Chapter Four: The Ride Begins

By the time the wagon is at the top of the grand spiral Freja is already bored, her ears lay flat against her head. She perks up as she sees the grand gate's interior, the silver designs covering masterfully crafted religious symbols, the sword of the Human God, the sphere of progress behind it with the banners of every human nation that ever was. Hans stares blankly at it, the beauty shrouded by the painful memories of his first departure from them so many years ago. Freja whispers “Wow." under her breath, Hans smiles a little knowing that the gate's' majesty is not lost to everyone.

As the guards stand watch as sentinels, they nod at Hans before brushing the door open with the might of their magic alone. Outside the gate is the fantastic view over Jesen's Fields, the morning sun staring at them in all of its blood-red beauty. Freja recalls the day she was told that the tribe would march to war, the same sun shined upon them that morning, the thought of her tribe sending small pings of pain through her heart causing the smile to drop from her face. She turns to Anon, taking a good look at the human for the first time, how worn the man looked for how young he was, his eyes that of a man who has seen more than he cares to have seen. It reminds her of her older brother, the to be chieftain who just vanished.

          She smells the morning air, the smells of dew, flowers, and horses, all familiar, all welcome. The gentle rumble of the metaled wheels going over pebbles on the dirt road down the mountain slowly becomes less forward and more a gentle droning sound. Hans handles the horses with experience, he was often given the task of driving the carriages in risky areas, he smiles faintly like a craftsman after selling a favored work. 

By the time the pair are in the valley the sun is fully up, a figure atop an elk can be seen at the mouth of the trail. Han's brow furrows at the sight, he hands the reins to Freja who seems unbothered by the event while he grabs the sole ranged weapon he brought. A crossbow. He uses the crank to pull back the drawstring and loads a bolt.

“What in the name of the gods is that for?" Freja asks nervously

“We are not alone in these trees." Hans says searching the treeline for movement.

“Who else is here?" Freja asks now obviously concerned.

“Smell the air, listen to the woods, something is watching us." Hans says

Freja smelled the air, apart from the normal scents of it all she could smell a moose, and another smell she was unfamiliar with. She tried her best to listen from abnormal sounds, a strange chittering could be heard well beyond the distance Hans could hear, but Freja too knew the forest was too quiet for mid-spring.

“What kind of beasts live here?" Freja asks.

“I've seen trolls, cave bears, wolf packs, and the stray Dyir tribe in these woods, but the foresters and uplanders claim that they've seen dragons fly towards jagged jaw ridge." Hans says, still totally alert.

“Then what's watching us then Hans?!" Freja asks frantic but quiet

“Well do you know anything that rides Elk and wields a bow?" Hans asks.

“Oh. Yes actually. Vixens do." She says flatly

“I doubt she-foxes ride elk." Hans says doubtfully.

“No vixens are Fofner widows." She says seemingly elated.

“Fofner?" Hans asks.

“As we vulfan are akin to wolves fofner are akin to foxes." Freja explains.

Hans simply nods and returns his eyes to the road ahead. Not long after Hans shfits his attention, the cicadas begin to buzz and the birds begin to sing, filling the forest with new noises. Hans's focus seems to fade and his smile returns. Freja goes into the interior of the wagon and grabs the book of legends, she stares at Hans as if waiting for him to do something. Her tail swings gently behind the bench.

Freja's ears shoot up as she hears a single twig snap a ways beyond the treeline. “Hans. Look and listen." She whispers.

Hans slows the wagon, he stares out beyond the treeline. Hans knows that Freja has far better hearing but he thinks that humans would generally have better sight. Freja eyes can see as far, but at some point all the greens, reds, and oranges all blend into browns and yellows and violets become more like a blue. Hans catches a glimpse of an orange figure atop an elk with a flute in its hands mimicking bird songs.

“I think its one of the Fofner you were talking about." Hans whispers.

“How can you tell?" Freja asks hushedly.

“I saw a little orange figure atop an elk playing a flute." Hans explains as he points deep into the woods.

“How can you see color that far?" Freja demands.

“Same reason you can hear and smell so much better than humans." He retorts with prejudice.

Hans looks at Freja and then too the book held tight in her clawed hands. “I suppose now is a fine time for a reading lesson." he says.

Freja's eyes light up as Hans opens the book, the first page filled with thirty big and thirty small symbols, the second with different ones entirely.

Hans points to the first symbol on the first page. “Aye."

“Aye." Freja recites.

