*bump*

Bump?

Yes indeed. A bump.

Darin will learn Senses if he has to be dragged through the nettles 'til he comes to his.

"And the Creator said let there be a bump. And there was a bump. And the Creator looked at the bump, and said the bump was good."

Six cups of STRONG coffee and a 8 am physio appointment in the morning..

But at least I got my screenplay, taxes, memoirs, two novellas, my paper on theoretical time manipulation, and my post done.

Induced insomnia. It's greeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat.

*twitch* *choking noises* *twitch*

Show me the meaaaaaaaaaaning of being lonely... Is this the feeeeeling I neeeeeed to walk with. Tell me why. I can't be there where you aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrreee. There's something missing in my... heaarrrt.

In soviet Stedding, tequila drinks you.

*mumbling* *twitch twitch*

-wolfs

Erik breathed again and the sparks from the flint fluttered into the dry bits of kindling. Like spiralling snakes of fire they came to life, slithering around the thin slivers of wood and fattening. With a quick crackle the leaves and twigs caught and the hungry flames licked at the sticks arranged like a lean-to. Erik puffed again into the moss bed at the bottom, spreading the orange and gold heat evenly around, before laying more sticks to support the others. Sliding the hatchet back into its sheath Erik dropped the small axe atop the pile of dry wood he had amassed, branches and thick roots; he did not have the time, tools, or energy to cut down anything of size more than a sapling.

Erik sat back from the fire, his back to a young oak that would not miss a couple stray roots, crossed his legs and closed his eyes.

~Come to the warmth.~

The message was clear and precise, direct. Erik could feel her, not twenty paces in the dark, sense her emotions. Her mind and thoughts were hazy and unsettled; she was injured, not critically, but her weariness might get the better of her. But she was conscious now and more than anything, he did not want to frighten her and get her more injured.

Erik breathed out, his shoulders rolling in the fresh shirt from his bag and hands resting on the cloak on his lap. He sought the Void and it was there.

~Come Sister. Come to the warmth.~

She was a beacon of focus in his mind, and he would know the instant she fell unconscious. He would prefer she come to him, rather than he to her, but knew if she struggled too hard to reach him or blacked out he would intervene.

~Food and safety. Warmth. Come. You are safe. Come.~

“If I get another fist in my gut carrying a Wanderer, I might rethink letting her ride back to the Stedding,” Erik whispered to himself, his body grateful to be sitting. Limbs and joints groaned and did not want to change his position, helpless Wanderer or not. “Light just don’t let her have small sharp fists.”

If only he were so fortunate.

-Erik

She bleeds Night’s howl

He barely brushed the grass with his feet as he moved, like an eagle dipping its wings against the water as it swoops. They made an odd sound as they moved along the country side. The pat-pat-pat of Cool Water in the Late Autumn’s paws against the grass was rhythmic and helped Erik to steady his breathing.

Light his lungs ached.

Erik increased his pace as they cut through the shallows of a feeder stream to the River Storn, Cool Water bristled with frigid droplets clinging to her fur. The small stones clicked under his feet as he moved from one to the other until he reached the other side and continued on into the brush.

~Guard her.~  Erik sent as the forest began to thicken, the emotions and senses of blood in the air growing stronger in the messages. The wolves didn’t know how serious it was, from where the Wolfsister bled, and why. The image of her flat on her back, staring up at the sky seethed in his mind. The wolves stood watch away from her, outside of the clearing, watching, and waiting.

Erik knew he would make better time without his bag and sword, but he let them continue to knock against him, weigh him down, as he brushed tall cedars and alders with his shoulders.

The image, the beacon in his mind was only a little way off… She had left Midea and entered the woods in his direction… Erik was grateful and annoyed at the same time.

If the girl had stayed in the town she may have remained in danger, but then, she may have not been injured or would have received care and attention if she had…

Erik ground his teeth and pushed harder, until he couldn’t hear his own gasping breaths over the roar of blood in his ears.

