Session 3: The Priestess Sings

Autumn's First Hunt, standing proud at the front of its pack, looks at the two-legs before it.

"Winter's Third Bite owes its life to you, villagers of Kallbacken, and so I am willing to accept our fates may be entwined. Our pack is our blood." The packs howls, each member joining in in a different pitch, underlining the declaration of its Dominant.

"But we will not help you when we are threatened so. Towards where the sun rises, and away from the coast, our ancient enemy roams its own territory. We have smelled them entering our territory, and we must feed and hunt until our cubs are yearlings, that we might bring our fangs onto these interlopers, the spirit-calling blasphemer's of Grandfather's name. Until they are dealt with, we may not help you. If their pack were destroyed, we would be more able to ally ourselves in your own fight."

Taft crouches quietly at the rear of the gathering, watching the movement of the wolves as they interact. He has never had such an opportunity to observe their interactions. The complexity of their culture astounds him.

He gives a barely noticeable nod to Shadow and Vasil, that says I am in agreement with this deal.

He stands and checks his gear while Shadow finishes talking to his pack. Already, he is thinking about the journey.

Eventually, he speaks.

"I do not know the edge of your territory, but I have walked towards the rising sun for many days and have my own way of knowing that place. Does your territory extend beyond the great river that runs cold and quick? Do you roam the great peat bog, that is encircled by low pines, and with the large pond in the center?"

Shadow glances toward the Northeast. "I know of this pack," it says. "I've smelled their scent near the edges of our territory before. The journey there will take seven days and leads through a lake where the spirit I hunt every winter sleeps. With the snows so close, I need to go there any way." The wolf gives a slow blink, its tongue licking over the tip of its nose.

Vasil rises, looking toward his companions. "You have my help in this."
Turning to the circle of Wolves, "I hope this is the beginning of an alliance. My spear is yours." He presents his spear, outstretched on open palms, a gesture reminiscent of an Oath ritual in his homeland.

Taking a nod from the Dominant as agreement, Vasil walks back to his companions, and toward the exit to the clearing.

Eirikr turns towards the wolves as well. "And you have my help in this as well. I hope I can help in any way I can." He follows Vasil out of the clearing.

The wolves watch the humans leave, their dominant making it clear they will accept Winter's Third Bite excusing itself to go with them.

Taft helps find an easy way through the forest for Eirikr and Vasil.

"Our families will worry for us if we do not tell them where we're going. Shadow, just as you have spoken with your kin, we must tell them where we're going."

It is dark, and you have all been walking since dawn the previous day. You're hardy enough folk that the walk itself is not an issue, but the predators inside might be. Luckily, the moon lights the way, and sure-footed you retrace your steps to Kallbacken.

Taft is mostly silent on the way back to Kallbacken. Even though he knows the land well, traveling at night requires more concentration. He knows he won't get lost, but could easily be delayed in a bog or a dense thicket. It doesn't help that he needs to think about two villagers, but he keeps that to himself...

There are moments in the journey when Taft hesitates to re-orient himself. Without fail, Shadow appears ahead of in these moments and offer him subtle guidance.

The way back to Kallbacken is swift, despite the darkness, and it's a few hours before dawn when the four of you return.

Alva has food prepared, and the last of Iofr's pork is just as tasty as the first, and you can all catch a quick shift of sleep. Much more might risk the oncoming winter getting the better of you, but there's enough time, if nothing goes wrong, that you could spend some time preparing before you left off.

Alva notices that Taft leaves his pack by the door, instead of hanging it to dry near the stove. She knows he's going out again and maintains an aura of displeasure during their meal. Taft is not eager to broach the topic.

Once the meal is done, he speaks, trying not to be sheepish.

"We have to travel North-East, my love. To help the wolves, so they will ally with us against the enemy."

He turns to the others.

"It would be easiest to travel along the road at first - heading directly East as far as we can, before turning North. This way, we can also track back to see if any survivors of our battle have retreated. We could also look in on the next town over, to see if anyone is still alive. That would be a good place to turn North."

That night, Shadow stalks the village. The massive wolf moves between the familiar spot outside Taft's door, to the mossy patch near the gates, to up high on the roof of the Shrinehouse. The wolf is restless and uncomfortable, snatching fitful moments of sleep before another pang of hunger wakes it. As it blinks sleepily into the darkness, drooling onto its paws, it feels the call to hunt and consume. Tomorrow it will ask its human friends to help it hunt, it decides.

After consulting with Taft, Vasil heads to his forge. He doesn't have long, but he intends to get some work done in what time he does have.

The work is soothing. After bloodshed, travel and intense negotiations, nothing feels so right as hammer or tongs in hand. He keeps his pace steady, but fast. This is easy work - the kind of job he had in his first year of apprenticeship. With Vasil's years of experience, the simple items were completed in no time.

Nails for Jorad, filling a rough wooden bucket. Horseshoes - a blacksmith's staple; those for several farms. Vasil made a few extra sets, in case merchants came while he would be gone. Oyvind could sell them, if needs be.

Henrik needed a new blade for his scythe, though at this time of year, harvest equipment was not a priority.
If he made it to the scythe before Taft came to collect him, good. If not, so be it. The quality of work should always come first - even for a bucket of nails.

In the few moments of rest - while the forge heated, or metal cooled - or while taking tea with his old friend, Vasil sketches plans for a future project.
"An idea." He tells a curious Kata, stopping by with food. "We'll see if I make it back from this next trip first." He says with a laugh. The laugh hides worry. Kata smiles reassuringly.

After a long and somewhat exasperating conversation with Alva, Taft retreats out the back door, and stands under the stars.

The wind is cooling off, typical for this time of year; and it's shifting around to the North.

He is already thinking about the gear they will need for their trip, and wondering where he will be able to find suitable clothes for Vasil.

The next morning, Taft wanders down the shoreline to ask his friends for strong rope and twine for traps. He also wanders by Vasil's smithy and asks to pick through the smaller pieces of metal. Metal bars and hooks work as great catches and levers for snares.

Seeing her husband going around the village asking for traps, Alva tuts to herself and begins to search out some bits and pieces, before telling Taft that she knows Sunniva has some snares already prepared, if he asks her.

The next morning, Taft knocks on Sunniva's door..