Erik put on his wolf coat, called back Rock inside his body, and crawled his way out, activating [Shaman Senses] to see in the dark.
Outside, the blizzard limited his vision. Arm protecting his eyes, he peered into the distant darkness, looking for the one who disturbed his meal.
Sure enough, a figure clad in fur clothes was approaching. It was a slender man armed with a bow and an ax, he had long black hair, a gray fur coat, and a wolf's head as helmet. Judging by his weapons, the man was probably a hunter.
He towered over Erik, appearing unfazed by the storm.
'This man is a rank 4 at least,' was the first thought passing through Erik's mind. He could tell from the twelve golden threads and the confident way the stranger walked as if he had no predator in this forest. 'If he wants to kill me, I'm pretty much fucked.'
The man seemed to gauge him, then offered a handshake.
There was a saying amongst hunters: "If a stranger comes holding a weapon, they ask for a fight. If they offer a handshake, they ask for hospitality."
The rule of hospitality in the wild was no joke, breaking it was considered dishonorable, one would be chased by all hunters if this came to be known. Honor was something every Norsemen deeply respected, only outlaws wouldn't bother with this notion.
A host's responsibility was to offer supper and a shelter, in exchange, their guest should provide something of equal value.
'That could be a great opportunity to gain something in return and not die while I'm at it.'
Erik grabbed the man's hand, accepting his offer. In good faith, the stranger buried his weapons before following his host.
Barely fitting in the entrance tunnel, he had to go back out, remove his coat, and squeeze himself inside; thanks to his slim but toned frame, he made it through.
Rex and Old Bone shot Erik quizzical gazes while keeping an eye on the stranger.
"It's fine guys, he's our guest," he said, sitting by the fire. The totem beasts relaxed a bit. "I'm Erik."
"Sieg," the man replied, seemingly curious as to why a dog and a raven accompanied him. Although he didn't mention it, Erik could tell by just how he kept stealing glances at his companions. "I am grateful for your hospitality and swear on my forefathers no harm will come to you and your pets in any way as long as I stay under...," Sieg took a look at his surroundings, "underground I suppose."
"They are not my pets," he corrected him, "but my companions."
"Sorry, I meant no disrespect."
"So long as you know."
"Good. Thanks again for the hospitality. Traveling in a snowstorm is not enjoyable. Poor vision, annoying gusts and it's a bit cold. I wouldn't have died from this but I'm lucky I've found a place to rest. However, I never expected my host would be a kid. Thirty years as a hunter and it's a first for me. Looks like I'm growing old, the next generation is catching up, haha," Sieg said, his tall frame taking a third of the room, Erik was glad Rock had worked on enlarging the space.
Erik laughed along, more for the sake of courtesy than humor. Both were trying to make conversation but it sounded awkward and tense.
"Quite the cozy shelter you made by the way. I wonder how long it took you to build this."
"Glad you like it. I dug for an entire day, planning on remaining by the riverside for a few days. Might as well get comfortable," Erik lied, examining the man.
He had a gaunt face, a month-old beard, and slight wrinkles hinting at his age, probably between 40 and 50.
"Nice catch," Sieg pointed at the rainbow salmon that was just about ready.
"Thanks. They were caught two hours ago. Fresh and all, you know."
Erik removed the fish from atop the fire, threw a piece to his companions, and offered a good chunk to his guest who accepted the gesture.
Nothing like a good dinner around the fire during a blizzard to relax the atmosphere.
"So, what were you doing in this storm, Sieg? Taking a winter stroll?" Erik asked, trying to find his guest's goals. The law of hospitality might apply here, but caution never hurt, and it made for a good topic.
"Grim tale, kid." Erik noticed Sieg's hand shook slightly. Could be signs of trauma. "Let's finish this delicious-looking fish first if you don't mind."
"No, of course not." Erik wasn't an insensitive bastard.
Old Bone who has never taken part in a fight until now appeared ready to fight feathers and beaks if push came to shove.
Rex was already done with his portion, resting on his front legs, he observed the hunter, ready to pounce on him were he to make a suspicious move.
"Bark if you want me to attack, friend," Rex declared, his woofing incomprehensible to Sieg.
"Easy, Rex," Erik petted his companion.
"So he's called Rex. He looks like a good boy. Can I pet him?" Sieg asked.
Woof! "Hands to yourself stranger! I'm no friend of yours!" Rex growled.
The hunter backed off a bit, he didn't need translation to understand Rex's intentions.
"Sorry, Sieg. He doesn't trust you enough for that," Erik explained.
"Don't apologize, it's my fault. Dogs never really liked me anyway, maybe because I've killed a lot of beasts."
Silence returned as they kept looking at the motion of flames licking wood until the gaunt man broke it, asking THE question.
"You're a Basara kid, aren't you?"
Erik remained calm on the surface but his instincts screamed danger. There was no telling what a person from other clans would do to him if they knew his identity.
The peace built by Skadi was fragile, causing a civil war to break out in about sixteen years if he recalled correctly.
Erik hadn't been there when it started and ended in the Basara victory, but he knew it had left them weakened.
He knew the Bear clan had been publicly known as the main instigator, however, trusting the public opinion was foolish.
Public opinion was influenced by those in power who sometimes conveyed half-truths to mask their deeds, and rumors spread faster than truths; because of entertainment.