Night’s howl shivered in his mind and Erik clamped down on the beast. Felt it give in to his restraint and disappear. As of late the animal had been quieter, more cowed by his mental grip, even with the smell and image of blood it slid back into the recesses of his mind and was no more. Erik refocused on his pacing, keeping his breathing low and steady, his eyes set forward.

Cub may be lost Night’s howl.

Erik had never experienced a wolf’s emotion of doing something in vain. With a world like the Dream just outside reality where anything was possible, Erik had never expected a wolf to understand the concept.

~Sister will live Cool Water. Sister will not die so close~

The gray and silver wolf made a light groaning noise, an imitation of a grunt, and continued on along the grass hills beside him. They moved in silence as the stars made the sky into a shimmering canvas of diamonds and pearls.

Erik

Mideans and their tempers - Finding Arienna

http://forums.dragonmount.com/index.php/topic,28457.0.html

mmm nub chili.. mmm

wolfs

        The small boat glided softly over the coarse river soil. With a quick jerk it came to rest and its occupants shared a hesitant look. The sun had long set; twilight cast its pulses of pink and purple through the sparse trees and over the subtle hills. A town perhaps a mile down stream glowed with evening life. But the two meant to keep quiet and unnoticed.

“How long will you be?” The old man croaked, his coarse hand laying the oar in his lap so he might scratch his wiry beard.

“No more than two days. Lynx won’t enjoy being cooped up for much longer than that, nor will I like too much longer in Murandy.”

“Don’t want your head on a pike in Lugard, eh? Well you have another day’s trek before you’re even out of Altara anyway boy. And Jaeb can look after your horse plenty fine ‘til you find what you’re looking for.”

Erik turned to look back at the old man. Erik knew except for his golden eyes and the hazy outline of his head and shoulders, the old man would not be able to distinguish a facial feature in this waning light. He could tell where the fleas had bitten on the old man’s bald head and see the beginning of eye-mist in his dull cow eyes. Erik knew no herbal cures for it, but he did want to repay the family for their help over the years. A rest station for any brother or sister out of the Stedding was a welcome and rare thing, and Erik had known of the Standish stop since he first became a Tracker. He never asked why they helped, and they never said why. Good enough reason for him to let the question sleep.

“I’ll make good time so long as Jaeb is keeping a watch along the river for us and not you, old man.”

A laugh croaked out him, his hand slapping the paddle side of the oar, “Aye, he will. Tomorrow night he’ll come across and spend the night and day here. Don’t know how much help the fool boy will be around the rest of place since he lost his thumb.”

“Accident?”

“Altaran combat training,” he said with gravel and weight in his throat.

The awkwardness of the silence pushed Erik from the boat. With a final nod he pushed the small craft back into the waters and it slipped from the shore almost silent.

Night was pressing in as the stars burned through the cloud cast. With a quick check of his surrounding Erik dropped the small satchel behind a log, the bits of twigs and cloth dangling out, and he pushed a sweep of sand over top. Just in case they were early… Or very very late.

“Let’s go with being early… for once…”

Erik shrugged his pack over one shoulder and his baldric over the other. He was making good time, despite the fact the signal was at first hazy a few days past and grown in intensity that day. He’d been along Garen’s Wall, setting up an outpost in the small Stedding he’d found there the last winter, when he felt it.

It was a female, he was certain of it, with eyes that shift and shiver and she moves like quicksilver. He hoped he would be able to get through Murandy and its many river divisions to the Wanderer in time. Erik settled into a steady pace as he climbed the small hills. He ached for the cover of trees, safe and sheltered away from eyes, but all he could see were small growths in couple pace wide bunches.

The beacon pulled him onward to Midea. The Kin had no eyes and ears in there, a town famous for its people’s tempers and their pride for being short-tempered.

Not a bramble patch I’d like to stumble into if I can avoid it.

    He opened himself to the wolves, felt their hearts and thoughts beat inside him and flood their names and locations through him. Hold on Sister.

Erik

"Good morning to you Brother Erik, long days and good hunting. How may I be of service this morning?"

