“Hunt-leader! You’re forgetting yourself!” Berard shouted.

“He did not have to do it!”

Milos glanced to the curtained entrance, his earlier humour draining rapidly. The cold, diamond hardness returned to his eyes. “Excuse me. It seems my other guests are rowdy.”

Whp!

The curtain flew open and familiar figures poured over the nest of carpets. Hunt-leader Jairus lead them - his body contorted in wrath - while Berard followed with the reluctance of a cur about to be scolded. Adelmar and a masked cultist that Wurhi assumed was Haldrych - the two dogged each other’s steps like stench and shadow - swung their heads this way and that, gawking at the chaos spread along the walls.

“Sacred Alpha!” Jairus stalked forward. “I-”

“Stop.” Milos held up a hand.

His mighty voice struck as surely as any blow, freezing Jairus in mid-step. The Sacred Alpha’s utterance was calm and low, but it bore a cold menace as threatening as a blade being drawn. “You have entered my dining chamber as a guest, and I have had meat, bread and spices lain out for you.” He gestured to the wolf-heads over the fireplace. “Under the eyes of Lycundar himself.”

Crk.

A strange sound came from outside. Wurhi stiffened.

Her eyes drew - unwillingly - toward the large curtained passage from the room. Something had stirred in there. She flared her nostrils, but the scent of fire, food and the Sacred Alpha obscured all else.

Milos’ gaze grew less human by the heartbeat. “Do you display the proper respect this calls for? Answer with honesty.”

Jairus shuddered, his teeth audibly grinding. His head dropped. “I…I apologize Sacred Alpha.” He bowed so low he nearly tumbled. “Forgiveness from you and Lord Lycundar.”

“…Good.” The cult leader cast his hand toward the three already seated. “These lambs are captive, yet have conducted themselves with more respect than you, Hunt Leader Jairus. Your shame mounts; take care not to build it further. Now, sit. All of you.”

The four new arrivals glanced to each other, then quickly made their way to their seats. Haldrych stared at Wurhi and Merrick with a hateful leer but Adelmar dragged him to the table.

“Good. At last.” Milos took up his bronze knife. “Come, eat. It has already begun to cool.” He glanced to Haldrych, who had found a seat as far from the thieves as he could manage. “You may remove your mask to sup at my table.”

“Yes…” he paused, seeming to struggle to remember the term of address. “S-sacred Alpha.” With a final, vicious glance toward the thieves, he took up his own knife.

As Crixus tucked into the feast, Wurhi and Merrick reluctantly followed suit. The small Zabyallan did not think herself as having much in the way of appetite, but the first taste of meat proved that notion false.

She tore into her meal as though it would be her last, avoiding ruminating on how accurate that might be. The flavour motivated her fervour, with exotic northern herbs dancing together upon her tongue.

Jairus, Adelmar and Berard ate about as well as one would expect man-wolves to. Yet it was Haldrych Ameldan that feasted with the most vigour; the young patriarch loosed himself of every lesson of propriety pressed into him throughout boyhood. With enthusiastic bites and liberal helpings of butter and salt, he gorged himself to a chorus of groans and grunts as he sucked the juices from each finger in turn.

Milos watched, his eyes sparkling as though he were party to some private jest. “Alright, Jairus. You have entered with respect, accepted my invitation and we have broken bread. I will hear that grievance now: am I to understand you question your beasts’ fate?”

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Jairus swallowed an over-large mouthful of meat, grimacing and pounding on his chest. He spoke only after he chased it with half a chalice of water. “Lord Milos. I must ask - with all respect to the Sacred Alpha’s wisdom and power - what did my pets do to deserve death at the claws of your beast? They…” he grimaced. “…they stood no chance. I trained them well, but your prize was forged by your blessed work. Why? Why have them face such deaths?”

Milos took a long, silent sip with his eyes settled on Berard. The hulking man’s knife had been lain on his plate and his eyes hung low.

“Why, indeed?” the Sacred Alpha repeated the question. “Berard. What did our progenitor cry out when he first felt the touch of moonlight? After his meeting with Lycundar on the crossroads of Weren?”

