja.” Hans says before walking back over to the chest where the wolfess is sitting. “Anytime human.” She replies. Hans opens the book the faint smell of parchment helping soothe his aching nerves. “That’s such a pleasant smell.” He remarks taking a deep breath “To you.” Freja replies scratching at her twitching nose. “You have the alphabet down from yesterday?” Hans asks. “Yes.” Freja says before reciting the 30 letters of the alphabet, beginning with A and ending with Z as she was taught. “Very good, now today I’ll have you write them, and we’ll see where we get after that.” Hans states. Freja stares at the human. “I’m now learning to write too?” She says nodding her head. “It's faster to learn both at once than either alone” Hans retorts. “And it's helpful to know how to write.” he follows up with. Freja’s nose twitches and poins a claw at the human. “You reek of fear and anxiety human. The smell of hooves and bark aren’t helping. Hans gets up and begins to look for the fancy pen he’d bought, supposedly it was like a quill but the ink was on the inside. “I should’ve grabbed the journal and pen when I was up already” he gripes, feeling the movement in his still sore legs. He knows where it is but it's a pain to get to, especially when trying to be quiet. He slides aside one of the crates of food, wincing as he hears the grinding sound, while it’s certainly more potent for Freja, she pays it little mind. After opening the crate underneath he grabs the box. The carved guild and religious symbols of the Vikur, a mercantile people from the western deserts. Inside the box is the men, a fat metal tube about the size of a slim cigar. Beside it was a stack of loose paper bound with five ornate rings. It had cost him a fair amount but the alternative was only two silver and a copper less and far worse quality. He hold the box gently as one may hold a chick, and moves silently to sit beside Freja once more. “Are we finally ready human?” Freja asks. “That’s Mister Woeda to you pupil” Hans says with faux pompousness. “Pah ‘Woeda’, I’ll call you Hans but I don’t see a clan large enough to use tribe names.” Freja protests. “Last I checked wolves didn’t read or write student.” Hans remarks, the subtlety of his insult not lost on the wolfess. “Regardless, your first assignment is to write your own name.” “My name?” Freja asks rhetorically. “Fer-ae-a… No Fer-a-ja.” She says to herself why trying to spell the name. “Freja. Your name is that of the beauty spirit?” Hans prods trying to tie her pronunciations to her spellings. “Fre-ja” “Yes.” She says before writing out Pher-aie-a, then changes her mind and writes Friyia instead. “It’s F-R-E-J-A old Norse not modern.” Hans corrects. “There’s an OLD Norse to learn too?” Freja gripes. “Oh no, just many names and legends use some of the old words.” Hans corrects. “Why not just change the spelling?” Freja questions writing her own name, albeit it crudely. Freja, feels a slight smile at the base of her muzzle, an odd feeling of completion. Her own name, written for the first time, with her own paws. “Good. Now, I want you to try writing some of the things around us down.” Hans assigns before pointing at the floor of the wagon. “Are you pointing at the wagon or the floor?” Freja asks nonchalantly. “Floor.” “Ah.” Freje responds before writing out Flor. “Flo-or, two O’s.” Hans corrects and Freja gripes before rewriting the word properly. “Now, spell my name.” Freja fiddles with the pen for a moment, deciding on H-A-N-S, as Hans sounds like hands minus the d. “I think it’s right.” She whisper-calls to Hans. Hans looks over the paper, content after seeing his name. “Good, now I want you to write down ten things in this wagon.” He instructs W-A-L, C-R-A-T-E, H-O-O-M-A-N. She pauses to look around doing her best to guess at the words. “That sideways bow? What’s it called?” She asks. “A Crossbow.” Hans answers She sounds out the next set of words in her head. C-R-O-S-B-O, P-A-N, S-P-I-T, B-O-T-L. She turns to look around once again sounding more things out in her head. B-O-O-K, P-E-N, S-E-L-I-N-G, B-A-G. “Done.” She announces. “You got half.” Hans remarks. “What did I get wrong human?” Freja demands “Wall, Human, Crossbow, Bottle, and Ceiling.” He answers. “The others you got right, try again on the others. Remember the sounds I taught you yesterday.” He instructs. While Freja gives re-writing the words a shot Hans peers out over the Steppe, a small band of Equis on their feathered mounts tending a herd of goats and cattle. Judging on their mane lengths they aren’t old enough to be warriors. He breathes a sigh of relief. Meanwhile