      Despite his best efforts Erik knew his smile did not touch his eyes. Hands slid across the crisp bark as Erik stood upright to greet his Brother. Darin stood before him, almost half a foot shorter and as full of confidence as the day Erik had watched him arrive. He had never bothered to ask the man his age, it had never come up, but he guessed the man was perhaps a Winter or two older, no more. He recognized the hardness he had seen in men of war like Owen and his father, and himself now, in this Wanderer. One did not become First Lieutenant of the Children of Light by reading the scriptures, this one knew what the crimson stained battle-field tasted like.

      It was not until he shook hands with the Wanderer that he greeted the man in return. Normal human interaction, how long would it take for him to shake off the odd feeling once more?

    "How has the adjustment been, Brother? I can imagine this is a far tumble from the halls of the Fortress of Light.. It can all be overwhelming.. at times... Your senses included."

    Erik turned his back to the Darin. The woods seemed to open themselves up to him here, his senses drawing in every bit of the world around him. He breathed in the sweet aroma of the grass and wildflowers, hungered for the whipping wind as he moved through its trails and along the banks of rushing rivers.

    "But it is those senses that will help you to survive. To track game, find edible and useful herbs, locate water springs, know when someone is lying." Erik turned back to Darin, gold eyes meeting gold eyes. "It is what makes us who we are, symbolizes our communion with the wolves, what we have all sacrificed to be here. I am to help you hone yours and help you along your journey as a Wolfbrother.

    "We'll start with herbs and senses training today. Nice and easy, nothing even semi-lethal, have to wait until next class for the fun stuff." Erik feigned disappointment, he knew Miryana would have his head on a platter if she found out he had tested out doses of Henbane or Thornapple on a Wanderer.. Light, even some Skullcaps would set her ablaze. "First off though, do you have any questions before we get started?"

    Nightsfire recommended letting the Wanderer ask a question or two, let them breathe easier he had said, let them ask some basic things that will help the lesson go more smoothly. The bloody man had laughed when he saw Erik walking up to him, even harder when Erik had come looking for advice. Better than just jumping in and hoping they swim...

OOC: Erik's six foot and stocky from years of hard labor and sword training, twenty-two, from the Black Hills and blonde, and his wolf name is Night's howl. His companion is Smoke, a gray-black wolf. Cheers.

      There was a gust today.

      It was warm, its slender limbs drifting across his body, tender fire sinking into his bones as if the last sweltering bit of heat was fading away with this wind. Erik smiled.

      Summer was breaking into Autumn, the leaves transforming into a burnished gold, if they still remained on the trees. The oddity of the weather had perplexed him. He knew it was Heartbane’s work, no other force in this world save the Creator could touch the Seasons so, but then why have summer break? If the Father of Lies truly wished them dead, what better way than to ruin the crops and bake the land to dust as terrible and contorted as the Blight?

      Word of a Dragon passes as easily on the wind, many a time he had heard the tale, even in Tear where they claimed him ruler and as far as Haadon Mirk where even the thieves and bandits feared him, to save them and then break them all. Could he rival Heartbane for power? Such things that involved the Power unnerved him, even the idea of having an Aes Sedai as close as Manetheren made him uneasy.

      But today was a day for calm and clarity.

      Erik fed his emotions and concerns into the blue flame in his mind. Owen had tried to teach him The Spring, a way of utilizing all of your feelings and thoughts, emotions building to give you the strength and mental lucidity, but it was not for him. Erik hungered for The Abyss, The Void, the nothingness he now possessed. Every worry, every feeling was on the outside, sliding along the outer boundaries as if they were another man’s.

      Erik leaned back as he could hear the footfalls off in the distance. Resting his hands on his knees he worked his shoulder muscles loose. The woods around his cabin were deserted, few wolves and fewer Kin made the trek out simply for the scenery.

It had been strange making the request. Half of him was certain that he would be denied, his absence too long from the Stedding for him to train any fresh Wanderer… But he could empathize with this one.

We all run with our own demons, our own darkness.

“And live to tell the tale after… Light willing.”

"Promises have been turned into lies,

can't even be honest inside..

Now I'm running backwards,

watching my life wave me goodbye..

I'm running blind."

    Bundling Straw turned to The Kingfisher takes a Silverback, became Swallow takes Flight.

