Unbound

The sun draws low on the Sumortūnsǣte horizon, its golden rays casting lengthening shadows as late afternoon slowly fades to early evening. The turning leaves of the trees break the fingers of light, scattering them beneath the low boughs, and the telltale caw of carrion crows can be heard on the wind. Talorc hefts the heavy shield that he's been permitted to loot from the corpse of a fallen slaver and Runwyn tests the edge of the man's seax while Beorn checks the tension in the bow. Time to be moving.

Grateful to be leaving the lion's den, Beorn silently thanks God for his grace.  Despite all his life being driven out by this higher power's gifts, it was possible that he still keep a protective arm around the man.  The dirtiness from seasons of imprisonment is not easily removed.  It filthified his soul. Even with a bow in hand, he felt disheveled.  His frail frame and tattered rags barely kept the encroaching chill from his body, but it was numb.  Not even the new absence of pressure from his freshly cut bonds gave him no solace.  For he was in a heathen land where grace and mercy were lost.  Free or aslaved, it would take a lot for his dingy blood head to avoid the axeman's blade.  He'd kept his peace only meekly retrieving a bow offered.  It was not a vow of silence or against violence that had freed him from the slavers, it was a vow against the blade - against war. Beorn would seek the path of learned men.  Daring to use the lord's gifts when needed and if those present could be trusted.  As he walked on in silence with this band of exiles, a few more tears slid down his face dropping to the leaves below.  He could know freedom again.

Talorc walks silently. Glad that others had left with him. He had spent his life in war bands, fighting and crafting, and knew little of hunting or cooking, other men had that task. After so long drifting and then in bonds, his legs felt different, his muscular frame still stood tall, but his joints felt stiff and weak, he had been without proper food for a long time and was not the man he once was. His strength would return though.  Several miles from camp he stops to break the silence. He starts with his native Gaelic tongue, the slaves often used it away from the guards, and he was far more comfortable with it. "Tha seo fada gu leòr. Bu chòir dhuinn armachd a dhèanamh mus tèid sinn air adhart. Glac biadh, dealbhadh càite an tèid sinn." Gaelic: This is far enough. We should make weapons before we go on. Catch food, plan where we go.

Words scratched at the back of his parched throat.  Beorn had heard the Gaelic spoken around camp, but had volunteered not to speak for the most part.  Beorn looked around and considered the area.  His atropied legs were winded and his back ached as if from the yoke.  He sighed and decided to rest against a tree.  "Aontachadh leis." Gaelic: Agreed.

After testing the seax and finding it balanced enough, Runwyn strikes off with some of the other former slaves. They take a walk through the woods, and suddenly Runwyn was glad for her lithe form, as it eased her path through the underbrush. She looked back on occasion,  clearly worried about something happening from behind. The sunlight highlights the attractive  curve of her face, and despite the hair being held back, the dark contrast of the ink black hair gavs a clear reason of what she had been kept around for. This became more obvious for when they stopped and started to talk in that language some of them had used, she kept a nervous hand on the weapon she had acquired. Using the common language,  she hisses "What are we stopping for. We must hunt down these slavers. They have  no honor. Must be stopped."  The sharp look she gives Talorc meant she was thinking he was the biggest threat.

Talorc looks a little frustrated, the effort of speaking the Saxon tongue made him tired. "Need seax. You have one. He have one. They, none." He points at the other members of the group. "Food, none. Water, none. Fire, none." He gestures around like this is obvious. "Stop now to make." He mimes sharpening a stick.

Runwyn is clearly frustrated by this. While her drive to kill the slavers came from a desire to end their lies was strong, it was not enough to blind her to the truth. They had to make provisions,  and she knew this. None of them even had decent enough clothing to last long if it got cold. She frowns but with a sigh she appears to accept the answer.  She however is unsure how to help out with anyother than gathering the water or the fire making. She never did learn the art of the hunt. "Fine, we make fire and food. And clothing.  We need thick for north journey. You should be good. You from there."