The large man sat up quickly. “Yea, did Remus cry out:” he repeated the verse from memory. “Why? Why hath such a curse fallen unto me? Have I not sacrificed to the gods? Is my heart not pure and untainted by wrath or gluttony? Why must it beat as the heart of a beast when the moon is full and bright? Why must I suffer so!?”

Milos nodded his approval. “So it is written on the Third Tablet of He Who Consumes Himself. And what did Siodmaka write as Remus’ failing?”Berard glanced at Jairus. “Remus failed to account for himself. And he failed to turn his suffering into the forge of his renewal. For Lycundar’s bite is passed as a curse, but it is a blessing hid within a trial: a boon for those of strong mind, faith and purpose.”

“Very good! So it is written on the Seventh Tablet of He Who Consumes Himself!” the Sacred Alpha roared. “For it was Remus’ carelessness that caught him on the crossroads in the dead of night! It was his foolishness that offended Lycundar and brought about his cursed bite! It was his lack of strength that caused his curse to control him, leaving him to slaughter his children!”

Milos looked to Jairus once more. “Think well, Hunt Leader. Think on Remus’ folly and Siodmaka’s will: why did your beasts need to die?”

The hunt-leader’s eyes widened. “I…they committed no carelessness!”

“Indeed, they did not.”

The words hung in the air.

All had long placed down their knives, for they could not cut the silence, let alone the fine meat: not with the way every hand trembled.

“Mmf! This is delicious,” came a quiet murmur.

Only Haldrych Ameldan continued to feast in contentment.

It was the only sound aside from the crackle of flame and the hiss of mountain wind.

Milos smiled on him as one would upon a contented child, yet there was a hardened curve to his lip. His eyes returned to Berard. “You know, Berard. I can smell it. You are showing more insight than your commander.”

The large man grimaced. “My Lord…the beasts died to punish failure. Hunt Leader Jairus’ failure. Our failure.”

The Hunt Leader whirled on him. “What madness is this!? What failure!?”

Milos loosed a sigh great enough to bend his back. “Very well. I suppose I shall show you, for I share in the fault as well.”

His eyes hardened. The predator’s musk grew until it stung Wurhi’s nostrils. The Zabyallan whimpered, quivering in her seat. Jairus, Adelmar and Berard recoiled as hounds when their master’s whip rises.

Yet, his body remained at ease as he turned to Haldrych Ameldan. “Tell me, Haldrych, are you enjoying the feast? You certainly seem to be.”

The young poet groaned happily. “It is exquisite, my Lord! Fresh roast is best in the heart of winter! It sets a man’s blood to singing like a beautiful maid in a bright, green glen!”

“That pleases me,” said the Sacred Alpha. “Trust our resident poet to speak of my table in verse.”

Haldrych swelled as though ready to preen himself. “Thank you, Lord Milos! It is my hope that I may write of the deeds I undertake!”

“I see, I see.” Milos said. “Just as you…oh what was it that young Adelmar said you did? ‘Made it snow silver?’, I believe?”

Adelmar coughed. “Er, yes, Sacred Alpha-”

“It was glorious!” Haldrych crooned. “Truly, a missed opportunity, though. Only two nights later I thought of what I should have cried-” he cleared his throat. “You thought only the gods had the power to make it rain or snow! But hark! Behold as I bring snow upon you all! A snow of silver!’ Ah! It would have been glorious!”

“Indeed.” the Sacred Alpha nodded. “And perhaps you could have likened it to the coat of your steed? A handsome beast: as though coated in silver himself. Is that why you shoed him in gold? To ride upon a king’s prize?”

“Mmf! No, Sacred Alpha, but well put!” Haldrych grinned. “Perhaps you have the soul of a poet as well!”

“Perhaps. Perhaps. Ah. That reminds me. I nearly forgot something.”

“Lord Milos?”

The Sacred Alpha reached beneath his seat and drew up several objects. “Here. I do believe these belong to you.”

Clatter!

With aim birthed of inhuman precision, he cast a quartet of shining objects across the table. They clashed to the oak and slid just before the young poet. All eyes followed their path, widening in recognition.

Adelmar gasped.

“Oh shit,” Wurhi muttered. “Oh shit!”

Haldrych’s grin slowly faded even as his eyes grew.

Before him gleamed four golden horseshoes. Dark red stained their shining surface.