      The rich crack of the wooden sparring blade against the dummy clapped through the air.

      It was rare to find the sparring area deserted, regardless of how early it bloody well was, but Erik was far from complaining. The sun was near rising, everyday it took a little longer to break the horizon, everyday closer to end of summer's reign and closer to the grips of Winter.

Pushing harder he made the assault a steady rhythm, wary of the phantom blade, he blocked and parried as he strove to strike harder. Low Wind Rising, knock the blade away and put them on the defensive.. Strike the Spark again. Again and again he peppered the wooden target, muscles straining, his grip slipping, as he pushed more and more of his weight into every blow.

      Stepping back Erik realized how hard he was breathing. His skin was slick with sweat and his lungs ached for rest. The wood lathe was bent, his hand pulsing as the shivers began to dissipate, salt stung his eyes.

      Apple Blossoms in the Wind. He did not have to search for the Void, it simply came, and the pain and fatigue drained away. They were there, he would have to face the aching muscles and the bruises and the inflamed, and at the same time were another man's afflictions.

      Keep the blade loose boy... You're surrounded... Stay relaxed, quick thrusts. Nothing too far from the body. Keep it central. Make them work to open you up.

      Odd, six years later, deep within the Void, he can still hear his father's advice floating around near the edges of the abyss.

      Lizard in the Thornbush. The blade slashed through the air and Erik never felt freer.

* * * *

      Water still dribbled around in his ear as he walked along the banks of lake towards the Inn. Hair dripping still Erik whistled as he stepped up the path. After a few days coated in dust, a tumble from a tree he had no intension of climbing again, and form exercises that left him aching from eyebrow to toenail like back in the good old days, the common room of the Stedding's inn beckoned.

      "A soft chair.. a warm mug of.. something.. A book to doze off reading or a slow game of Stones.. Mmmmm. They might even be cooking something better than rabbit and hard leek."

      If it hopped on the ground or sang a sweet song, grew in the ground or tasted like cabbage but looked like a mushroom, Erik had eaten it. In every different combination, every possible way, over and over again for the last three Winters.

      Light, even a bowl of stew.. I just want to relax somewhere that doesn't have slivers, rocks, or dust. Please Light, no more dust.

      "Apparently I came back a bloody idealist," Erik groaned as he lifted himself higher.

Bits of bark were already in his hair and down his back and he could feel the slivers up his fingernails. Sweat was heavy on his brow and he knew it would only take a little bit of rot no matter how deceptively strong the thick branches seemed for him to go breaking his fool neck.

His body hugged the trunk of the tree. His muscles shivered at the strain of lifting him higher still. A morning of sword forms and hammering down new floorboards apparently wasn’t enough of a workout for them.

Erik looked down.

A wool-headed fool move by all accounts.

“Well they don’t call it the second tallest tree in the Stedding for nothing,” the acrophobic concluded precisely, some fifty paces above the ground.

Gritting his teeth, his arms slid forward and grasped a moss covered branch overhead and pulled. One nimble foot caught a branch, found grip for a deceptive heartbeat, then slid off, and dangled adeptly and uselessly. The other foot remained planted against the trunk of the massive redwood tree, both arms clenching the above branch with all their might, and the knee of his most nimble feet making a loud cracking noise as it slammed against the slippery branch.

“It’s more fun on the way down… It’s more fun on the way down…”

The foul smelling sword in it’s scabbard poked Erik in the back of his head for the fortieth time, and for the fortieth time Erik asked himself exactly why he was doing this.

* * * *

“I was a Child of the Light once.”

Erik’s head spun round. The trees sheltered him, the forest pressing all around him. With hands still gripping the dry moss he looked at the speaker. Perhaps twenty paces away to the right, Aleeza and Anabel stood with a Wanderer, the man who had spoken, the man who had been a Child. Erik had ignored the majority of their conversation, caulking and kindling a more pressing matter than introductions he would see to later. But even speaking low Erik knew the man had said he had been of the cloth.