While the armed man's speech kept many drunk on the promise of vengeance, people had slowly started to depart - some head low in shame for they had not the will, others firmly searching for their new life elsewhere; some left in groups that spoke to each other from before the fight, others took their chances alone and became an easy prey to beast or man should they be met as a stranger in the woods. Veln knew very few of the other slaves since their grim and hopeless looks and the anger they felt for their misfortune and often turned misguided at each other, was too much for him to bear from dawn to dusk. But the very idea to be alone and without kin and nothing but the tatters on his back frightened him. He followed in a general direction where several groups went while wondering how to approach them. The groups had spread thin and his indecision lasted until he could see and follow just one. Among the several, a tall man had a shield on his back that glistened under the sun cast among the tall trees and it mesmerized him, drawing him to follow for a while. He remembered who the man was only when he heard the cut off words like they were timber chiseled by an ax. Veln felt his stomach clench worse than hunger and his bones chill with the uncertainty. He knew he was close enough to be seen at plain sight yet he struggled to muster the bravery to approach and find words to tie even a weak bond. But he also knew he had no choice. So slowly, he started walking forward towards them.

As his bindings dropped to the forest floor, the glaze that had settled across Alric's eyes gives way as well. He was free and far from home. Survival would require companions and favor from both the old gods and new. Terse whispers of his slave-companions fluttered across the forest breeze, indicating the time for action has arrived. Approaching the group of slave-companions distributing a weapons and shield, Alric walks by a weak and frightened looking man staring at them, then others, seemingly trapped in place by invisible-yet-tangible uncertainty. Alric rests a kind hand on the frightened man's shoulder.  "If nature can hear me, she will provide for us. You should follow." Turning to the rest of the group, he rubs his wrists and progresses forwards. "There is little light. I believe we should travel first while the sun acts as a safe guide. I can attempt to hunt and trap along the way. It will be difficult to regain our strength in this condition, but nature will provide for our survival."

Talorc shrugs. "Hunt with what? One man hunt with one bow. Make spear first, all hunt."

"Then you should take this, huntsman.  For my bones cannot draw its weight for now."  Beorn offers up the bow to the seemingly more fit man, offering to provide for them. "I will call if I have need of it again," he offers to the stranger to asuade the guilt of the giving.  Beorn's english is more accented to his own ear, but to most none would know the difference.  Perhaps a self-thought worry.

Runwyn looks among the men, a ragtag bunch for sure, and shakes her head. Muttering under her breath in Welsh, she asks those gathered " we make spears, we hunt. Who can make the spear? And the water is simple. The grounds provide that. But what  of clothing? And fire? How do you suppose we care for that? Are you from here? You know  closest village?" The last bit was a bit of an angry jab at Talorc, for all his plans, nothing was clear. Soon night would be on them, and while these men may feel fine being alone in the dark, she wasn't a great fan.

"I make spear." Talorc says proudly.  "Slow down."  He tries to get a handle on her torrent of questioning but they are coming a bit fast. "This not good. But what choices? You have a plan?" "One settlement is back."  He points down the road in the direction they came from. "One ..." He indicates onwards, where they were travelling. "I say back." He gives a shrug though to indicate this is not a final decision. He is clearly frustrated, looking around his head for the right words to explain his reasoning. "We hunt, we make clothes. Or, find running men and take."

Veln met Alric's eyes and was grateful that this man took the time to share his calm with him. At first, he did not realize how BIG that man was, almost careless in his appreciation of the simple gesture, but the size difference made him feel almost insignificant. He nodded back awkwardly and followed in his shadow, approaching the group that was in the early process of realizing what came next after being granted freedom. The voices were loud and the woman's remarks even felt tainted of accusation. Veln thought of ways he could contribute and he came with nothing which ashamed him, so he only met the eyes of those around who did not speak and kept his look down when Talorc's attention went his way. He was still afraid of the massive man, the memory of how he felt the sudden heft of the man's hand on his shoulder when Veln was trying to withdraw from the shaken seaxwielder was still fresh.

Alric receives the bow from Beorn. The art of the hunt is something familiar to Alric, however, the participating in the art of the hunt while famished and exhausted is something entirely new. He pulls to test his strength against the bow once, but it doesn't give. The large man frowns and tries once more to bend the bowstring to his will... Nothing. Alric looks up exhausted and sheepishly to Beorn after his failed attempt. "It seems our bones carry the same burden... I will not be hunting until we can rest."  He offers the bow back "I shall not keep it."   "Perhaps he is right."  Alric nods to Talorc after his reply to Runwyn. "Spears now and we move to a settlement in search of charity. I fear the forest may kill us if we stay too long. At least we know what types of beasts live among settlements. I fear as though no good options exist... Only the least terrible." 

