Volund heard Bruni boisterously greet the messenger, and proceed to keep the man on edge for the next several hours. Every time the messenger, a man named Wex, who Volund recognized as one of Lord Hroth’s men, started to talk about his purpose for visiting, Bruni cut him off with another story or deflected the man’s words into something the man did not intend to say. By the time Geri snarled at her master and came back to the den to feed her pups the messenger was nearly in tears with frustration at the endless doubletalk and deflections.

“All I need to know, my lord, is whether you have seen the boy named Volund,” the man finally shouted at last.

“Well, well, then,” Bruni answered in a voice gone cold and hard. “I can tell you that I have not seen any boy named Volund in the past three days.” It was true, Volund had spent the entire time in Geri’s den.

“What of his woman, Hervor?” The messenger, Wex, demanded, unfazed by the unfriendly edge to Bruni’s tone.

“No boy named Volund, nor woman named Hervor, have been seen here in the past three day’s time. You tire me. Perhaps your tongue tires of being inside your mouth.” The tone of Bruni’s voice grew even more frigid, and Volund started to creep towards the hide draped over the mouth of Geri’s den, to see what was afoot. Geri growled softly and set her teeth in Volund’s boot, securing him in place next to her. His elbow ground into a small deposit of puppy mess, and he stifled a groan.

“I don’t think you understand how important it is that they be found,” Wex continued, and then his words were cut off with a gurgle.

“And you apparently don’t understand the importance of manners, little man. You were warned, and I do not lightly suffer fools from impudent lordlings.” The gurgle changed and became a strangled shriek.

“There now,” Bruni’s voice was cheerful once again. Volund heard something sizzle in the fire on the hearth, and the smell of cooking meat wafted through the farmhouse. “See, both our problems have been solved. Go back to your master, Wex, and tell him that no boy named Volund nor woman named Hervor have been seen here in these past three days.” Volund heard muffled sobbing and quick-running footsteps.

“Oh, husband, really?” Frig’s voice was weary, and Volund startled when Alexandros brought him a haunch of roast rabbit and some dark brown bread. Bruni’s answer was a friendly rumble, and Volund heard the sound of a glass jar against the rim of the farmer’s horn cup. Alexandros gave him a steady look that was oddly reassuring.

Geri allowed him to eat the rabbit, but demanded that he share the bread. The only female in the litter, a creature who was entirely brindle with none of the gold or black stripes of her dam or brothers, crawled up into Volund’s lap, licking his face eagerly. “This is a very strange place,” Volund whispered to her, and she set herself to sucking on the collar of his tunic.

The next day, Frig flipped back the leather curtain across the den’s mouth and peered in. “My son, you need to come out from there and take a bath. Geri, let him go, you can handle the pups for an hour while our Weyland becomes clean again.”

“What did you call me?” Volund asked, confused.

“Weyland. That is your name, after all.” She led him to a deep tub that had been set next to the fire. Bruni’s chair was empty, though a raven sat on the back.

“Where is Hervor?” He had not seen his cousin nor even heard her voice since their arrival.

“She is answering for some liberties she has taken. Never fear, you will travel with her again when the pups are old enough.” She handed him a waxy yellow brick of soap and quickly ordered him out of his clothes. When he stood there naked before her, she threw his clothes into the fire, ignoring his protests as he tried to cover himself with his hands. “If you don’t want to stand naked before me, boy, get in the damn tub,” she said waspishly.

He climbed in, and suffered through being scrubbed with the harsh soap, rinsed, and scrubbed again. When she allowed him to leave the tub, he was given a rough cloth to dry himself with, his head covered entirely for a few moments. When he lowered the cloth, the tub of filthy water, the soap, and the woman Frig were all gone. A pile of neatly folded clothes were stacked before the fireplace, and he put them on quickly, before something else untoward happened.

The tunic was a deep blue, and he smelled woad in the sharp scent of the fresh dyed fabric. The breeches and shoes were dark tanned leather, as was the belt. It all felt very fine. At the bottom of the pile of clothing was a fist full of leather strips in different lengths. He was puzzling them out when Morien came into the farmhouse.

Volund remembered Morien from Hart Hall, a warrior who was working on making a weapon while on watch when the Night Stalker came the first night. His head had been crushed that night, his body carried away by the monster.

"I'm to show you the way of finishing your cudgel," Morien said, smiling. Volund searched the man's features, looking for any sign of the blow that had killed him, and found nothing at all. Indeed, there were no scars of wear or battle on his hands or forearms, either, only sun touched skin covering the heavy muscles.

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Without a word, Volund turned and led the way to Geri's den. He found the pups had doubled in size in the time he was bathing, and Geri and the brindle bitch were gnawing on either end of the Ravager's arm bone. "Give me that!" he exclaimed, reaching for the middle of the bone to avoid the teeth on either end. Geri grumbled, but released her end. Her daughter growled at Volund, and tried to pull it away, but he gently twisted it out of her jaws, scratching her silky head when she finally let go.

Morien looked over the bone in Volund's hands. "Good, it is better that the bone or wood is wet before we wrap it."