Freja tries again. W-A-L-L, C-R-O-S-S-B-O, H-O-U-M-A-N, S-I-E-L-I-N-G, B-O-T-L-E. “I think I got it now.” She announces. Hans takes the paper from her, looking it over once again. “You got wall right, the others you’re closer but no there yet. Good job, you’re picking this up quickly.” He praises. Freja is a bit embarrassed as she smiles from the compliment. “Thanks.” “Now try again.” Hans instructs. Freja takes up the pen once more. Snow, Bow, Crossbow. The realization hit her that O makes a single sound that Bow. “Oh? Ow? Snow? Snow.” She writes C-R-O-S-S-B-O-H, H-U-M-A-N, Bottle, and Ceiling. “I think I got it now” Freja announces once more. “Ooh you’re close.” Hans says overlooking the paper. “Before you continue I’d like you to spell snow for me. You don’t have to write it, just say the letters.” Hans requests. “Snow. S-N-O? S-N-O-H?” Freja says indecisively. “To get the snOW sound you need a W not a H.” Hans corrects. “O-W is Ow O-H is Oh.” Freja remarks while rewriting crossbow, this time correctly. “That it may but it isn’t changing much at all.” Hans replies. “Well not in our lives at least. He corrects. “Why do you know so much about language?” Freja asks while writing out Crossbow for the 4th and final time. “You know what nev-” Is all she can say before being cut off. “My father fancied himself writer as much as he was a surgeon ‘my son, if you cannot write you would be the first in our house since its founding. A failure of the highest degree’. So he paid a scribe to teach me history and language of the Norsefolk.” Hans says in a lecture-like way. “For a man who went mad he certainly tried his best to give you a good hand.” Freja remarks, remembering how absent her father was during her upbringing, sure he was there, but he wasn’t with the family often. “My father taught me only two things, the first being how to throw a spear the second was how to be quiet.” She remarks loudly. Hans’ face drops and his scholarly look is replaced with an unbridled fear, he quickly looks out the open door to the inside and the small herding band of Equis’ ears are standing straight up. “Freja. Give me my bow.” He demands coldly. Freja reluctantly hand the human his weapon, he rests it on his arm carefully watching over the now twelve or so Equis herdsmen. Their ears fall down, one brushes his hand through the air and the group goes back to its duties to their tribe. Hans quietly closes the door to the wagon and turns to Freja with fury in his eyes. “When I say quiet, I mean QUIET.” Hans growls quietly “We’re safe now aren’t we?” Freja raises quietly. “Maybe. they might come here out of boredom, they might be fleeing the Horselords or some other nomadic enemy. I don’t know.” Hans snaps. Freja’ eyes sharpen. “You know what human? I’m sick of your patronizing, you treat me like a child, a fool, but between the two of us you know only two things; humans and war. The latter of which you can’t be part of anymore and the former you exiled yourself from. You reek of a male in heat and can barely stave off an unmated male of my own kind. You’re revered as a warrior from what I can see, and yet you did it all out of anger. You’re nothing worth respecting, not a teacher, not a veteran, not a man. You’re a joke.” Freja growls. Hans’ just stares at the wolfess, the insult seemed genuine enough. “And you are little better wolfess, the virgin warrior who couldn’t save her chief when she had the chance who despite her foe being bloodied and broken and her having all the arrows and axe needed to stave him off, you cowered in fear before man. For someone rejected with the last breath of a dying man I wouldn’t be so eager to insult.” Hans growls looking up the wolfess, his eyes resting on her hips and breast. “Perhaps I keep you around as eye candy, a trophy.” Hans fininishes. “Vile.” Freja snaps back. “You had a bride-to-be and yet you look outside your own for kith and kin for your desires?” She asks rhetorically Hans leans in close, catching Freja. “You want to talk about desires? You would choose your mate on feelings alone. Here’s some wisdom well beyond my years “One day you’ll find out the person in bed with you isn’t the same one you married.” You think my late love would recognize me in the slightest?” Hans says his lips inches from Frejas, fury in his eyes. Freja leans in closer enough for Hans to smell her breath. “And you believe you can love anything so long as you choose to, could you love me? could you love anything other than a human?” Freja growls. Hans in a moment of uncharacteristic brashness leans in closer. “Why don’t we find out?” He asks leaning