'It was honorable' Beorn thought to himself as he accepted the bow, but it was still refusal of a gift freely given.  "Very well." he said nodding to the stranger.  "I am called Beorn, and you?" he asked the man.

Waiting no longer, Talorc takes some straight branches from the tree and sits on the floor. He takes the stolen knife and begins sharpening some points on the end of them. They are rudimentary, far from the metal tipped points of death he would have liked to create, but they would still be effective in bringing down most creatures. "Charity?"  He looks quizzically at Alric, clearly not comprehending the word, or most of the sentence that followed. 

"If we must, we.. we should seek safety in the smaller villages. People are more hospitable there. People not alone to fear strangers but not too many to hate them too." Veln's voice feels uncertain and his eyes dart from one person to another as if afraid to draw too much attention, but knows he cannot be seen as useless among able men. "I thought I saw the guards run in all directions, they or their horses should have gone this... way." He looks around trying to put together the place fo the attack and their current vicinity trying to convey some certainty but he falters. "I... am not sure."

Runwyn sighs and while she was out numbered on the vote to leave, the men had a good point. What direction of travel was safe? And while she didnt voice it, how safe was she with these men? One was clearly a northern barbarian, and the other two seemed decent. But you thought that of the slavers at first you foolish girl. Perhaps leaving them would be wise.  The voice in her head whispered to her. While dealing with the inner struggles of her mind, she was glad when the frail one gave a chance for a distraction. She looks in the direction he gave, and while it was clear to her someone had passed, it was not clear who. "Perhaps one did come these way. There are signs of passage, but that is it as i can tell. Couldve been a boar for all i know."

Talorc hands out the spears. "Now, all hunt, and share." He hoped they all understood what he could only say in his own tongue, but has to make do with the words and hope they were all familiar with the concept. He explains to Beorn though as he hands him a spear.  " Is dòcha an-diugh gum bi mi fortanach agus nach fhaigh thu dad, a-màireach dh ’fhaodadh na faraidhean againn a dhol air ais. Tha e ciallach a bhith a ’sealg le buidhnean agus a’ roinn nam milleadh. Còmhla tha sinn nas comasaiche air grèim a chumail air na lorgas sinn gun tig fear eile tarsainn oirnn agus a ’feuchainn ri a ghabhail cuideachd. A-nis, bu chòir dhuinn sgaradh agus àrdachadh a dhèanamh air na cothroman againn rudeigin fhaighinn." Gaelic: Perhaps today I'll be lucky and you will find nothing, tomorrow our fates could be reversed. It makes sense to hunt with groups and share the spoils. Together we are more capable of holding onto what we find incase another comes across us and tries to take it too. Now, we should split up and increase our chances of getting something.

Veln does his best not to tremble when a large hand passes him a sharpened stick, feeling its heft in his hand. Veln had been on the hunt several times with his father and had put his best effort to not disappoint him, but after several times his father had started leaving early with his relatives and their sons, and he knew deep inside he should not follow them unless invited. Today, however, he would risk no disappointment but the empty stomachs of these people, all of them able and counting on him. He sighs and follows the gesture to spread out picking a direction int he southwest where the trees are shallow. He makes his decision when everyone else makes theirs, picking the direction least followed lest he may intrude on someone.  The first hour he tries his best to focus on the hunt and moving silently in the shadows of the foliage, his small frame easy to hide behind treebark and thick bush. But soon his hopes begin to evaporate when he only turns to spot a movement when an animal scurries away or a shadow appears to be the rustling leaves and not an animal seeking shelter and food. He almost manages to score a squirrel that flops off a tree but the spear fails him and clings into the hard bark and the sharpened edge is now chipped and though not fully ruined, he knows it will not kill a creature. If Veln had a dagger, he would probably have tried to salvage the piece of fine straight wood but he doesn't. For a moment, he fears coming back to these people with empty hands but he has no choice. What he can do? To run away, like a mutt with his tail, tucked low to hide his soiled fur? He continues for some time, scouting around but not finding any game. Veln then decides to look for anything he can gather and return without empty hands. He seeks berries and finds a measly few. However, almost when despair roots in his heart he notices rotten leaves that he recognizes. His father had shown them to him, and they had shared a sweet pebble tasting like sweet bread from the very earth they walk. He smiles, and he starts to dig among the fallen leaves. He laughs when he feels a sharp prick on his finger and he enjoys the soft pain that promises there might be chestnut inside. Later, he spends more time sitting by the trees and clear the lush green shells until his fingers turn black like ash. He takes down his shirt and fills it with a fair amount of chestnut many of them young and still bitter but fulfilling that he will bring back, and looks around to spot the right direction back to their gathering place. He feels it is turning late, and his hunt took longer than he expected. 

