***
The villagers and traders who'd begun early for another market day briefly paused in their work to notice a trio of men heading toward the west gate. At the lead was one of the big garrison guards, followed by two strangers. Word had spread from the day before that a hunter had made a deal with Elder Berik to cull a wolf pack. The shorter stranger - carrying a bow, wooden spear and light supply - must have been the one. The young man was brave, and also a fool. Their gazes lingered on him as he passed by, all of them believing they'd never see him again.
The guard stopped at the open road gate, next to a low sentry tower. He turned to Stenhelt and said, "This is where I see you off, hunter. I will report to the village elder that you have begun your part of the bargain. Triad willing, you'll return. Good luck."
When the guard stepped away to speak with the man on duty in the tower, Sten turned to Chohla. "I'd ask you along," he said solemnly, "but... but I..."
"But you would be distracted with concern for me, no matter how much more capable I am than you in the wild," he said with an easy grin, making light of the fact. "I understand, Khoveyo - this is something you must do alone."
Sten nodded, looking out to the forest and the gray morning sky. "It is," he said quietly.
Chohla reached into his bag, pulled out a few small pouches and handed them to Sten. "Here are some paints that might prove useful. Until you return, I may spend some of the coins you gave me. The inn serves a good potato and duck egg breakfast, I'm told." His tanned face creased with a wide smile when he added, "While you're out in the coming storm with naught but jerky and melted snow, I'll be spending another night resting on a soft feather bed and sipping mead. Perhaps that's inspiration enough to be quick about it."
Sten's frown turned into a smile. "And perhaps there'll be a few coins left after you've grown lazy and fat." With nothing more to say, he turned and walked through the open gate.
As Chohla watched his young friend stride off into the forest, the garrison guard stepped up next to him. "No lone hunter has fared well in the Den Forest," he commented. "For whatever skill he may possess, I do not share your faith in his return."
Chohla looked up at the guard with a slight grin. "Would you care to wager on it?" he asked.
Sten's sensitive ears caught the chat between Chohla and the guard even from a distance, but he wasn't interested in their conversation. He'd given his full attention to finding a wolf pack. In that regard, he relied on his father's teachings and his own experiences. From those, he knew that a large pack would claim a vast territory, and that it tended to move along a basic course through it. Of the nearest pack, Sten assumed that Duuvinhal was within its territory.
Sitting on a rock next to a lazy brook, Sten made symbols on his skin with detached skill borne of repetition. As he drew lines of green paint with his fingers down his cheeks into his short beard, he thought of the best tactics to use with the harsh weather predicted by Chohla. Especially as winter came, a hungry pack would normally charge full on toward a deer's bleat or elk's bugle. The scent of blood in the air had the same effect. Sten imagined the scenario before setting off.
By midday, he had covered respectable ground moving south into the Den Forest. The terrain was uneven and hilly, keeping his field of vision fairly short. The many oaks that were unwilling to give up their brown leaves further obstructed the full view of his surroundings.
Considering that a large wolf pack could've either been just beyond the next ridge or a day's march away, Sten had to find tracks or signs soon. He hadn't seen any, though. The only notable thing he'd come across thus far was a bear ripping into a rotten log. Calming himself, he created an aura - as Chohla put it - to let the bear know all was well. The large animal curiously stared at him for a few moments before returning to its labor of finding a meal, and paid no attention when the unexpected company moved on.
Sten sat on a rocky perch set into an ascending hill. He sat cross-legged and removed his wood cur poncho and buckskin vest, and then applied more simple symbols of blue and green on his torso. Afterwards, he closed his eyes and cleared his mind to seek the answer that his normal senses couldn't find. He pictured his own location in the forest, and then visualized wolves in a vague wooded setting - moving, searching... hunting.
A vision struck Sten's mind with a sudden jolt. He stared into the amber eyes of a big black wolf, the alpha of a pack. Panting, Sten opened his eyes wide. West, less than a day away and moving methodically - the alpha and his pack were coming.
Unaffected by the cold gusts against his back, Sten turned and looked up the steep rock-strewn hillock to its precipice. Infused with energy, he jumped to his feet and sprung up the craggy incline like a sure-footed ram. The ascent stopped at a wide ridge line, dotted with slim pines. He looked to the west and studied the wide landscape before him.
Under a darkening iron grey sky was a wide, wooded valley of needled pines and husky firs. Far down in the basin was an expansive lake, murky blue and choppy. The land formed a crude bowl around the lake except to the south, where the circling crest gradually dropped away. A strong wind swirled and moaned through the trees of the horseshoe valley, lending it a somber mood.