“Good. Now Bee." Hans praises raising his next challenge

“Bee. You do know I know the syllables right?" Freja says.

Hans points to a circle with a line through it. “What is that letter Freja?" He asks.

Freja looks blankly at Hans. “Thought so. It's Oou" He says.

As they pass the letter Z in the alphabet and the sun casts the smallest shadow of the day a small wooden fort comes into view. It's a simple build with delimbed tree trunks forming the outer wall with a sizable wooden gate. A handful of lightly armored guards bearing longbows stand watch in green and brown uniform. 

“Ah the foresters fort, I was wondering when we'd come by it." Hans exclaims with seeming relief.

“Foresters?" Freja asks.

“They guard the trails between holds, each fort is a different family, fresh men are drawn from the keeps during the raiding season, but I hear they are rather friendly, if a tad isolationist." Hans says. “We'll eat within the walls." Hans waves the guards who open the gate. Two foresters greet the wagon looking it over with prying eyes.

“You with the guild?" The one of the guards asks.

“Yes." Hans replies in short order.

“You look a bit worn for a man your age, I take it you were in the army?" The other asks.

“Just got out." Hans quickly responds.

“The Vulf?" The other asks.

“Trophy." Hans hesitantly responds.

“What tribe?" the other asks.

“Buckhunter." Freja responds.

“Poor girl" the forester whispers.

“Name sir?" The first forester asks.

“Hans Woeda" He answers.

“Ah. We heard about you from a guard on a compliance check, you're good to make camp, water your horses or what have you." The forester states stepping aside.

The men close the gate behind the wagon placing two large metal rods to lock it. Hans leads the wagon over a water trough before dismounting and taking the horses off their yolk, seeming to struggle and wince a little while doing so. 

“You can get out, Freja." Hans says while walking with his cane to the back of the wagon.

Freja dismounts the wagon still clutching the book in her arms. She follows Hans who is grabbing a cast iron pan and a metal stand. “Can you grab the salt pork?" He asks Freja, who promptly grabs the salted half-carcass. Freja holds it up and Hans takes out his blade and cuts off about a half pound of meat off the belly.  “Lessons will finish after the meal." He says grabbing the firemaker rod and walking over to the firewood pile on the sides of what seems to be a store or barracks. Holding the firemaker rod in his left-hand, three-quarter logs under his left arm and his cane in his right hand he walks back over to the wagon. 

Freja takes the logs from Hans and places them underneath the stand the pan is on. Once Freja is an arm's length from the woodpile Hans waves the wand in a circle and then smacks its back with his cane making a small fireball to shoot onto the wood instantly setting them ablaze.

“Thanks for the help." Hans says looking down at the lit fire.

“Aside from pork what else will we eat?" Freja asks.

“Depends on what the foresters have for sale." Hans says plainly.

“Is money not an issue anymore to you?" Freja asks.

“No. Even if I didn't make an absurd amount of money my last year, and more over the last battle, I would have more than enough to live off till the day I die." Hans says pridefully.

“How so?" Freja asks.

“Do you remember Otto?" He asks.

“Of course, the kind fellow from the guild." Freja cheers.

“Well, I asked him to invest the money, every coin since the first three years." Hans explains.

“Invest?" Freja asks.

“That's a bit complicated for a lunch conversation." Hans says smiling as he shakes his head.

“How so?" Freja asks.

“I'd rather not talk about the intricacies of the guild's workings." Hans says resolutely in his position.

“Pah. You humans and you overly complex lives." Freja says annoyed that her insistence failed.

“You have no idea tribeswoman." Hans says distantly.

Minute or so passes and Hans waves his hand above the pan. Determining it was now 

hot enough he takes out his kopis once more and cubes the chunk of pork belly. He takes the meat and carefully places it all skin side down. He sits down, letting the smell of the pork wash over him, he seems to begrudgingly get up once more to Freja's surprise and grabs a metal mug from the wagon and he walks over to a spring, filling it, returning and pouring it all into the pan.

“What's the water for?" Freja asks.

“Its a salted meat, you have to add some otherwise it's really too salty and tough to eat 

comfortably." Hans answers before returning to the wagon to grab a loaf of black bread cutting four thin slices off.

“Eat." Hans instructs handing Freja two slices.

“We never Vulfan never use salt meat, we smoke the meat for the winter." Freja says between a bite of the brown bread.

“Interesting." Hans says stirring the contents of the pan.