Runwyn looks  at Talorc as if he had two heads. Her hunt? How would she be able to find anything in this area? She knew little off the surrounding areas flora or fauna, despite the time she spent here, as much of it was spent caged. She knew how to hunt , but that was on game paths that her family had known, and where streams were. This was a new area, with new rules. She was not confident when she set off off to the north, her doubt clear on her face. After a few moments passed and she continued to look, she stumbled across a place that seemed likely to have some type of game, as all the signs were there. The slightly worn path, the old droppings mixed with new, and the rubbing on the trees said some type of stag either was here or ran this path often. She followed it for a few moments,  unsure if she is going the right way. Her question was answered when she came across a large stag in a wooded clearing.  It was either the goddesses on her side or luck, but she had caught the stag sleeping. It was no issue to sneak up to it, and with a well placed aim and thrust,  she was able to fell the great creature. Now all she had to do was drag it back to her companions. In doing so, it would take the remainder of her time, enough so the others could have been back with their prizes as well.

"I am called Alric. Well met Beorn." Alric takes the sharpened stick from Talorc with a silent nod. The foreign tongue meant little to him but the gesture was clear: we're in this one together. Carry your weight.  He looked back at the smaller man who carried uncertainty with him around his neck: if he was hunting, Alric had no excuse. Now he wished he would have kept that bow... The saxon smiles meekily at Beorn " It seems we are hunting anyway. Let's see if we can't survive this night." Fatigued, Alric fans out away from the group seeking signs of a potential meal. Time passes and the forest remains bare in front of him. Not even a berry felt pity to their situation. Knowing there would be no dinner from him tonight, Alric begins running through survival scenarios in his mind. What was the next best option? They should have left towards the settlement and begged for charity... It was not becoming of a man however times had become desperate.  It was the belting of a beast that snapped Alric's focus back to the matter at hand. Familiar with the sounds of hunt, he knew that dinner (and potentially more) had just been secured. They now would eat, but they also could draw attention for others to find them. It felt as though there were no good course of action to their situation. Alric walked back to group's prior location. He wouldn't be able to contribute to the hunt, but at least he could offer his assistance to clean and prepare the kill. Despite his uncertainty regarding what to do next, he smirked at the idea of eating. Maybe fate was changing but just not yet looking directly at him. As he came to central clearing he asked those around him  "Where should we prepare to harvest this beast? Are we staying here for the evening?"

Talorc returns to the clearing, a pair of squirrels over his shoulder. His eyes widen as he sees Runwyn's prize though.  "Good!" His grin is broad. He dumps the squirrels down, clearly outmatched, but they would certainly not go to waste. "Camp here. Men come, we fight." He takes his knife and gestures around quizzically to see who should skin the beast. "Save skin. Make you skin..." He tugs at his tunic. "Deer make you good skin."

Veln is among last to return, stripped bare to his waist and his clothing used to form a makeshift bag. His skin is pale and flecked and ribs can be easily counted through it. As he brings his haul back no matter how little it is - few handfuls of berries and lapworth of chestnut peeled of their spiked shells - he stares impressed at the stag that Runwyn must have claimed from the woods and brought by herself, counting from the blood that has marked her robes. "I can help if you let me." He tells Runwyn when Talorc suggests skinning the animal.