slowly closer. “Wha-” Is Freja can say before Hans uses his hands to pull Freja into a kiss. Freja’s eyes are wide open and her anger seems to convert to absolute shock. She tries to push back at the human, but after feeling Hans’ tongue play with hers’ for a few seconds she submits to it. Hans’ mind is rather blank, purely running on instinct and residual lack of inhibition, but is snapped back to reality once he feels Freja’s long tongue begin to feel around his mouth. He opens his eyes to see that Freja seemingly just as into the kiss as he was a few seconds ago. Both of them are equally unwilling to end their dance of tongues and lips, Freja finally tasting the forbidden fruit of male interests and Hans for loving every second of it. The two sit there, their arms beginning to explore each other’s backs, Han’s hands coming to rest on Freja’s hips and Freja’s draped over Hans’ shoulders. In the lamplight in the inside of the wagon the pair seem to meld into one another. Freja’s heart pounds with anxiety of what’s to come while Hans’ mind races with how to handle this situation while enjoying every second of it. He feels Freja’s hands begin to explore the area where his rope-belt kept his trousers bound to his waist. Hans’ own personal morality returns to him once he feels Freja’s pawed hand brush his crotch through his pants. He pulls back breaking the protracted kiss. “No, not like this. I-I can’t” he whispers to Freja. Freja isn’t listening, the heat has her by the heart and it yearns to mate. She finally undoes Hans’ pants letting his erect manhood fling out from its binding and onto her nose. She takes a deep breath through her nose letting the purest smell of man fill her nose and mind. Her eyes flutter for a second. Hans’ is paralyzed on the chest he’s sitting on, he’s nervous but unsure how to react. Freja puts a pawed hand on Hans’ manhood and another on his balls. Her long wet tongue droops from her mouth and inch or so from Hans’ second head. Hans tries to cover himself up but Freja snarls like a dog having its bone stolen. “Stop Freja, this all too fast.” Hans protests just before Freja’s tongue touches the base of his dick and slowly drags upwards. The taste is euphoric to her. She looks up, her lust filled eyes stare up at the fearful ones of Hans and she snaps back to reality. “By the gods…” She whimpers the taste of Hans’ still on her tongue. Her heart sinks. “P-please d-don’t hate me!” She pleads with the visibly unnerved Hans. “I won’t” Answers Hans much to Freja’s relief. “This is your heat yes?” Hans tries to clarify pulling up his pants and double knotting his belt Hans reaches for the book that’s resting next to the pen and parchment next to him. “What are you doing?” Freja asks confused. “Just sit next to me and try to read along.” Hans requests, still shaky with nervous tremors. Freja sits down next to Hans on the chest getting off her knees and presses herself close to the human unwittingly pressing her breasts onto his chest. “What story are we reading?” She asks the once again nervous Hans. Hans looks down at the book. “The Legend of Keukath, the wild man.” He answers. Freja turns to Hans intentionally getting closer to him. “I’ve never heard this legend before.” She states. Hans pulls away. “You will now.” He answers before starting to read aloud following the words he’s saying with his left finger. Freja does her best to whisper the words that Hans is reading off. Freja begins to catch onto more and more of the words, finally hearing the word she’s supposed to read really tied it together in her mind. She understands the story, for the most part, but the lingering smell of Hans drags her away from the book. As the excitement and fear drained from his mind so did his energy, he hadn’t slept in nearly two days. Once he finishes he has Freja try to read the story herself. Freja tries her best to read it to Hans, and despite not really knowing how, she does a fine job, getting some of the words. Once Freja finishes her rendition of the story Hans lets out a long, tired yawn. “Good job all things considered.” Hans compliments, stretching. “I think I’m going to sleep, wake me up when night falls.” he asks Freja before checking to see if the Equis are away from their bushy recluse. Deciding it's clear he climbs up into the tent thinking on whether or not to masterbate before sleep. Freja decides to follow Hans up to the tent. Pausing for a second once she hears a slapping sound. She parts the fabric to find Hans with his manhood in his hand, shocked at Freja’s arrival. “So, you’re doing the whole “masterbate” thing too?” She