It was instinctual. His hackles quaked and he suppressed the growl rumbling in the pit of his stomach. If any Wanderer were to have lurking demons within themselves to deal with, this one would. Erik lowered his stance, keeping himself close to the tree roots and rocks, and shallowed his breathing.

The man removed his scabbard; the golden hilt Erik knew all too well, wrapped the belt tight round, and hurled it into the trees. It landed with a dull thud a little off to Erik’s left yet still in view of the road.

Erik’s respect for the Wanderer climbed.

Sometimes a tool was more than just a tool. An item, it became a piece of time itself, a memory, captured and preserved. No matter who holds it, those memories bleed through fresh and cold. This man was prepared to part with it, the blade each Child was in a sense married to, the tool that had been witness to all the bloodshed and horror this Darin had seen. No man deserved that reminder lingering in a new life.

“I was once First Lieutenant Darin Saine in the army of the Anointed of the Light,” Erik cracked a smile. A First Lieutenant, a man who would know the battlefield… He could appreciate that. “Now, I'm just a Wanderer seeking his place in the world. And my place is here, if you will have me.”

Wait… What am I doing? The thought occurred to Erik as he slid from rock to rock, eyes intent on the group as they finished talking and continued along their way. Slowly, he made his way over to the blade. His body was tense, his breathing low.. he was stalking it.

It’s not alive… What am I doing I-Then he could smell it.

Feral and rotting, he could smell the familiar odor. It was fainter than what he remembered, but it was the same foul scent and it was leeching from the golden hilted tool. It smelled wrong, rabid, diseased.

It’s just a sword… Erik told himself as his hand reached out to grasp it.

If any Wanderer had demons in their past, this Darin would be in the forefront, and Erik knew the temptation and pain of the past. Like grasping a viper Erik’s hand seized the scabbard and blade in a single motion, muscles tensing, before he threw the belt over a shoulder. Eyes watching the dark of the trees and the sun filled path, Erik sunk back into the shadows, turned, and began to bound through the forest over roots and stones and fallen trees.

“When did I become a bloody idealist?”

* * * *

The hole was oval, dark, and deep. Erik poked his head through, looked into the sinking abyss within the tree’s center. That’ll do. It had better bloody do.

With a final glance at the blade, he dropped the foul thing down the hole. A soft thud was the only proof of its passage. Erik was content.

“Now, just in case he can track it to here…”

Erik steadied himself on his perch, began to undo his trousers and was grateful he hadn’t sweat out all of the ale from the night before. By wolf standards he was a pioneer, marking his territory at the top of a tree rather than the bottom.

“Okay… Now comes the fun part I’ve been promising myself…”

A slow thirty foot climb down, followed by a more hurried pace down fifty feet as the branches he had suspected were rotting proved him correct, then followed by a very very fast descent to the forest floor below, by all accounts, was not the fun part.

“I’m going home, and I’m going to bed,” Erik grunted, looking up through the moss covered branches to the blue sky above. “As soon as I can move, straight home.”

This had better be just be a phase I’m going through.

“I am just a worthless liar, I am just an imbecile.

I will only complicate you, trust in me and fall as well.

I will find the centre in you; I will chew it up and leave.

I will work to elevate you, just enough to bring you down.”

Bloody dust.

His coughing was ragged and his eyes watered.

Perhaps, in hindsight's infinite clarity, he had sealed the place a little too well.

Dust clouds burned him all over; the tingle of itch crawled from his hair to his calves. If he twitched a sheet, moved his hand over a chair or desk, or Maker help him even breathe a new plume of dust erupted and he spent the next few minutes coughing it back up.

Bloody bloody dust.

By now Erik stood in his trousers, bare feet and bare chest, throwing out moth devoured rags or clothes that would not fit, ink pots that had dried up or a nest of twigs and his papers the Mouse had deemed fitting for a bed. The infirmary was his choice for where to take the clothes; his essay on Saldaen war tactics since the Hundred Year War had been well used by the unwelcome visitor and now good only for kindling... Anyway new bandages are always appreciated at infirmaries, be it in the Stedding or all the way in Mayene. He had no need for such things as silk and nice shirts anyway.