With the animal skinned, Talorc sets about using the scraps while the others cook the kills. He takes the woolen tunic that had been part of Magan's gift to the group and hands it to Runwyn. He has taken a strip off the bottom, for use in some works he has planned, but it is still more than big enough to cover the woman. "For you. Stay warm.". He then sets about cutting up the deer pelt. Drying it over the fire while he works on the antlers, taking teh points and sharpening them to fix on top of the spears to make better points. He takes the squirrel fur and makes some socks which he proudly wraps around his toes which are black, bruised and bleeding from the rough ground.. When the deerskin is ready, he cuts it up into sections, eyeing up each person in turn, lining up their feet with the sections before he cuts off a new section. Before long, everyone has a pair of deerskin shoes, folded to roughly their size and stitched using the bottom of the woolen tunic and a needle he has crafted from squirrel bone. They are far from perfect, but certainly better than walking directly on the ground. With the left over cuts he tries to make hats to help keep people warm.

The coverings across his feet are welcomed. Alric places a normally-strong hand on Talorc's shoulder. "Good work."  He also looks to Runwyn, "and to you, as well. Very impressive! I'm not sure which spirit guides you on your hunts, but I will need to meet it. The fates prefer I not contribute tonight. I hope for our sakes that changes..."   Sitting down next to the fire, Alric watches the others silently. Everyone is contributing and playing a part in this critical time. Well, all except him... just as his father would frequently remind him. The food cooking smelled wonderful, but Alric mentally repremands himself for this eagerness: he should have no part in enjoying the hunt if all he did was watch it cook like a tired dog. Seeking to feel useful, Alric leans against the freshly carved wooden spear-stick and pulls himself back up. "After we eat, I can keep watch. I think I will stay low and keep an eye over the way we came." Alric points over in the direction the slavers marched them prior to their freedom.  "What do you think? Are there other places we should be keeping a lookout?" 

Beorn is more pragmatic on it.  "Let me sleep.  When the moon is high, wake me and I will watch in your stead." he offers to Alric. To the others, "I wish to thank ye all for these blessings." He looks at the shoes and meat, "and for the companionship upon the road.  It has been many long seasons since I have known freedom from the yoke." His English is fairly well spoken. He turns to the huntsman that cleaned the deer, and offers his thanks,  "Tapadh leat." in his seeming more comfortable tongue. "Dè an t-ainm a th ’ort?" he questions asking of his name.  Beorn tries to offer this small gift of conversation in gratitude for the meal as his Gaelic is better than some tongues.

"Talorc." He responds simply. After a few seconds of pause, he realises he is being rude.  "Agus dè a chanas iad riut?" He asks in return. "I sleep. Wake later"  He throws more fuel on the fire, lying close to it. He knows it will be a cold night without proper shelter, but has done the best he can to dig into the ground near the fire, collecting dirt and leaves to cover themselves with as best they can. Tomorrow they would do better.

As Talorc lays the logs upon the fire, Beorn replies " Beorn ma thogras e."   He looks at the fire and is satisfied as he can be.  Seeing Talorc already readying for sleep and realizing his promise to relieve Alric, Beorn rakes a pile of pine needles and broad leafs but fails to notice the moisture beneath them.  As he lays quietly listening to the night sounds and the crackling fire, his mind retreats to a time before this all.

Veln had not realized before how much effort came to skinning and cutting large game when limited by a single short blade. He helped Runwyn with the skinning, pulling the hide away from the flesh and holding the limbs down as they were chopped off. He even assisted with the removal of parts of the antlers. He was soon panting and groaning, his thin but wiry arms and shoulders straining with the effort, and the sweat that showered his face was painted red as he wiped its salty sting away. By the time they were done, he was struggling to keep up with the rest. Later, as the wood snapped and burned and fire tongues ravenously licked the cooking meat and the hot embers were cooking the sweet chestnuts from brown to charred, he found time to rest his weary body. He had not put his body to so much hard work for almost a year now, being passed chained from one stern seller to the next. He also lacked some simple survival wisdom, but he soaked it from the others. Like the large Gaelic man, he had followed his example and dug himself a bed in the earth and collected dirt and leaves to cover himself. Now he rubbed his throbbing palms lost in silence and feels the warmth of his new skin shoes that Talorc passed to him, find it difficult to spark a conversation until Beorn spoke his heart in a speech like poetry. "I am grateful to you all for allowing me to stay with you. Alone, I would not have made it." His own words falter in comparison but they are honest, and he meets each of their glances before adding to the conversation. "I know little of these lands, I was captured north and west of here, near Mawrgam." He cannot contribute much to the conversation and he knows it, and he waits for others who hold a far more firm grasp of the situation to speak their mind first. Then, when Talorc and Beorn switch to their native language he does not understand, he goes silent again until people lay down to rest, one after another. "I can stay and make you a company?" He asks Alric as though he is tired, the events of the day still can't let him close his eyes. He was wary of large men but this one was the reason he joined the group and he cannot help but compare what he feels like warmth like of hearth fire. "I see well in the dark, and my ears are sharp. I can rest later."