“We have a special tent we use for it, the men would dig the bottom down and place branches tied together over it. Then us females would fill it with the red-leaf hunt, everything was used from bone to brain." Freja continues.

Hans looks up from the pan and up to Freja across the fire. “If you'd like I could buy you one." He offers.

“That is not the way, you cannot buy them." She responds flatly

“Tell me why." Hans asks.

“Each year they are made from the hides of the first hunt when the days are warm and long. 

After curing the summer, it is adorned with one in hundred beads made." She says clutching the wooden necklace she had forgotten to take off the day of battle. “Such things cannot be bought, human." She says

“Can one be found?" Hans asks.

Freja stares at him with cold eyes “I will not stand idly if you attack Vulfan." She says her muzzle furrowing.

Hans leans towards Freja “Between you and me wolfess, I don't think I am in any way, shape, or form to fight a tribe alone." He says staring at her with fire in his eyes before slouching back.

“You slew a chieftain, my chieftain no less, that carries more weight than you think." She says back coldly.

“He crippled me woman, it has been over a week, and I can hardly walk without a cane like an elder, I doubt I could fight you off even if I wanted to." He says, his eyes still burning.

“Does that mean I am free to leave when I please?" Freja says, still staring at Hans.

“If you'd like you can return to whatever is left of your tribe and live among your kin." He says before stirring the pan.

“I can't." Freja says her perked ears folding onto her head.

“How so?" Hans asks once more.

“Your mate died; I missed my chance." Freja laments

“Did he die?" Hans asks.

“I don't even know who he *would* have been." She somberly says.

“You didn't have a betrothed?" Hans presses.

“No, why would I have?" Freja retorts

“Well in the keeps we're often told who we are to marry the day the younger of the two is born." He says casually.

“What about the love between them?" Freja raises.

Hans stirs the meat again before looking up once more. “Love's a choice, sure feelings help, but at the end of the day you choose to fall in, stay, or fall out of it." He says.

“Love's a feeling human, it's warm and it's comforting, it blooms, you do not fall into it, it is not happenstance, and once you love someone you never truly stop." She says.

“I was once in love wolfess, I poured my heart and soul into her, and she did the same with me. I was to marry her once I returned from my service, but you knew that already, so I stayed in the service until I forgot everything I could about her. And yet I couldn't. It is a choice, you choose to love, you choose to devote your mind, body, and soul to protect love." He argues letting anger slip into his voice.

“Is that so human? Tell me then I have heard stories of your men, before you wore metal scales across your bodies, that you fought with red anger, was that a choice? Was that love? Did your ilk become little more than shrieking berserkers for… what was it? The choice of love? No, their emotions drove them to that, the heart leads the mind not the other way. Their love of their home allowed them to be blessed by the gods to fight us off." Freja retorts.

“I see you know of the legend of the five hundred wolfess, but then you should know that we humans have but one god, that we were cast from heaven unfinished, that we were given minds to leave the hearts. Their love may have driven them to such feats, but it was their CHOICE to do so, they gave themselves to our lord as tools willingly, they were not forced, they're hearts did not betray their minds, but rather they gave their mind to their heart, letting it choose." Hans argues.

“Pah, the legend makes no mention of that." Freja spits.

“But it does, it says so in the legend." Hans says confused.

“Prove it." Freja raised.

Hans gives the meat a stir before taking his cane and walking over towards the wagon. He rests against the wagon as he uses his cane to pull the book from the middle of the bench. “Ah, there we go" he exclaims before the thing practically flies into his free hand. He then flips through it coming to a page that only he can read between the two of them.

He sits for a minute reading three pages before. His confidence waivers and he set down the book. Upon returning he stirs the meat once more. “We were both wrong." He says.

“What? How so? Freja demands.

“God did not bless them, and it was not love that overtook them." He says flatly.

“That's not the legend I was told as a pup." Freja comments.

“Likewise." Hans agrees.

“Well, what did it say?" Freja asks petulantly.

“You'll have to read it yourself." Hans says with a grin.

Freja just stares at him a mix of annoyed and hopeful. “Is that a promise or a challenge?" She says playing at Hans' usual determination.

Hans looks over his shoulders. He leans in towards Freja “That's up to you."

He stirs the meat once more, poking the kopis into the fattest piece of meat. It gives no resistance as the blade leaves. “It's done." Hans says. “Freja, can you get the bowls from the Wagon?"

