Beorn stepped out of the house and into the barracks as the Sun was peeking its head over the horizon. The snow had let up, but it was still very cold. Tightening his cloak around himself, he shouldered the pack and took up the sled. Dragging it behind him, he started towards the town centre. With the sky brightening, Beorn figured he’d drop off the elk skin, meat, and antlers at The Whole Hog.
Hearing the roosters crow gave him a nasty headache reminding him that he’d been awake for two days and that he’d banged his head on a rock a few hours ago. As he made his way through the deserted barracks, he got a clear view of the straw dummies standing on their lonesome in the training grounds. Marred with years of use, the sturdy wood posts they stood on bore the scars of two generations of Banehallow folk that had learnt to wield a sword and shield here.
Beorn stepped towards them and ran a hand across the gouges in the wood. Recalling happier days when his Father was well enough to teach him the sword before the sickness took him ten years ago. Mother soon followed, fragile as she was. His elder brother Arwen took care of him until he too left when Beorn was ten, leaving him under Galanör's care. Reviving the family name was more important to him than his only remaining flesh and blood, so Arwen had left for Atilan to climb the Wolven Spire. Beorn remembered the day like it was yesterday, watching his brother’s back on the caravan fade into the distance.
Beorn was thankful Galanör had taken him in. The elf had trained Beorn for six years in the ways of a Ranger. More importantly, he'd given his life some meaning, helping keep Banehallow safe. Like everything else in his life, those times hadn't lasted long either.
Beorn gripped his dagger; the pain and anguish of the day they'd found his broken body was still fresh in his mind. Like a raw wound it hurt constantly, pushing him to train harder, become stronger; strong enough to protect what mattered to him, strong enough to live up to his mentor's legacy.
The biting cold reminded him that he was still powerless to uncover what happened to him, he had nearly died from frostbite trying to follow his mentor's tracks into the Wyrmfell mountains.
After burying Galanor beneath his beloved Lairelossë tree, Beorn had cut off all human contact, and tried to cross the Wolvenrych before being forced back by the perpetual ice storm that shrouded Death's Pass, the only entrance into the Wyrmfell mountain range.
After a fruitless year of searching and narrowly avoiding death under the claws of the monsters that populated Wyrmfell numerous times, Beorn was forced to accept that he would be helpless against whatever had managed to kill a Gimel-ranked Elven Strider with centuries of experience under his belt.
Beorn hadn't given up his obsession to avenge his mentor, he vowed to himself, he'd climb the Tower, grow stronger and find Galanör's killer.
The bitter memories compounded his headache and brought back recent worries. Arwen had been sending regular letters. His latest one wrote that he was heading back to take Beorn along with him.
That was half a year ago, and he should have been here by now. Although he was worried Beorn had decided to wait till Spring, hoping his brother was just delayed by the deep winter that held the Empire in its clutches. He’d be cutting it close with his age, the trials of the Initiation grew significantly harder after one reached manhood, but he figured he could still make it to the Capital with time to spare even after waiting another six months.
The sounds of the town waking up hurried him along to his destination. He wanted to get rid of the damn elk as quick as possible and collapse onto a bed. As loath as he was to crash at the Manor, he didn't have the energy to walk all the way to the cabin. Beorn let out a groan at the prospect of spending time there as he made his way into town.
***
Beorn made his way to the centre of the town, walking towards a large three-storied building made of brick. The tall roof with red shingles was laden with snow. It had a large smoke-stack that puffed out ashy grey smoke, which meant the Olfssons were already awake. He was relieved he didn't have to choose between waking them or waiting out in the snow. A sign, painted with the picture of a fat baked hog with an apple in its mouth hung above the main entrance to the town's only inn. The road leading to the entrance looked like someone had shoveled it not too long ago. To the side was another door that led to the butcher shop, Beorn's goal for this trip.
As he entered the Whole Hog's butcher shop, Beorn put down his pack and bow at the side of the open door. He greeted the man standing behind the counter with a smile, “Hello Erik, I’ve got something for you.”
The man turned; he was wearing a clean apron which did little to hide his considerable bulk. Standing just short of Beorn’s considerable height, he was solidly built with muscular arms and massive shoulders. His brown hair was cut short. But his beard, tied neatly into twin braids, was long enough to reach his chest. His strong face was occupied with a wide smile as he recognized Beorn. Wiping his hands on a rag he opened his arms wide before rushing towards Beorn.