Alric turns to the small one and, through the looming dark of the forest shadows, Veln can make out a soft smile. "A sharp set of ears and eyes is exactly what we will need. I would be happy with someone watching where I cannot."  Unless this frail man was a violent murderer, Alric feels he would benefit from companion during the night watch. At worst, Alric determines, this partner-in-watch overpowers him, kills him, and takes his shoes for a set of feet that are already covered -- all risks Alric is willing to take given the current situation. "I think we should stay close enough so not to be overcome."   With a quick wave, Alric motions for Veln to join him into the forest and away from the light of the fire and their sleeping companions. 

Later that evening as the crackling branches slowly disintegrate into embers, a shadow lurks unseen between the trees nearby. Crouching low to the ground it eyes Veln's vulnerable back and a low growl rumbles from its maw, before it leaps into the firelight! A fierce grey wolf dives towards the boy, jaws wide as it goes for the kill.

Veln nods to Alric, moving to his side of the dying fire and looks around to accommodate his eyes to the dark and listen closely to the soft song of midnight wildlife. "Thank you. For what you did back there." He says it almost as low as a whisper. "Everything happened so fast. If you hadn't nudged me forward, I don't think I would have made the night alone in these lands." They speak somewhat in between long bouts of silence. Veln tells Alric about his homeplace in the eastern lands of Tir Iarll, herb-rich land of wide pastures and simple toil. Few words of his family, though little detail. He feels little when he remembers of life that was only two years ago, more or less. It just felt so distant, all of it.  For a moment, he feels the night chill in his bones and he leans forward to take one of the hot rocks from the emberplace to hold for warmth. The young man has not even a chance to feel the predator aimed his way until there are heavy, fast footpads against the dry leaves, a swift of air, and a growl that builds within a shadow moving straight for the camp, so close to a kill. Veln stumbles to the side when something large brushes him aside, he barely avoids falling down with a hand on the ground for balance and lets a sound of surprise and horror when he turns and faces the wolf. "Talorc! Beorn!" He chokes at first, but then yelps loudly for the others to awake. "Wolf!"

Runwyn kept quiet and to herself for most of the evening, though she did offer thanks to Talorc for his offering and a small smile. It may not be known, but all of the others can remember seeing her having been in chains the longest, being one of the first ones picked up. In her head she was replaying the events that had led to her capture, and the further shames she had endured. Every so often while the men were talking she would drift asleep, only to jerk awake as the fire popped, or a bird in the distance called. It was clear she was not used to the freedom they had so recently got. When it came time to settle in for the night, and set watches, she offers up, "I can take the last watch. Just awaken me. Tomorrow we shall cover many paths."  With her offer and the fire burning, she lays down and goes to sleep, curled into a tight ball. This was exactly how she was also when the wolf enters into the camp, causing her to be the last to awaken or even budge.

Resting uncomfortably, Beorn consciousness relinquishes to awakeness at the guard's alarm.  Drowsiness and soreness ache at him, but the cry of 'wolf' sobers his nerves.  The presence of danger pumps energy into his arms and legs - willing them to move.  Beorn tumbles away from the glowing embers grabbing his bow and a single shaft as he rolls. His body doesn't register the twig stabbing him in the side or the wet leaves clinging to his chilled back. His eyes lock upon the beasts fear inducing fangs and his roll halts with his elbow using the momentum to draw the bow back, but only getting a partial draw before the slickness of his hands causes the bow to release.  The arrow flies true to his mark. Without the power behind it though, the shaft lodges in the wolf's toughened hide, but fails to draw blood.  Beorn looks at the quiver just inside of his arm's reach and verbally counts to himself. 'Seven'.  As he begins to reach across for the next arrow.