Freja gets up without a word and dutifully does what was asked of her. She sits down holding the bowls in her lap and begins to think. Why did I just do that? She looks up at Hans who just seems to be confused. “What?" She demands of Hans.

Hans stares back for a second, crooking his neck. “You gonna give me my bowl?" He asks hesitantly.

Freja just stares on at Hans, noticing things she never did before. How perfectly grey his eyes were, how that scar on his jaw just further refines its sharpness. The more she looks the more she likes.

“Hey. Freja. Bowl." Hans says snapping Freja from her trance.

“Uh. Um. Yeah. Here." She says fumbling her words and miraculously returning to a normal face. She looks at Hans once again, her seeming infatuation being lost. She stares more, just to make sure, watching him scrape meat off the pan and into his bowl.

“Freja." Hans calls, the wolfess still staring at him. “Freja!" He calls again, this time getting her to look at his eyes.

“What?" she says annoyed. 

“The rest is yours." Hans says gesturing the meat.

“Oh. Thanks." She says seemingly distant.

Hans pays Freja's tone no mind, chumming it up to the loss of her tribe. In-fact, he didn't even seem notice, much to the strange annoyance of Freja. He's hyper focused on his food. Freja feels strangely compelled to observe Hans' actions, the way he chews, the slow, repetitive motion, the subtle tremors of his arms. Once she stops staring Freja uses Han's kopis to scrape the rest of the pork cubes into her bowl. She frowns a bit. She looks at the meat, it's clearly cooked through and glistening with fat.

She hesitantly grabs one of the cubes with her clawed finger, letting it rest before flinging it into her mouth. Meat. Heat. Salt. Spices. “Food for the women." She thought remembering how the men always got the fresh game, roasted with fruits and herbs while she got bone broth and wild onion with salted boar and stuffed lining.

“Human. You claim to have loved. Yes?" She asks formally.

“Yes." Hans replies quickly.

“Have you lusted?" She asks immediately after.

“Lusted for what?" Hans asks carefully.

“Your betrothed, did you yearn for her touch?" She asks.

“Yes." Hans replies.

“Did it feel like every minute detail becomes more noticeable?" She asks.

“No. Why do you ask?" Hans replies.

“No reason, just curious." She asks.

“Have you not?" Hans raises.

“I'm not sure, but there were not many males in the tribe that were of the same season." She explains.

“Why was that? I did notice more archers than warriors." Hans asks.

“Mother said that only a few males were born for whatever reason, most of the males that were born in my tribe died as pups from jaw rot." She says

“What in God's name is jaw rot?!" Hans exclaims.

“It's a sickness that attacks male pups. It causes their jaw to rot. You can't cure it, no blessing, no herb, nothing." She laments before eating another cube of pork.

“Did you burn the bodies?" Hans asks just after swallowing.

Freja looks at Hands in disgust. “Gods no…" She exclaims.

“It's how you prevent bodies from spreading plague. You dig a pit, lay in wood, and have the bellringers pile the corpses. We had a little rhyme to remember it as kids. ~Burn the sickly dead so the plague won't spread! ~" Hans chimes.

Freja looks at the human in disbelief, wondering how and why you would teach children that. “You were taught that as kids?" She asks, seeking clarity.

“Yes, before our first communions at fifth winter." Hans clarifies.

Freja stares astonished at the human in front of her. For what reason? She wonders while her hand feeds her almost unwittingly. Hans finishes in utter silence, occasionally looking up to the reeling Freja. He grabs a pail from the wagon and limps over to the watering hole and doses the fire out filling the pan with water which instantly boils

The hiss of the water snaps her from her new trance, and back to the place she's at. The familiar smell of dried wood, the lingering pork, and the forest itself. She sounds of birds singing and distant metal clinking. She smells the air once more desperate for something not human. 

Her eyes widen. There's another Vulfan in the woods. A male. Something wells in her chest, and she's overtaken by the need to see whoever it is. She hurriedly packs up the wagon as Hans yolks the horses. Her mind is racing in anticipation. She can hardly contain her excitement. She can smell the male shadowing the wagon.

Hans can feel something's wrong, while Freja may be ecstatic about being on the trail he thinks, he knows something is amiss. He swears he hears a stick snap occasionally and his arm hair stands on end. The feeling doesn't leave, it intensifies the longer they go down the trail.

Hans thinks as to what may be trailing his wagon. A troll? Too smelly. A bear? Too big. A rock worm? Not here. Hans thinks as he scans the tree line and brush looking for something, anything. He sees something move but is unsure as to what.