“Oh laddy, it's been ages since I've seen ye.”
“I was here only three months ago”, Beorn managed to reply before being engulfed by a bear hug.
“Aye, and that's three months too many. Come in, come in, let me get yer cloak”, Erik released him and helped him take off his cloak.
Stepping into the doorway Beorn welcomed the warmth from the roaring fire. He dragged in the sled and put down his pack and bow by the coat hanger.
Seeing the loaded sled, Erik noted, “Looks like you've had a good hunt eh? Nice pair o' antlers on that.”
“Yeah, got a fully grown bull. Hefting the head onto the table he put it on. The ice has preserved it pretty well, you could get a nice mount out of it.”, explained Beorn.
“Well we already have the whole tavern filled with mounts from yer hunts, running out of space now.”, Erik examined the elk head. He blew a low whistle while checking the arrow wound through the eye, “clean shot, yer as sharp as ever. How did ye avoid getting run down by the herd?”
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“Funny thing that, the thing was limping with no herd nearby. I tracked it from the Tystlåten for a day before I had a chance.”, replied Beorn.
“An injured elk surviving for that long?”, Erik mulled.
“Somethings not right these days I feel it in m'bones.”
Beorn couldn't help but nod.
Something definitely isn't right. That wolf wasn’t normal.
Looking at Beorn once more Erik noticed his injuries for the first time, “Wait a minute ye look like ye fought a wolf for it. No prey's worth your life lad.”
Beorn shrugged, “This was after I took it down. Something crept up on me nearly bit my head off.”
“Must’ve been a quiet bastard to manage to sneak up on ye. Take off your shirt lemme have a look.”
Beorn obliged, taking off his shirt.
Erik gasped at the new cuts and bruises adorning his torso. He roared into the tavern, “Hilda!!! bring the medicine chest, Beorn’s here and he’s injured again.”
“There's really no need to worry," said Beorn trying to calm Erik down.
“Nonsense look at the state of ye. I'll smack ye if ye move. Sit down on that chair and be a good lad," waving away Beorn’s arms away, he pushed him down on a nearby chair.
“Hilda!!!”, Erik called again.
“Coming dear," replied his wife as she climbed down the stairs.
“I already took a potion. I’ll heal soon enough.”
His pleas fell on deaf ears as Hilda the matron of the Hog entered the room with a scuffed leather-bound chest in her hands. She was a stout woman around middle age with a handsome face and wrinkles at the corners of her blue eyes that spoke of her kindly disposition. Her blonde hair with flecks of grey running through it was done up in braids that framed her face. She wore a finely tailored brown woolen kirtle and a tied black lace bodice. As she spied the Beorn with his shirt off on the chair, she gasped and hurried to him after putting down the chest on the nearby table.
“What happened Beorn? I told you, you don't need to take up being a Ranger. Ohh, Look at the state of you.” Opening up the chest she brought out a tin with some nasty smelling unguent. Taking a liberal amount of it on her palm she proceeded to slather Beorn's entire upper body in it.
“Oh, look at all these scars and you’re just sixteen. I blame Galanör and your brother for this. Honestly, who puts a ten-year-old child through ranger training.”
Beorn knew better than to argue with Hilda when she got like this, so he kept his mouth shut and enjoyed the warmth of her fussing over him. Finally finished covering Beorn in the stinky paste, she put away the tin and started wrapping him up with a roll of bandage. Securing it she called out to her eldest daughter who was currently preparing the morning fare in the tavern kitchen, “Astrid bring in some breakfast, Beorn’s back.”
“Okay mama," came back the reply.
At the sound of that Beorn's mouth started watering. He looked forward to the Hog's breakfast whenever he was in town. It also didn’t help that his last meal consisted of some dry jerky, rock hard bread, and some old cheese.
Meanwhile, Erik had finished unloading the meat, skin and head from Beorn's sled and putting it into the Hogs cellar. He returned with a coin pouch and tossed it into Beorn's hands, “Three gold and seven silver for the lot.”
Feeling the pouch, Beorn tried to hand it back to Erik saying, “There’s four gold here Erik. It's already more than fair and I haven't even paid for breakfast yet.”