The wolf stops and twists on the spot, confused by its inability to clamp down on its prey with its jaws. Turning, the beast leaps once more at Veln, only to go sailing past the scrambling boy.

Veln's feet feel heavy as chained as fear seizes his heart. The beast has its hungry eyes set on him, it's maw open and hot, and breathing pure death. At first, Veln doesn't notice the tar. But once he attempts to step back from the approaching wolf he feels the sticky surface that makes his movement difficult as if he treads through swamp ground. It was the trill of the hunt that made his heart thump like it would burst open, and confusion that his gums did not hurt from the tear of flesh and the sweetness of blood but instead are empty. But there's more: desperation, the starvation of failure, the pains of old age and close ends. Veln breathes deep as he feels the connection, unable to take his eyes away from the animal. His expression for the rest is one of pleading mercy, maw agape in frozen dread. Perhaps unwise, he stopped moving away.

The yelp from the forest is sharp against the quiet night and stirs Alric to action. After days of keeping his eyes to the ground to avoid stepping on sharp sticks or rocks, the skins across his feet enable swift and focused movement - head held high and scanning for Veln with stick held confident and at the ready. The adrenaline coursing through his veins has temporarily converted Alric from a slave to a man who is one with the forest and beast, the land and the sky. Nearing the source of the cry, Alric watches as the leaping wolf attempts to clamp down on its prey. Wolves. A dangerous foe for certain, but not a foreign one. Understanding beasts and their ways always came easy to Alric: his deep connection with the old spirits enabled foresight into beasts' ways and mannerisms. Once the wolf missed with his bite, Alric rushed to meet the wolf after he would most certainly lunge at Veln. As the wolf leaps towards the boy - and Veln avoids the beast - Alric's sharpened stick is there to meet it as it lands. The sharpened stick pushes through the wolf's fur, tissue, and muscle in a sudden and violent search for a vital organ. Finding none, Alric retracts his weapon, dragging pieces of the beast across the dark forest floor. "You are not the only wolf here, beast!"  Alric jabs menacingly at the creature to keep it at bay.   

Runwyn sleeps fitfully, tossing and turning, clearly haunted by her previous experiences. This might explain her sudden awaken for the fight, as she is suddenly besides Alric, spear in hand as she stabs it deep into the beast, clearly a mortal wound as the side of her spear pierces out from flank to flank. It was a luckily shot, managing to hit a moving animal in such a vital manner, but none the less taking it down after the combined assault they had inflicted upon the beast. With shuddering shoulders, and clearly gasping for air, Runwyn is leaning on the spear at this point, still lodged within the wolf. For the moment she seems just frozen. 

Talorc lets out a little moan as he rolls over in the corner. "Cùm e sìos an dèanadh." He lets out a snore as he settles back down from a brief stir.

The ageing beast slumps to the ground, its blood pooling on the earth beneath it. Its still open eyes stare sightlessly up at Veln.

Beorn stands and slowly walks over to the beast.  A chuckle in his throat from Talorc indifference. 'Hold it down, indeed.' he thought to himself.  He shifts the wolf's corpse and uses leverage to dislodge his arrow from its hide.  It comes out cleanly. 'Eight.' he counts to himself again with a smile.  He turns turns back to Alric and Veln, "Go ahead and sleep if you can.  I'll take it on from here."   He picks up the quiver finally feeling the sleep and stiffness ache at him.  He puts a hand on Veln's shoulder as he passes the man.  "You did good."   He settles against a tree looking away from the fire trying to adjust to the night's light.

Woken in the small hours of the morning, Talorc stretches stiffly. He looks with mild surprise, but not impressed at the wolf carcass lying near the fire. As he takes up his watch he begins stripping it down. The flesh is tough and does not cut easily. Wolf meat is never good for eating, it often made men sick Talorc knew, but this looked especially bad. The fur was still fur though, and he opens it up and dries it over the fire. After an hour or so it is ready and he drapes it over Veln as he sleeps to keep him warm. He looks through the old brittle bones of the wolf, trying to see if he can pick any out that could be useful for a tool, but they all seem ready to break in his fingers, or too big to be useful for anything but hitting something with, even those look like they may snap after one use.