asks, approaching Hans while beginning to lift her tunic off. “I gave you one kiss, what's gotten into you?” Hans demands, moving to an upright position. Freja cocks her head. “Love is a choice? I have now chosen to love you Hans.” She says throwing off the leather tunic and untying her bra. “I’m in heat, I get not wanting to mate, but we’re companions now. Yes? So let me help you now and you can help me when you wake up.” Freja suggests letting her breasts sway and tail wag, her mind drunk with the prospect of a male. “No mating.” Hans questions. “No mating” Freja clarifies. “Fine.” Hans answers with confidence that doesn’t match his doubts at all. Hans rests against the half-wall of the tented top of the wagon, a mix of fear and duty fills his head as Freja rests a pawed hand on his manhood. She moves hand up to the glans and slowly back down much to Hans’ confusion. “Can I use my mouth?” Freja asks, continuing to slowly stroke. “Use what you like so long as it isn’t your sex.” Hans replies resting his head against the edge whether the tent meets the half-wall. Hans shivers once he feels Freja’s tongue begin to dance in circles around the base of his cock, he stares down at the wolfess, her long tongue drooping from her mouth. He stares at his lust filled partner, the same eagerness his late love had on that night at Otto’s as she tried the same before she became ill. Freja’s mind races with desire on an instinctive level; her mind wants to pleasure Hans in ways only a wolfess can. A way only she can. She pulls herself closer sliding a hand into her panties as leans deeper onto Hans. She pauses for a second when her tongue presses against Hans hips his cock almost an inch down her throat. The smell is too much for her and she can feel her womb burning, longing to be filled.. She slides a single finger between the lips of her burning sex, letting the far more intense pleasures flill her body and mind and begins to move her mouth up and down, carefully making sure not to cut or scratch him with her teeth. She begins to work at a glack being heard every time for forces Hans’ cock into her throat. Hans is overcome by the sensations of the wolfess’ tongue, throat, and mouth. Its’ like oiled silk, the eagerness and seeming joy of his partner to please him just helped warm his heart. Hans puts a hand on her head and begins to guide her. The tent is filled with the quiet moans of Hans and the wet glacks as Freja falls deeper into her heat. Freja’s fingers press into herself, she reaches orgasm once more, flooding her mind with bliss and lust. Hans takes his hand off Freja's head letting her play with him at her speed. Everytime Freja inhaled with a member in her throat and finger between her legs she’d orgasm again. Soon she begins to taste salt on her tongue, and while she doesn’t know what it is her body does. Hans shivers and pushes Freja off his member and in euphoric bliss, sprays his load over Freja’s face, a drop landing on her nose. Freja reaches orgasm once more, this time far more powerful than her previous ones, Her legs clench and begin to tremor rapidly. She looks up at Hans, seeing his half-awake smile, and bites her lip getting a taste of Hans’ seed. Hans’ eyes flutter for a moment and his head once more falls back, he’s obviously asleep. Freja sets him down gently onto the padded bedding of the floor of the tented area. She doesn’t bother making herself modest before laying on top of Hans, letting her soft yet firm breasts rest on Hans’ hard muscular chest. Her mind begins to race about what she just did and the more she thinks about it the more quickly her tail wags. She can still smell Hans on her fur, it's almost sweet despite its clearly musky scent. She places her legs over the sleeping man’s thigh and begins to rub, letting her juices cover his leg. She takes off Hans’ shirt and curls up on it. “Mine. My male. My choice.” She whispers before letting herself fall asleep. Hans dreams of his early teenage years with his bride-to-be, the tomboyish blonde and himself being far more timid than he is now. Freja dreams of playing with children, hers to be sure. Both are snapped awake by a call to the wagon. “Merchant, Traveller, or whomever you are, please show yourself.” Calls a voice Hans instantly recognizes as a Horselord. “Give me a second Horselord, I have to make myself decent.” He calls out while pulling up his trousers, putting on his shirt which he didn’t remember taking off and ties his belt. “You done?” The voice calls after a few seconds. “Yes, yes.” He says crawling to the entrance. He pokes his head out to see a rather