Other clans have helped the Bear clan with the revolt, that much Erik was certain, the question was who?
"Why would you think that?" Erik asked.
"Crimson hair, wearing only underwear despite the cold, traveling with two animals that can understand what you say, one is probably your totem beast, I'd say the raven. The dog is just your pe—companion," Seig corrected himself at the last minute. "Wolverine kids are tough, but they aren't suicidal enough to wander the Crimson Forest at night, less at your age.
"This leads me to think you're undergoing your first trial. Everyone knows the Basara family are power-hungry warmongers who send their children to the forest when they reach nine years old. Most know and envy their blessed body that increased their growth speed. You look like twelve, fitting the description. I think that's enough to draw such a conclusion."
'So there is a reason this hunter is still alive after doing this job for thirty years,' Erik thought. Quick thinking, and analytical capabilities, these two skills were a must in the wild if one wanted to survive.
"Relax, kid," Sieg said, sensing Erik's anxiety. "As I said, no harm will come to you so long as I'm under your roof. Moreover, I've been feeling eyes on me since I entered your shelter and that's only because that person is letting me know they're here. Someone powerful is watching over you, kid."
Caliber.
That thought reassured Erik who had forgotten about the examiner. "It was obvious, wasn't it?" he asked.
"Honestly, young master, yes. If your uncommon crimson hair didn't give you away, your age did," Sieg pointed at his hair with a fish bone. "I've seen some of your siblings in this forest in the past, probably why I could tell you're a Basara so quickly."
It wouldn't be surprising if a hunter crossed paths with kids living in this forest for a bit less than two years, that much was believable.
"I knew I should have changed my hair color before leaving," Erik sighed. "And just call me Erik." He disliked being called young master, only tolerating the title when he had to.
Sieg was just showing proper etiquette but there was no need for it in the wild.
"Alright, Erik, you're the boss under your own roof," the hunter said, throwing the fishbones into the fire.
"Now that you're done eating and learned my story, care to share yours?" Erik asked, taking advantage of the situation to change the topic.
"Fair enough," Sieg sighed. "I'm a hunter from Lei, a village west from here."
Erik never heard of this village, but it wasn't rare for villages to appear and disappear within years. Many succumbed to savage beasts or bandits.
"I'm hunting a certain pack of wolves roaming these parts. These savage beasts attacked Lei a few days ago. We repelled the pack, killing three fourth of them but the alpha, a half-direwolf, escaped after his pack killed fifteen people. Eight adults, two elderly, five children," he said, accentuating the last sentence while clenching his fists, particularly the last word.
'I know these eyes.' Erik immediately understood the hunter was out seeking vengeance. "I'm sorry for what happened to your village," he empathized, "must have been awful."
"'Awful' doesn't start to describe it, kid," Sieg stared into the fire as if he relived the moment in the flames. "They attacked during a blizzard to mask their coming. Screams drown in the snowstorm's fury. Before we realized something was wrong, the guards were already dead and one house was emptied of life."
The hunter paused, took a sip from the gourd hanging by his belt, and resumed his story. "The victims were neighbors, good people I grew up with. They also, they killed my boy…," Sieg slowly closed his eyes, the pain clear on his wrinkles. "As the strongest in the village, I should have saved them."
He took another sip, the liquid calming his guilty conscience.
"That's why I'm hunting those beasts. The alpha is a cunning bastard, every time I'm about to catch up he somehow manages to sense my presence and lead his pack away. He knows I'm stronger than him and avoid frontal confrontation."
Direwolves were an evolved species of the common grey wolves, basically rank 4 grey wolves.
A half-direwolf was a rank 3 wolf, usually an alpha in these parts, that was about to undergo its evolution.
As tall as a bear, it had sharp claws, and longer teeth with greater shearing ability than normal wolves.
Its grey fur was thick enough to resist normal arrows. On top of that, the beast would develop more cunning. Truly a predator one should be wary of.
The difference between a half and a true direwolf was the beast core that had yet to breakthrough rank 3, also called the First Threshold, and what separated the Foundation Realm from the Manifestation Realm.
While weaker than a true and unable to use beast arts, a half-direwolf remained a formidable predator.
"I suspect it's bidding its time, probably trying to evolve before facing me. The forest around these parts is a mess because of it," Sieg said. "It kills regardless of its need for food, all the alpha cares about is beast cores. The more it eats, the closer it is to reaching rank 4. I've gotta stop it before that happens, or it'll become harder to kill."
'This could explain the low beast activity and why Rex smelled gore along the way,' Erik thought. He had encountered very few beasts traveling here.
At first, he had thought it was the mouf berries' work, but they usually decrease the savage beast encounters, not nullify them. A rampaging half-direwolf would be a better explanation for this phenomenon.
"So, kid, if you're planning on staying here, I'd advise you to be extra cautious. Last time I checked, they've left the area in search of more beast cores but you never know," Sieg warned.
____
Lore Extract:
"I keep having the same weird dream. It comes to me once every month or so, a giant face of an old crow formed by tempestuous clouds, lightning as eyes, wind as feathers. Its cryptic words, often the same, leave me food for thoughts. What it is it wants from me, I know not, but it frightens my very soul."
—Erik Basara.