Not a troll, not a bear, not a worm. It's smarter. A mountain lion? No, it wouldn't feel this close. Hans takes the crossbow he loaded earlier and sits in his lap. Freja still seems unaware to Hans, but he's beginning to notice that her nose is smelling something. As Hans whips his neck back, he sees his stalker, a grey Vulfan. He stares at the wolf, as if challenging it to a fight. The Vulfan then vanishes into the cover of the brush.

Freja can smell the male still nearby even as they come to an area filled with flowers. She hopes that the male is firstly mateless and secondly of a good tribe. She's seen him, but so has Hans. She's worried, the male smells young, and while stronger than Hans as most Vulfan are, Hans is a proven threat. She considers cutting Hans with her claws, but will she be able to fight him off? Hans has said he likely can't, so what's the hesitation for? She thinks. She looks at Hans once more that infatuation tugging at her heart once more, he's strong, scarred up and down, and intense. It's oddly attractive?

Freja's conundrum continues for what feels like an hour more. Before she can make a decision, a throwing spear plants itself an Inch from Hans' head. Freja turns to Hans who's raising his crossbow. “NO!" She cries as the bolt flies from the device. She barely has enough time to look at the male fully before the bolt connects with his chest with a meaty thud. He stands on his feet for a second more, staring at Freja with an apologetic look before tearing the bolt from his chest and falling to his knees.

Hans dismounts the wagon with his kopis in hand as he approaches the bleeding wolf. He leans in and whispers. 

“Give me the blade human, I will die on my own terms." He growls.

Hans reluctantly gives the wolf his blade. The males smiles and swings at Hans who sidesteps barely fast enough. The male rises, pointing a clawed finger at Freja. “I will have you once I have his head." He boasts. Given the moment Hans grabs the crossbow bolt from the ground and raises his cane.

The beast turns to Hans grinning.“For such a human without any grey you're rather frail." The Wolf mocks

“Are you a firedancer?" Hans asks with a smile.

The wolf's grin vanishes. “No human, I'm a keeptaker." He says proudly.

“Is that so? I killed a fair few of you when I was younger." Hans says before taking three engraved wooden necklaces from his pocket. “I kept the ones I didn't cut through." He leers.

The wolf charges with Hans' Kopis raised like an axe, Hans steps to the side and hooks his knee with his cane yanking hard until he hears a bone breaking crack clearly separating his paw from his ankle. 

The wolf howls and gets up, leaning on his good foot. “You aren't frail, are you human? you're a broken soldier." He says with a growl.

“We can go our separate ways here and now, just give me my blade." Hans offers.

“Why would I do that?" The creature scoffs.

Freja shouted to the wolf “It's a chief slayer, like the human you foolishly decided to fight."

The wolf throws the blade down as if it's cursed. “You. Slew. A. Chief?" The creature asks.

“The Buckhunter chieftain, and I've captured three banners, all of which are in my wagon." Hans boasts.

“Keep your mate you reek of her, I hope she's a buckhunter, just give me my spear and I'll be on my way." The wolfman sneers.

“Why would I give you the spear you threw?" Hans demands.

“Because I surrendered your blade." The wolfman responds annoyed as if what Hans had said was a taboo question of sort.

“Fair enough." Hans says walking back to the wagon.

Freja is livid. She stares at the spear lodged in the wagon. Her anger doesn't subside as she grips it. “Was it the Keeptakers who destroyed the Buckhunters?" Freja asks full of rage.

The wolf seems confused. “Who else would?" He responds.

“Tell me what happened." She demands fire in her heart.

“After we heard a human slew their chief. If a creature as weak as a human could kill their chief, we decided that they were too weak to live. I heard they merged with the longtooth tribe, we keeptakers couldn't care less about those failures of Vulfan."

Freja throws the spear into the male, watching his face from arrogant pride to terror. The point rips through his neck. Hans then approaches from behind and stabs him through his heart.

“A kinslayer is not fit to live." Hans says as he twists the blade.

The wolf's body is dragged into the bushes by Hans as Freja lets out a feral growl.

“Freja-" Hans says sternly.

“Don't. We Vulfan fight among ourselves regularly." She states.

“I know, but I'm not going to let someone become a kinslayer if I can avoid it." Hans states.

“He wasn't my kin; my kin are dead." Freja growls.