startled Horselord man he seem to recognize. “Asen? is that you?” He asks. “Hans? You survived?” Asen asks back. Hans jumps down from the tented area wincing once he feels it in his knees. He grabs his cane before speaking. “Barely.” Hans replies. Asen looks over the man. “It shows. Care for dinner?” He remarks. “Freja make yourself decent, we’re having dinner with the Horselords.” He calls up to the tent. Asen grins once Hans gets off the wagon. “It's been too long hasn’t it? Also is Freja the wife?” He asks. Hans smirks. “No, Freja’s a wolfess I captured during my last battle as part of the guard. She’s free, I’m teaching her how to read and write and she gives me company.” He remarks. Asen chuckles. “Bessorab owes me a goat now.” He says with a smile. Freja dresses quickly just pulling up her panties, throwing on her tunic, and tying her waist-rope. She climbs down to see a type of human far darker than Hans, in hair color, skin color, and eye color. She makes no hurry to appear by Hans’ side. “Hello human.” She says. “You must be Freja, I’m Asen, I used to fight alongside Hans during the Blackmane War. He says you were on the receiving end of his fury and survived, a scant few can claim that.” He says with a smile. Freja frowns. “Only after he slew my chief.” She laments. The grin leaves Asen’s face. “Sorry, I understand how that can feel.” He sympathises. Freja’s ears perk up. “You know what it’s like?” She asks. Hans turns to Freja. “His father was chief-” He gets cut off. “My father was chief, but also the Khagan of our people, he was one of the first to be slain when Blackmane attacked us. I survived in no small part thanks to the man next to you, the Equis still avoid the Hillkeeps out of fear he’ll come back.” Asen pokes. “Oh come on, it's not me, Roger Jeane was the real terror during that war with his spears and crossbows.” He retorts Asen raises a brow. “I wouldn’t be so sure given you were the one to skewer Blackmane’s son with his own banner.” He comments. “I did that because I was scared still.” Hans deflects. “Maybe but not a damn soul other than you can know that with your helmet.” Asen presses. “True.” Freja agrees nodding at Asen. “See the Wolfess get it too.” Asen snarks. “Fine, I’ll take your praise, what for dinner tonight?” Hans accepts watching an Equis female run over to Asen. “Ask my wife yourself.” Asen says grabbing her by the waist. “Is that who I think it is? It better not.” Hans says looking over the brown and white speckled horse wearing a teal dress and gold necklace. “Hello Buzkani.” The Woman says. “Good Evening Kemaslan, I hope there are no hard feelings over the fate of your brother.” Hans says with a small bow. “Even if there was, I couldn’t act on it with how Asen has been recently.” She remarks with a lustful grin before opening one of her arms for a hug while Asen does the same. Hans joins the three sided embrace. “God I missed you guys.” He says with a smile. Kemaslan pokes her head out. “Come on Wolfess, if you're a companion to Hans you're a friend of ours.” Freja is taken aback by the actions of the strange human and horse-woman. “What’s happening?” She asks once she joins the now four sided embrace. Kemaslan leans close to Freja’s ear. “Between you and me, you reek of human seed and a virgin’s heat. I smelled it from camp and have a bath ready for you.” She whispers into Freja’s ear. Freja blushes and tries to do the same but Kemaslan is far too tall and tries her best to be quiet. “Thanks, lets go now.” She whispers. The pair break away from the men, and make their way over to the village sized area of yurts and covered wagons. “Follow me, and steer clear of my kind’s males.” She says before turning around. “Say what’s your name wolfess?” She asks why hurriedly moving through the village. “My name is Freja.” She answers. “Like the human legend?” Kemaslan questions. Freja hesitates before answering. “Yes, but we Vulfan have the same legend with our kind.” She clarifies. Kemaslan nods. “My husband is named Asen, I was raised believing Asen was the name of Equis warrior-king, to the humans he was a human Khagan and warrior.” She says. “Well which do you think is true?” Freja asks, barely keeping up with the Equis queen. Kemaslan stops in front of one of the yurts. “We’re here, and neither.” She says pushing the Wolfess inside along with herself. Inside are four other Equis women and two human women, the humans are wearing clothing that only covers the breast, sex, and face while the Equis wear only something that covers their sex. “This isn’t a mating ritual?” Freja asks. before looking into the almost sapphire blue water of the bath. “Of course not, these are just Asen’s concubines.” Kemaslan says with a motherly smile. “Now strip and clean yourself before Yazkizi licks whatever she can off you. Freja hastily strips and climbs into the large metal bucket. She takes a deep breath letting the strange but pleasant smell fill her nose. “That’s a wonderful smell, Queen. What is it?” She asks. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Teases the Queen. “It has jade, some oils, and some lavender-based soap bought from the Norse , it works wonders on cleaning out and masking scents.” She explains. Freja raises her arms out of the water, her fur drooping as water drips in small streams from it. “That ought to be expensive!” She exclaims. One the human concubines giggle. “Freja, my husband is the ruler of the Horselords, Khagan of all men who call this land home. What a Norseman may make in his entire life may be a small gift to me.” Kemaslan says sitting down on an ornately sewn cushioned stool. Freja lays back in the bath submerging her head in the warm water and brushes her muzzle clean of anything other than her fur. She brings her head out of the water and the previously unnoticed smells that were all gone, from Hans’ seed, to the flowers and scents of the Keep and forest. She takes a deep breath smelling everything around her in earnest, the permanent low level heat of the two humans, the burning need to breed of the concubines. “You’re in heat too queen?” Freja asks before shaking her head of most of the water. Kemaslan grins. “I may be royal but the one thing that living with my dear Asen is that nature can bring Kings and Gods to their knees.” She remarks. “Myself among that number.” She finishes. Freja stares at the queen. “Hans refused to take me earlier today he said things were moving too quickly though he was the one who kissed me.” She says moving a finger to her lips. Kemaslan shoots a breath through her nose. “That’s Hans alright, he doesn’t open girls legs much like how he handles his broken heart. That man for all he is doesn’t go a day without enduring the pain of his “failure” as he used to call it.” She says grabbing a bottle and pouring the slightly yellow liquid into a glass. Freja’s ears raise. “Hans is seemingly well known everywhere. I don’t understand why. He slew a chief and bore his people’s banner against us. I know he’s fought other Vulfan but I just know he fought them. What is his story?” Freja asks. Kemaslan spins the liquid in the glass in a circle before downing it with one gulp. “Hans has many names across this steppe and to the southern Kingdoms and Cities. To us Equis he is the Buzkani, the Ice Blood, to the Southern Avins he is the Ebakitzailea or Kyro to others. During the time Hans’ served the Elves mustered most of the non-human species together in an attempt to drive the Horselords from the Steppe and cut off the Northern and Southern humans from each other.” “But why is he so famed outside his own kin?” Freja demands. Kemaslan stares past her. “He was all that was left most of the time. He says he was “frozen by fear” it's a lie he’s convinced himself of through years of telling himself he’s worthless. He wasn’t frozen by fear when he skewered my brother he lunged into it and pointed the tip to tear through his neck. He joined the Occitans, Norvi, and Vesnans in the harrowing of the Avins. I can’t tell you much about that dear, but if you go to those Avin lands you won’t find much that doesn’t tremble before him.” She explains, seemingly lost in unpleasant memory. Freja decides not to ask anymore questions of Kemaslan smelling anxiety on her. She cleans herself and makes small talk with Asen’s concubines, of whom Kemaslan soon joins in, they talk about the local gossip and “Tonight's Plans” the latter of which seems almost macabre the way they talked about it. Soon Kemaslan asks Freja to leave the bath, having the human concubines dry her off with incredibly ornate and clean towels. The Equis girls spray her with perfumes, brush her fur, and rub oils onto it. Kemaslan instructs Freja to stay where she is while she goes and gets a dress. Asen’s concubines make both compliments and remarks about Freja’s body. “Ample breasts and hips, though you do leave something to be desired on your rear.” One remarks another protests that. “Her ass is fine Mo’yna we can’t all be horses, though her broad shoulders, a tad masculine in all fairness.” Another horse makes an entirely separate question. “Now how does she please the Buzkani, perhaps she cares to share?”