Sten sensed slight movement along the distant ridge to the southwest. Of a span where most men's eyes couldn't reach - even his father - Sten squinted and could just make out the tiny figures of wolves weaving through the trees. The pack was moving north, and would eventually circle around to him if they kept to the crest. He planned to make sure they did.
The gloomy light of day dwindled as Sten made hasty preparations. Snow began to fall in gusts as the evening turned pitch black, forcing the young hunter to accept the work he'd completed as good enough. Up on the ridge, he cut away some of the lower branches of a dense fir and crawled in under its protective boughs. A short rest, and then he would begin anew.
While the wind howled and the snow gathered just beyond his shelter, Sten contemplated his course of action. With the weather, he guessed that the wolves had bedded down; he'd wake them near dawn. As for culling the pack, he had to bring the aggressive wolves in close. If he brought down one or two with arrows, the rest would most likely scatter. He didn't have time to hunt them one by one. He then realized that his plan was actually for them to hunt him.
Sten awoke alert and peered out from under the fir tree's branches. The storm had blown over; ankle-deep powdery snow was left in its wake. The stars that riddled the night sky had begun to fade as the soft violet light of dawn expanded along the eastern horizon. The day that would truly test his ancestral blood had come.
With a sense of urgency, Sten gazed around for any signs of woodland life. He spotted a squirrel on the branch of a knotty pine. As Chohla once mused for a different purpose, it would have to do. Holding small stones that he'd gathered the day before, he moved in as close as possible without startling the target. Throwing with a practiced aim normally used for downing quail, he let a stone fly. His luck held; the squirrel was hit in the head, and it fell lifelessly from the tree.
After the small animal was retrieved, Sten turned toward the lake valley and blew into the elk caller Tull had carved for him not long ago. He let the sound echo, and then blew again to make sure he'd gotten the pack's attention.
The emerging dawn gave enough light for Sten to scan the far ridge of the valley again. It took him a few moments, but he finally caught sight of the wolf pack. They were to the north, further along the ridge than he expected. A howl echoed through the valley - most likely the alpha calling the others together. If they moved quickly, as Sten expected, the wolves would be on him before he could cook the squirrel. It was just as well; food was the least of his concerns.
Sten then tested the breeze. He was upwind of the oncoming pack, as he wanted. Except for a few items, he put his gear back under the fir tree. He also removed his poncho and vest, wanting no restrictions of his movement. Bare-chested, he stepped out to his planned spot on the snowy ridge and faced north. The looming pack cou
ld be clearly seen, moving with a sense of purpose and hunger. Hot breath left Sten's expanding lungs with growling huffs of hostile expectation.
Rather than reaching for the flint skinning knife in his boot, Sten used one of the newly-formed claws on his fingers to slice open the squirrel's underbelly. He tugged the long wound open; warm guts met cold air, causing steam to rise. He pressed the carcass against his hairy chest, smearing blood and innards down his torso. Thinking him wounded, the wolves would be even more inclined to bring down their potential meal.
Catching the scent of blood, the wolf pack quickened their pace. With his enhanced eyesight, Sten could see their lolling tongues and the plumes of their hot exhales. They would be at the small clearing soon. He spent a moment to concentrate and send out another aura, but not a calming one as he'd exuded in the past. It was to inflame the pack's aggression, so that none of them would shy from the battle to come.
While keeping his gaze on the sprinting pack, Sten reached for the pouches of paint at his belt. He wiped crimson paste across his mouth and chin with his palm, absently noting his elongated jaw and enlarged canine teeth. He then used the pads of his fingers to gather black paint from another pouch, closed his eyes, and drew a line from temple to temple. The symbol gave him a slightly deeper well of power, and fortified his courage to face death if need be.
And then the pack was there - well over a dozen large wolves. Cunning creatures, they spread their numbers to come at their prey from different angles. Some crept forward, others milled behind them. Less wary and more assertive than they normally would be, the wolves quickly advanced. Hoping to goad them from using careful tactics, Sten retreated two short steps.
His plan worked. Seeing the movement as a sign of weakness and fear, the nearest wolves rushed at their prey with open-mouthed growls. Stenhelt, son of Halivik and kin to the ancient traveler Chohla, was ready for them. His body suddenly surged with a primal urge to commence battle. The wolves did not disappoint.