Batting down Beorn’s hand he pushed it back, “Nonsense, yer family. If Galanör hadn't taken ye in, ye'd be staying here. Pity Astrid’s already promised to the Blacksmith’s useless brat”, he spoke not noticing Astrid entering the room.
Astrid was as Beorn remembered. She was slender but as tall as Erik. She had inherited her mother's handsome beauty and wore clothes of a similar fashion but decorated with a brighter shade of yellow for her dress and a dark green bodice. Beorn noticed a finely crafted silver clasp decorating her pony-tailed brown hair. She put down a plate loaded with meat and a big loaf of freshly baked bread and a wheel of cheese on the table before Beorn and smacked her father hard on the shoulder, “Don’t speak of Roan like that, he’s a good man. Besides Beorn is like a brother to me.”
Rubbing, his shoulder Erik grinned sheepishly, “But look at Beorn, he’s way more handsome and quite a bit taller too.” Hilda nodded in agreement.
Rolling her eyes at her parents, Astrid turned to Beorn, “Forget their nonsense and eat up. You look like you’re starving.”
She reached out and tousled Beorn’s blonde hair, “It’s good to see you again, little brother.”
Unsuccessful in trying to dodge her hand, Beorn gave up and congratulated her, “Wow, Roan finally worked up the courage. When is the wedding?”
Finally done mussing up Beorn’s hair, she replied, “We’ve decided to have it in the spring. Old woman Heimlaug did a divination and everything. Said Prosperia's blessing would ensure a long and fruitful marriage.”
“You’re invited of course”, she continued in a tone that promised Beorn of dire repercussions if he dared decline.
Meekly nodding his head, Beorn replied, “I’ll be sure to attend.”
Satisfied Astrid nodded her head, “Good. Now dig in or the food will get cold.”
Obliging, Beorn started tearing into the delicious meal. It wasn't long before both Hilda and Astrid were called back into the tavern by the guests.
"It's Warren, he wants to get an early start today before it starts snowing again. You take your time and finish eating," explained Hilda before leaving. Astrid patted Beorn's shoulder before following her mother out of the room.
Mouth too full to respond, Beorn nodded at them and resumed inhaling the delicious food.
Erik got up and shut the door after hanging up the Closed sign. Returning to the table, he waited for Beorn to finish before offering a mug of ale.
Beorn took it gratefully and sipped it, washing down the last of the meat. As he got up to leave, he remembered that he'd forgotten to tell Erik about what attacked him before he was slathered in the ointment. He turned towards Erik, "The wounds were caused by some new kind of beast. The thing was like a Direwolf but nearly twice as big. Also, it didn't make a sound when it snuck up on me and it had poisonous saliva and blood. Tell Gustav to warn anyone going out into the Wolvenrych to be on the lookout."
Erik nodded to Beorn, "I'll let him know as soon as possible, I'll tell Warren to be alert on the road as well." He paused before asking, "I don't suppose ye'll listen to me and sleep here will ye?"
Beorn said apologetically, "I can't intrude on you any further."
Seeing Erik about to try and convince him, he spoke hurriedly, "Besides I want to check up on the Manor, I haven't been there in a year."
Erik nodded, barely accepting his excuse. Scratching his beard, he spoke after a pause, "That reminds me, Roderik and his thugs, what did they call themselves again?"
"The Northern Fangs?" Asked Beorn.
"Yes, those useless louts, they were seen loitering around the Manor a couple of days ago. The mayor warned them but with the preparations for Ereshkigal's Feast no one has the time to drive them out."
"Roderik still up to his usual tricks?" asked Beorn.
"Yep, they know they can't start shit in the town, or we'll run them out, so they stay on the road and harass the merchants. Honestly, they aren't really dangerous so nobody's bothered," Erik replied.
Nodding his head as he got up, he reassured Erik, "Good thing I'm heading there then. I'll take care of them."
Getting up from the table, Erik gave him another hug before holding his shoulders and saying, "Well ye know yer always welcome here. Don't be a stranger."
Beorn nodded back feeling the care in his words. Putting on his shirt, he folded the empty sled and tied it on the pack before retrieving his cloak. Draping the cloak over his shoulder he took up the pack and opened the door. Pausing in the doorway he turned back and said, "Thanks so much, Erik. I'll be back next time I'm in town."
Erik smiled back, "Ye do that lad. And be sure to keep safe."