. The other human pipes up “The queen claimed she smelled her to be a virgin, she hasn’t yet.” She raises. The third horse pipes up. “She does smell of a virgin vulfan, she hasn’t mated, but she did reek of the Buzkani’s seed, so she was either a pleasurable sight or gave pleasure herself.” The last and largest horse by a noticeable margine speaks next. “I think she used her tongue no? Asen said that the Buzkani would let a woman worship at his altar of man but never consecrate it.” She raises. The other five nod in agreement and turn to face a very embarrassed Freja. “Isn’t what I do with Hans my business?” She asks. All six girls look at one another before they giggle, the largest is the first to speak. “Told you girls, she’s a virgin.” Kemaslan enters the yurt and hands Freja a teal dress much like her own. “Put it on, I want to see how it fits.” She tells Freja. Freja slides the dress over her head and over her body. it hugs the hips and breast. Kemaslan asks Freja to turn around with a spin of her finger. “You look wonderful Freja. Come on let's go see the men.” She says with all the excitement of a little girl. She takes Freja by the hand and runs her through the village once more. She pulls her through the bead door of a monstrous tent, inside is a splendorous amount of art and furniture. Meanwhile Hans, Asen, and his retainers were cleaning up, dressing up, and discussing the night's affairs. Hans is adorned in a brigandine shirt and a loose lightweight tunic. Asen and Hans both take a bath but nowhere near as nice as the one the women have been given. Their cleaning and dressing is far less elaborate but does include two glasses of Norse mead. Once they finish the Men wait around the throne Asen jokingly letting Hans sit on the Ebony Throne, proclaiming him the Prince of Wagonoia. Finally, the girls arrive. “Welcome to the Khagan’s palace Freja.” Calls Asen from atop a black throne. “Hans and I were just cleaning up.” He says before gesturing Freja to sit on one of the cushions around a knee height table. Once the four sit down, a group of servants brings out a whole lamb on a spit. The meat smells wonderful, it smells of apples, carrots, wine, and spices. Asen draws his blade and with a single cut splits the lamb in two, the stuffing of apples, red rice, and vegetables spills onto the table. “By my blade you are served, by my word you may feast.” Asen says. “Thank Khagan, Lord of the Steppe.” Hans and Hemaslan say with a bow. Asen stares at Freja for a second who does a quick bow. “I take it you’re not well versed in steppe manners?” He asks. Freja turns to him. “I didn’t even know the steppe existed until today.” She replies. Kemaslan jerks her head to look at Freja. “Seriously?” She demands. “Seriously” Replies Hans. “She knows of the Cats but that’s as far south as she goes, the Vulfan don’t travel the steppe.” He explains. Asen nods his head. “You can get mad at ignorance but not the unlearned.” He says before taking a handful of rice. “Oh, we with our hands tonight.” He says before anyone else takes a bite. The feast is wonderful by any margin. Not long after they start peeling apart the fallen half of the lamb more servants or slaves bring out wine for them to drink. Everything is up to the standards of the Great Khagan, eventually he leans over to Hans “My friend, tonight we’re attacking the last of Blackmane’s old horde, after our feast bring your wagon into the village, it won’t be safe to be outside.” He instructs. Hans gives a nod. “I remember your customs, I figured it’d be something like that once you said we’d be eating with our hands.” He whispers back. Asen sighs. He raises his glass “Tonight we have been blessed with the return of the Buzkani, my old friend Hans who shielded me from the wrath of Blackmane time after time. A toast, to him.” Asen calls out the other three at the table stand and raises their glasses, Freja about a second or two later. “Skol” Cheers Hans before downing his glass in one gulp. As the four get progressively drunker as the night rages on, once the half-lamb is done Hans and Freja begin the longish walk back to the wagon, Asen calling out to remind him. Hans is barely able to drive the wagon to the village, once inside Freja climbs up into the tent and one of the Herdsmen stables the horses and wedges the wheels. Hans joins a far drunker Freja. “Hey Hans, you should take off your pants.” Freja drunkenly asks barely awake. Hans pushes her down with one hand and she practically instantly falls asleep. Hans does take off his clothes and hugs Freja at the waist letting his dick rest between her thighs and soon falls asleep thinking about his day.