A thousand years later...

An elk limped through the undergrowth of a thick forest, cautious to keep its antlers from entangling in the undergrowth. Cautiousness, which had no doubt contributed to it surviving for quite a while despite being injured and separated from its herd. Shafts of sunlight pierced the gloomy forest illuminating the snow-laden interior. A thick brooding mist obscured the snow-encrusted ground, making each step taken by the elk to be treacherous.

The elk snapped its head, frozen mid-step at a slight rustle of leaves. The only sign of the presence of a cloaked figure, hidden behind the green leaves of a pine tree not twenty paces away from the elk. Unable to detect anything, it continued slowly through the mist.

It was a testament to Beorn's skill as a ranger to be able to camouflage himself so completely despite his considerable size. His northern blood shone through in his chiselled features, a strong jaw, aquiline nose, and piercing blue eyes that narrowed in concentration. His pale skin was flushed from long exposure to the cold. His misted breath drifted past tufts of short blonde hair that peeked out from under the fur-lined hood of his dark green cloak.

Beorn shifted in place, his tough leather trousers and calf-length elk skin boots protecting him from the tough branches and needles of the pine he perched upon. His dark green cloak and full-length shirt concealing him against its branches. On his back, he carried a leather pack with the folded frame of a wooden sled attached to it. His muscular forearms were equipped with leather vambraces and his hands were gloveless despite the freezing temperature and held held a bow, shaped from reddish wood, with ornate carvings running down the length of the stave. Beorn had held the string at full draw for two minutes, waiting patiently for the right opportunity.

Beorn exhaled as he loosed his arrow at the limping elk. It flew true, piercing the eye and granting it swift death which was a far cry better than its fate under the fangs of a Direwolf pack.

Hanging the bow from his pack, Beorn leapt down from the tree whose crown had shielded him, and walked to where the carcass lay. He turned it on its back and looked around for a strong tree.

He unfolded his sled and put it next to a big and sturdy Everoak. Taking the rope from his pack he tied the carcass and bound the rope to his waist before he trudged towards the tree with his prey. Securing the foreleg of the elk, he kept some slack in the rope as he climbed the tree until he came to a rest on a sturdy branch. He took out the hatchet secured to his left hip by a loop, and hammered a spike in with the head. Beorn unwound the slack from the rope at his waist and hooked it onto the spike before leaping down. He pulled on the rope and hung the elk, taking care not to scrape the crown of antlers. Drawing the ornate leaf-bladed dagger sheathed on his right hip, he cut the jugular, letting the blood flow out, and spoke a brief prayer to Prosperia.

"Thank you, for the bounty, Mother. May this elk’s flesh nourish my body and its memory nourish my soul."

Beorn took an empty water-skin from his pack and collected the rest of the warm blood. After it had finally run dry, he went about the grisly task of cutting out the elk's pelt, meat, and shoulder. Beorn shuddered at the thought of attracting something so deep in the Wolvenrych, so he packed the sled hurriedly and made his way back to Banehallow.

***

As he trudged along, Beorn couldn't help looking around the dark forest once again. He knew he was being jumpy, but Beorn trusted his instincts. He couldn't explain why but he wasn't able to shake a feeling of disquiet ever since entering the forest this morning.

And now to find such easy prey unmolested by predators... he picked up speed again only to freeze as the hairs on the back of his neck rose and his muscles tensed. He dropped into a half-crouch and traded the sled's straps for his dagger and hatchet. He peered into the gloom, keeping his gaze steady even as his heart hammered and his muscles strained to pull him away. Suddenly, he realized the forest had gone completely silent. No birds, no insects, not even the wind rustling the leaves entered his ears. Beorn's eyes widened at the realization and he threw his hatchet onto the sled and rushed over to grab its straps when he heard a whisper in the back of his mind.

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With instincts honed from years of training screaming at him, he dove forwards, crashing into the snowy earth even as he heard the whistling of movement behind him. He leapt to his feet, freeing his cloak from the clasps.

The faint crunch of compacting snow gave Beorn enough time to turn and raise his arm before massive jaws closed around his head. The beast crashed into Beorn and sent them both tumbling through the snow. The beast bit hard, hot breath and flashing teeth only held at bay by Beorn's efforts and his left arm. Beorn struggled to breathe through the snow and mud, his dagger threatening to fly from his grip.