“It doesn't matter, a kinslayer is a kinslayer." Hans says back

“What is kin to you Human?" Freja snarls.

“We are all the children of God. All of mankind is my kin." Hans says back.

“The Vulfan are no god's child, the great wolf died long before we were born." Freja says with a cold anger.

“So be it, we need to keep moving." Hans responds with conviction.

“Fine." Freja agrees.

The ride is silent for the rest of the day, Hans does his best to recall locations and his unwavering alertness drains any energy that could be left for emotion. Freja is not as lucky as Hans, she hasn't had years of bloodshed to sap her of her heart, nor has she the discipline and maturity of the older human but she's faring well, at least Hans silently thinks so. Freja is still white hot angry.

As night falls Hans is still keeping on. “You can sleep Freja, we need to get to the southern foothills." Hans offers.

“I'm still wide-awake Human." Freja states.

“So be it, but that Vulfan hunter made these woods deadly." Hans says clenching the reins of the wagon.

“True." Freja agrees for the second time in her life.

The tension between the pair seems to slowly release as they listen to the grind of wooden wheels on dirt and catch glimpses of the star filled sky as they ride through clearings. Hans lets out a sigh as the flat trail they ride on slowly gains little rises and falls, Freja finds it soothing, letting it wash her anger away with every little hill. She can feel her eyelids go 

heavy and senses dull.

“Is the offer of rest still standing?" Freja asks.

“It never was taken down." Hans replies with a yawn.

Freja climbs up the notches in the wagon's exterior and into the tented top. She finds an unmade bed and bag of Han's things. She lies on the soft “floor" of it and rolls up in a blanket with a strange pocket for her paws. She lays on her side, letting out a larger yawn, one where her jaws open wide enough to sink into a man's rib and shoulder. Her eyes flutter as she looks out of the opening taking in the moon at the end of the trail and how the trees seem to reach out to hug her. She finally closes her eyes, leaving Hans alone with his thoughts.

Hans wonders about all he will see, the excitement of the new world beyond the mountains and the hills, of peoples other than the sea people from beyond the waves and the Norse of whom he hails. He wishes to see all that Otto has and more. He knows he's getting tired, but he also knows the woods are deadly, and like the good soldier he doesn't think he is anymore, he's going to march until he's safe.

As he feels the true foothills begin, he relaxes a bit, taking a long deep breath, He knows that the Keeptaker hunting grounds end as First Fang Mountain stands ominously in the distance. He reflects not the battle he fought there but the friends he made, the children he told stories to, and mostly of the women who tried their best to make him feel welcome. While he doesn't sleep he does lead the horses to a stream, letting them drink and eat the surrounding plants. He nabs a slice of black bread and smears a tiny pad of butter across it. He dismounts and drinks from the stream with his horses, content with the day's journey.

Morning comes quick, nights in the North are short in the summer and painfully long in the winter, but it isn't the light that wakes Freja up, it's the grinding sound of the wagon moving once more. She peers out of the tent to look at the driver. The Horses look brushed, and the driver corpse-like. She feels a ping of fear before she realizes it is just Hans who is just a pale Human. She sighs, and it becomes a jaw stretching yawn. With a wet schlop she closes her maw and climbs down the ladder to where Hans is sitting.

“You sleep well, human" Freja asks.

“Sleep? No, I didn't sleep." The human replies.

“And you think you're fit to drive the wagon?" the Wolfess asks mockingly.

“Woman. So, help me." He growls before raising a mug of a black liquid to his mouth.

“The sun is up human; you shouldn't be drinking." Freja says unamused.

“This isn't liquor, though if this is how you're going to be I may as well add some." He retorts.

“Pah." Freja pouts.

“Boo hoo, go awoo wolfess." The driver exclaims with all the cheer of a corpse.

Freja crawls back into the tent and hunger catches her slowly. She can feel her mood sour more as the emptiness in her stomach grows. “That damned human." She growls. Soon something goes through the tent's flaps, it reeks of smoke, meat, and pepper. It looks like an overstuffed sausage. Freja tries not pay it any mind, but the smell seems to just grow in potency and variety. Spices that smell like a burn feels, onions, herbs and even the meats it was made from seem to split apart. Veal, pork, beef. A drop of saliva drops from her muzzle, her body yearning for the food. She turns to look at it again, studying the link of meat.