The boy felt the connection that pulled him deeper like tar fields and it was no longer a question of whether fear turned him to flee; he simply couldn't. Whether the beast felt the same or the prey had turned predator and the aging wolf was overwhelmed, it no longer mattered after Runwyn's spear tore through its flank. Luckily for Veln, death was the ultimate release from a life of suffering. The boy jerked shaken to its core but not from pain but the sudden chill of a connection that was no longer there. He remained motionless as others approached the dead animal and couldn't take his eyes off it even when Alric's hand rested on his shoulder. " Tak. " Veln nods to Alric with gratitude then turns away to put his mind at ease. He cannot rest and has never been able to after he had felt like this. He makes Alric company at the end of the small camp before still going to the bed he had dug himself. "The wood does not want us here. We take from it, but we do not ask. Perhaps we best be on our move at dawn."

Talorc eventually wakes Runwyn for her own watch and early that morning she's treated to the sight of light slowly breaking over the horizon to the tune of the dawn chorus.

Watching the morning sun not in shackles was a novel experience, one she had been unsure she would ever see again. After the long nights and days at the hands of the slavers, it seems almost comically that the gods give such beauty in the same hand. But while the actions of men are their own, so too was it time for her to make a decision. She could steal out with her new supplies and take her vengeance, or, and most likely the easier choice and safer choice, awake the others so they may get started on their day. They still had task before them, and with the last vestiges of their fire going out, it was time to awaken and move. Perhaps their two kills were good enough they could travel to a nearby place and trade for some goods, though she was unfamiliar with the area. "Time to awaken. The goddess has shone her light on us, and we shall have peace. Come, let us find a place to trade our kills."  Runwyn calls out in Welsh, not remembering Talorc was a northern savage. It was time to move on, and trading seemed the best way to do so. Perhaps they all could get a proper spear then.

Beorn struggles to wake from sleepfulness.  The blood in his veins had raged on during the early part of his watch, but its departure brought back the need of sleep in multitude.  It had seemed only minutes from when he had placed his head to the ground, but in truth hours had crept past in the darkness.  And now the sun glared its early morning rays into his face.  It was warm against his chilled skin.  The damp gripped at him though and his face was swollen from the effort.  Perhaps the vapors had taken him in the night with death so near.  He silently prays in the holy tongue, 'Pater noster, qui nos desuper spectans, si mori - tibi discis. Si honore do - amat. Si deficient - servare. Amen.' He looks to the others.  These are heathen lands and he must be wary of such things even from these companions.  He looked around the camp, but there was nothing of his to grab save the shoes on his feet.  And the bow and quiver.  He gathered them to himself and glanced at the others.  "I am ready," he announced.  And then he waited for those who knew this land to lead. 'Our father, who are watching us from above, if I am to die - your will. If I give honor - love me. If I fail - save me. Amen.'

Talorc paces around the camp in the morning, stretching his muscles. As everyone gets ready he asks simply "Where?"

Morning came up cold and moist, and slow. Runwyn's morning call reminds him of a little bit of home, which pangs more than the hunger in his stomach. Veln's body aches from the most physical effort he had in months when he helped skin and cut that elk. The months in slavery had sapped the little strength he had. The boy helps Runwyn gather what they could salvage for at least a day or two of fulfilling meals, and silently observed the dawn ritual of the others trying to learn a little bit of each. As everyone looks up at someone or everyone for guidance, many up to Talorc and Talorc snaps with his question at others, Veln feels compelled to speak.  "My uncle who owned a cart and trade from Margam and Caerphilly up to Usk, he had told me of the lands too far for mules beyond the Severn." Veln butchers few of the names in Saxon and cannot avoid feeling repressed memories flood back at him, but he shakes them away. Veln pauses to guide by the slowly ascending sun and across towards the wood's end leading southeast. "The village of Bath is maybe few a myle down the road. My uncle, he said it was a holy site to many, the water are said to be too pure to man. The people there, they may know compassion and hospitality." Veln abruptly stops there, coming to the realization that was also the direction that they were headed at, as livestock, to a new market or a new owner.