Beorn came to a sudden stop as his head smashed into a boulder. His vision was darkness and fireflies as he blindly stabbed the dagger as hard as he could from under the beast, twisting it.

But it only encouraged the thing to retaliate with greater determination, bringing its deadly claws into the fight. As his vision returned, Beorn dodged its claws drunkenly when a wicked slash to his bicep woke him up from his daze. He put more strength into his right hand and stabbed the knife into its gut repeatedly. He dodged the flashing claws by instinct as he gathered his legs under him and pushed upwards into the beast with his left hand while getting his right free.

His heart thundering and his body pumping with adrenaline, he barely felt its teeth puncture his vambrace. The surge in strength allowed him to jerk the beast's head to the side before plunging the dagger deep into its brain. As the beast stopped its dying struggle, he lay back into the snow panting, trying to catch his breath while his head reverberated with the ringing of a hundred bells.

Beorn felt the warmth from the corpse's blood flow onto him and penetrate his clothes. Too exhausted to move he lay on his back until a rancid cloying smell hit him that caused him to lean to the side and dry heave.

While coughing Beorn felt the warmth from the blood grow uncomfortable and started stinging. It took a moment before the ranger figured something was wrong and ripped his shirt off. He started rolling in the snow in an effort to rub the blood from his body. Beorn took a handful of snow and started scrubbing his torso; he noticed his skin was pink and feeling tender with a good number of new scars and bruises to add to the ones he'd already had.

Sighing at the fact that he'd lost yet another shirt, he examined the rest of his clothing and was relieved to find at least his trouser and boots survive the fight relatively undamaged.

His naked torso steamed in the cold — the exertion had caused him to sweat despite the freezing snow. Beorn breathed deeply, the chill penetrating his lungs and bringing clarity to his mind. He managed to calm his thundering heart and centre himself. Staying still he concentrated his sense of smell and eyesight to survey the brush. Failing to catch any more signs of monsters after a few minutes, he walked towards his fallen cloak and picked it up while brushing the snow off it.

Although he hadn’t thought about it during the fight, no ordinary wolf would’ve been able to pierce his enchanted vambrace. Feeling the sting from the bite, he reached into the pouch on his belt, he took out a vial of red liquid and downed part of it before applying the rest onto the biggest cuts. He was remarkably unhurt after the scuffle, that whisper before the attack saving him from worse.

Those prayers definitely worked, thank Prosperia.

Taking comfort in the fact someone out there was looking after him, he took a good look at the corpse and noticed that it looked like a direwolf, just bigger and somehow even meaner from the ones he'd faced before. The fur was mangy and rotted with unhealed slashes and bite marks. As he studied it further Beorn noticed a slight shadowy essence drifting from it before remembering his dagger.

Worried for the keepsake from his mentor, he drew the dagger out wincing at the burnt leather wrapping on the hilt. Surprisingly, the ornate blade was undamaged; it still shone under the moonlight while only suffering some damage on the leather wrapping the handle. Inspecting it all around, he felt the leaf-shaped blade had become darker, it felt heavier as well.

What in the world?

Taking another look at the corpse, he noticed it looking smaller, a thought occurred to Beorn and he quickly spread some of the spilled blood on the blade and was astonished when it disappeared. He stuck the dagger into the corpse which started shrinking. In the meanwhile, the blade grew heavier, as if absorbing all blood into itself before stopping. Taking the dagger out of the corpse, he stared at the blade with wonder before shaking his head and sheathing it. The receding light told him it that was a riddle to solve later.

He noticed the corpse was now bone dry, figuring he'd show this to Nathaniel, the captain of the Guard of Banehallow, he dragged the corpse to his sled and tied it on. Retrieving the fallen hatchet, he noticed his bow and pack lying in the snow.

Thankfully, the bow had dropped out of its holster during the initial roll and it looked to be undamaged after examining the stave; his habit of un-stringing the bow had probably saved it.

Replacing his shirt, Beorn saw the twin moons rise over the horizon. Figuring he still had a couple of hours left before complete darkness and not being too keen to stay in the Wolvenrych much longer he started trudging through the snow with his sled in tow once again.