It's a dark violet, what seems like a hardened paste on the inside. It doesn't look at all like the sausage from yesterday but almost like blood stew if made into a sausage, but the smell clearly has fats of three different animals. Her inhibition to take food from the rude human is almost lost after a particularly deep breath. Her mouth feels like its flooding, in the meanwhile Hans is riding the ancient pastime of Nordic soldiers: Coffee and daydreaming.

While Hans is reverting to his natural state of not being in his own body, Freja feels the primal urge to eat what is given while her mind detests the very idea of eating what the human has given her. She wonders why she accepted the food yesterday, and why she didn't kill him and run off when she had the chance. Just as her mind wanders back to yesterday's fight a burning fills her. It starts in her breast and goes down her torso just above her nethers. Freja thinks its just a reaction to hunger and in two bites scarfs down the sausage, it gives her a brief respite, the flavor being that of blood stew but enhanced and added upon. Before the feeling begins to make her shiver she silently relents “for all humans are, they know how to make food."

Outside Hans can feel the forest begin to end as the forest gradually becomes the brush of the southern foothills. He knows this land, the Steppe. Hans loads the crossbow and keeps his kopis near, there are tribes here who do not take kindly to humans, and others still are allied and would let him have dinner with their clan. Freja in the tent above has never been here before, nor does she know this land as the Steppe, she knows it as Equis. The land of the Horses and the sworn enemy of her kind. Freja continues to have her breast and nethers burn, they yearn for something, but she doesn't know what. She writhes on the soft bed of the tent trying to fight this burning, it makes her nether feel wet and breast hot, and while it doesn't hurt it is most certainly uncomfortable for her. “Is this the human's doing?" She growls. 

“All good up there Wolfess?" Hans calls up to the tent.

Freja scowls. “What have you done to me?!" She shouts.

Hans furrows his brow. “Are you unwell? I'm coming up there." He calls.

“NO." Freja shouts.

“Not a debate. If you are ill I need to know." Hans answers.

With a tug of the reins Hans brings the wagon off the path and to a stop. As he climbs up the ladder-notches a pawful of claws nearly connects with his face. “Women and wolves…" He growls. Once he enters the tent he takes a sniff of the air. “By God it reeks of a dog in heat!" He exclaims as Freja scowls hatefully at him. “What?" Hans replies to Freja's scowl.

“What. Is. Heat?" Freja snarls her muzzle furrowed.

“A bitch's rut" Hans responds with a straight face.

“You mean mating time?" Freja spits

“Yes." Hans replies flatly

“I am not a goddamn hound!" Freja snaps.

Hans ponders his experience with the wolfkind.“Why do you think marriage is at a certain year and always in spring Wolf?" Hans questions as he sits down.

“It is the way." Freja replies staring at the human intently.

“Culture submits itself to nature at the end of the day." Hans explains.

“And how can you prove that?" Freja snarls the scent of the human filling her nose and mind.

“Humans are always in heat once we mature, hence our spouses are given to us when the first us are born." He says, beginning to take off his shirt.

“What are you doing human?" Freja says with a mix of anger and confusion.

“Never wear a shirt to bed." He says. “Well if you can, my cuts are healed so I won't bleed on it."

“And what does that have to do with heat?"  Barks Freja who seemingly can't bring herself to 

look away from the man.

“Men aren't mature when we can start having children, our bodies are far too frail, we don't mature until between our twenty second and twenty sixth winter." Hans explains.

“And how many winters have you lived through human, I have lived through eighteen." Freja asks anger still in her voice.

“Twenty nine  winters, even if I am an outlier who is to keep maturing, I would spend them healing now." Hans laments.

Freja's face sheds its anger. “You're a fair bit younger than I thought." She says.

Hans chuckles “Yes, I have yet to have grey in my hair and I have yet to grow a beard and yet I walk with a cane." He says a somber grin spreads on his face.

“By the gods you're a lame horse of a human." Freja says with a sly grin trying her best to ignore the burning in her nethers.

 Hans scowls at Freja. “Masturbate or bathe in a cold spring." He says before putting back on his shirt

“What does masturbate mean?" Freja demands with a snap.

“It is the age-old pastime of soldiers, pleasure yourself and get on with life." Hans says climbing down the ladder.