As the day wore on, Morien patiently directed Volund in the elaborate braiding of fine leather around the bone. The result was a hefty cudgel, leather wrapped from end to end and not resembling the bone of the monster. Morien never touched leather or bone himself, drinking occasionally from his cup.

"This is fine work, Weyland. Here, take the punch and hammer and make your mark at the base, along with the runes for strength and power." Morien wet his finger in his cup and drew the marks on the table between them. Volund thoughtfully added the marks to the tight wrapped handle, and as an afterthought braided a stout strap for the handle.

"Why do you call me Weyland?" Volund met the man's gaze, and Morien smiled again.

"There are moments of change in our lives, boy. You were Volund in your cradle and at your mother's breast, and when you learned to walk and run and carry messages of doom to a black hearted lord. That lord and his henchmen seek for the boy Volund now. They do not know to seek for Weyland Sigrunsson with his Gods Hound companion." The brindle bitch yawned with a satisfied yodel. Volund felt a strange shiver settle into his gut, and the farmhouse around him flexed in his gaze, as if everything was turned ever so slightly.

Weyland shuddered and looked down at the brindle pup, becoming lanky as her body grew towards adolescence. She licked his hand and then gently took his fingers in her jaws, the sharp baby teeth grazing his skin lightly.

The door banged open, and Alexandros looked in. "Come, Weyland, Bruni would give you a task." Giving the pup a final pat, Weyland walked towards the door. The mists lay close on the land.

The raven who had perched on Bruni’s chair before the hearth swooped past Weyland and Morien as they left the farmhouse to join Alexandros. Bruni was standing at the garden fence, looking down the path towards the sea. Frig was not in evidence, nor the rest of the varingjar or Hervor. Weyland was becoming uneasy about Hervor’s absence, worrying about whatever punishment she was taking for overstepping her bounds. A nudge at his calf and a soft whine alerted him to the brindle pup following him. He hung the cudgel from his belt, and bent to pick her up, her legs kicking until she was comfortable under his arm, her chest supported by his hand so she could see the action.

Bruni was smoking an intricate pipe, and the patch was pulled down over the empty, all-seeing socket. “Geri tells me you’re a good lad,” the farmer remarked. The raven landed on his shoulder, and he shrugged it off to land on the fence next to him. “That’s high praise. Of course, if you weren’t, she would have just eaten you, but that’s a tale for the skalds.”

“Ah… thank you, lord.” Bruni turned to him, a sly smile on his lips.

“Son, I’m no lord to you. Call me Bruni the Farmer, or Bruni One-Eye if you must. I have a task for you.” The farmer turned back to the mist-clad vista before them. Weyland’s eyes started to ache in the diffuse light, and shadows moved in the billows of white vapor.

“If I can, certainly,” Weyland replied, hoping that perhaps he would be sent home.

“Don’t worry about going home. Sigrun has things well in hand; you’ll not arrive there for many years yet.” The youth was dismayed, and the pup whined a little in his arm.

The farmer puffed without speaking for a long moment. That moment felt like an eternity, but after hearing the messenger’s audience with his host, Weyland was loathe to interrupt Bruni’s thoughts. A second black bird swooped in to land on the fence at Bruni’s other side, and the sound of hoofbeats came out of the fog, eerie in the odd sunlight.

Frig came up the path, mounted on an enormous black horse. She dismounted at the gate and swatted the horse on the rump, dismissing it before they came inside the perimeter. The varingjar were still absent, though Morien and Alexandros lingered near the door to the farmhouse.

“Ah, Frig, thank you. Did you bring it?” He gathered the blue gowned woman into his arms, kissing her with fervor. She laughed and pushed him away playfully.

“I did, indeed, husband.” She pulled a leather case off her shoulder, handing it to Weyland.

“Ah, good. Weyland, you may repay me for shelter and food - and apparently a Gods Hound pup - by taking that damn harp to Myrddin the Skald. He’s an odd bird, but you’ll find him to be a good master.”

"Will my cousin accompany me?" Weyland asked, a stab of worry and homesickness taking his breath away.

"Interesting," the farmer mused, turning to look at Weyland speculatively. "Very well. If Hervor wishes to join you, she may, and delay her penance a bit longer."

The youth Weyland, who was once a swift runner-boy called Volund, bowed slightly to the farmer. "Thank you, Bruni One-eye, for your shelter and protection. I swear to you and to Geri that I shall care for her pup well and kindly, and deliver the harp to Myrddin the Skald."

Bruni strode over to him, putting his hand on the back of Weyland's neck and pressing his forehead to Weyland's. "So be it," he said, and released Weyland. "Your cousin will join you on the road ahead. Always take the left fork." He gestured to the road, and Weyland noticed the tree at the bottom of the hill, cleaving the path in two.

Without another word, Weyland turned to leave. Alexandros gave him a pack and Frig gave him a loaf of bread wrapped in an un-dyed linen cloth. Somewhere nearby a bell rung, and the fog thinned a bit to the west. The ravens cawed and took flight, circling towards the right-hand path.