“Pleasure. Yourself?" Freja stares at where the human was, his smell still hanging in the air. She looks down at her breast, ample, not a mother's, but beyond that, the source of her burning, tucked away under her tunic and her softer undergarments... She moves a clawed hand to her nethers exploring it, moving up her tunic, sliding the last layer aside. With a 

simple touch to her wet folds she begins letting the pleasures of the flesh flii her body and mind. She smells the scent of the human as she explores her dripping intimacy. She dreams of her perfect mate, taller, a revered warrior, scarred and resolute. As the first knuckle of her pointer finger enters her body her knees close together and back arches. She's never felt anything like this before, it's alien to her, but it feels right. Natural. She begins to move her finger in a circle from the bump that causes electric pings of pleasure to run through like a river to the gentler sensations of her insides. She grinds her hips on her hand panting as the heat in her body burns ever hotter. She arches her back instinctively and presses her snout harder into the soft, human smelling padded floor of the tent. The more she smells the more extreme the pleasure is, something wells within her like an eruption.

One more rub.

Release.

Her mind floods with pleasure unlike any other she had felt before, once again the idea of a mate fills her mind with the smell. Just as she reaches her climax and screams from pleasure into the padded floor a person fills her mind. Hans, covered in scars, stands before a rocky coast.

The first thing she feels is bliss, then shame, then anger. “That dammanable human is working himself into my head." Freja growls, but can't work herself up like before. She instead lies down and peeks her head out of the front of the tent staring out at the world around her. The earth seems almost entirely flat with a stray stream or low wide hills, the trees are sparse and short, clusters of bushes poke through the tall waving grass.

The air is rather cool, much like the mountains and valleys she called home, but much dryer, it smells of flowers and grass but little else. Off the road she can see a family of Tusk-Moose striding along next to some strange, feathered beasts. She stares at the behemoths, the largest bull moose of the wood stands as tall as a warchief at the shoulder but these things, those moose wouldn't even stand at the hips of these beasts at tips of their antlers. Freja eyes up the beast wondering how something would go about hunting one, and if it could feed a tribe alone. One of the tusk-moose turns to face her, massive arched tusks coming from its lower jaw as long as the human is tall. For a beast that looks that fearsome it takes a look at the wagon for a minute before turning around and continuing on its way. Throughout that minute Freja was overcome with a fear, the kind that paralyzes men in the face of death. Hans paid its 

due respect, remaining quiet and just keeping on moving.

Freja pulls her clothes back to where they belong and climbs down to join the human she quite frankly has little idea as to why she stays with. “You well?" She asks.

Hans turns to her, the sun hiding the ghoul-like tiredness on his face. “Couldn't sleep…" He pauses. “The stars last night you should've seen them, one seemed to glow like the moon, the woods sung a song. Did you hear it Wolfess?" He asks, staring past her.

“The woods didn't sing human. Believe me my ears are better than anything your kind could even fathom." Freja responds with a degree of annoyance in her voice.

“They sang, I tell you. 'look out, look out, man is here the hidden are near. 

For those who can run and hide

Do so, do so before you die.'" He sings.

Freja laughs. “Are you serious? You need sleep." She mocks.

Han's eyes return to their normal half-open but focused look. “Say what you will wolfess, I know what I heard." He says ignoring her jab. “As for sleep I'll rest once we reach Patras Hold at the mouth of the river Jeln." He reasons.

Freja shakes her head. “Forts, holds, cities, keeps. It's all so tiresome, why not sleep on the side of the side of the road like last night. “She suggests.

“Because unlike the woods where we rested last night, which were under the protection of the Graniferro Keep, these lands have no such rulers, and no such permanent borders. If we are to rest  hereit will be with a friendly Equis tribe or horselords." He answers.

“For a soldier you know far too much about the world outside your keep." Freja states.

“And you probably know more about the woods and valleys than I, men know men, wolves know wolves." He says in a matter-of-fact manner.

“I know more than just the woods human, I know of the Cats, of the birds, bears, and elk, of their forms that walk like you and me." She says. “As a matter of fact we Buckhunters camp with the Grazzal tribe come winter. As for the cats I have been to one of their cities with my father." She says proudly.

“I have never met a bear on the battlefield, and my only time meeting a cat was when I saw them men of Vakcala march out their new slaves from the city of De'maka." He responds. “Tell me what a Khajt city is like when people still walk the streets, I have only ever been in their ruins." Hans asks with a slight smile.

“If I tell you of the hidden claws you must give me today's lesson" Freja says with a grin.

“Damn me, I forgot, it's nearly midday isn't it." Hans says before smacking his forehead.

Freja looks up. “I'd believe so." She answers before smelling the air.

“Good. We're on schedule then." Hans replies while he scans the horizon for nomads