Apart from a majority of his wardrobe time had been kind to his small abode. The woollen mattress still felt less comfortable than straw but better than ground and rocks, and in fine condition, while his many tools and books remained unscathed.

“Thank the Maker,” Erik breathed as he opened his copy of the Voyages with Sea Folk, undamaged and the marker right where he had left off.

Basra put shore on the Tremalking island of Ellusia, two days west of Windbiter’s Finger, in a cove that was secluded and away from the villages dotting the coast. Basra’s men were uneasy, even the Master of Swords Jor looked as if they were all committing blasphemy for landing. The Sea Folk and Amayar seem to have a curious relationship, despite the fact that Sea Folk governors live on the main island of Tremalking and the Amayar live the way of the Water Way. Even Basra is hesitant in talking too much about the Amayar, though I have come to understand they are indeed much like the Tuatha'an, or Tinkers, and their Mahdi, or Seeker, with their Way of the Leaf passivism. The men keep saying something about the End of Illusions, in whispers, while Basra and Jor both feign ignorance. Perhaps the Sea Folk have a deeper misunderstanding of ideals than they act, seeing the peaceful Tremalkingers unable to see the Illusion? The seas are just as deep of mysteries, if not deeper, than any land I have travelled.

Basra made excuses to the sailors, explaining how repairs needed to be done and a land leg like myself needs time on dry land to steady my stomach. The men grunted, to my displeasure—I was certain I had convinced them I was as steady on the deck as any of their own—and went to their work.

Cliffs climb either side and the trees and plants seemed to be exploding from every corner. In a minute walk I found ninety poisonous plants, twenty man eating vines and trees that could swallow up a whole horse if it dared to close, and a pink weed that crawled along on the forest floor as if it were a Tear tortoise or Domani Spine-hog.

The book slid closed beside the Travels of Jain Farstrider and Wonders of the Legends. Erik stood to stretch, the muscles all over his body ached for movement, for exertion. The sun was steadily climbing to a noon time zenith, its blazing rays beginning to fill his home replacing the clouds of dust.

“The End of Illusions…” He had heard the phrase used somewhere else before but the memory was but a flicker and then gone. Tremalking… Now there was a land he would never see. Living in the Black Hills Erik had dreamt of the Topless Towered City of Cairhein or the Stone of Tear, having seen them now and many other wonders he had never dreamed he would lay eyes on… But two days resting your life in the capabilities of a boat when there are waterspouts the size of mountains and whirlpools as wide as a town, sea monsters and rogue waves and jutting rocks and underwater volcanoes waiting for you to pass over before they explode… Thank the Light no.

After a very cold and very short paddle through the pond Erik dressed himself in semi-decent clothes, loose white cotton shirt and dark brown trousers—both oddly enough from Jarret’s Passing—and thick leather boots. Gathering into his sad looking satchel the scrapped clothes and some trinkets he had come across in his travels that would trade, his baldric strapped on snuggly with his sabre hilt poking out over his left shoulder, Erik closed the lodge door. Crossing the small field of flowers with a small stop at Gena’s headstone, Erik began to trace his way back through the woods towards the centre of the Stedding.

He could feel the wolves around him; know all of them, their history, he opened himself up more. Breath filled his lungs for what felt like the first time in many Ages.

Erik smiled up into the trees. His stomach grumbled and near shook the leaves off of the Dogwoods in its ache.

“Some stew. I could kill for some good old fashioned homemade stew.”

      If there were a place for new beginnings, Erik knew its location. If there was an exact destination to discard the tatters and ruins of what once was and emerge anew, a different man, Erik had known it many time over. It was a thing of regularity, as cyclical as the Wheel of Time itself, the turnings of the day and the moon and a bowl of cherry wood. Every time he came to the spot he would kid himself that he would remain, get old and have cubs, smoke fine leaf and play Stones until his joints would seize and his mane bristled grey and silver. How many lives had he discarded coming here? How many times had he emerged, reforged from grief or loss or loneliness or pain, remade and different?

    The past remained a haunting howl on the wind, a cause to raise hair and bristle hackles with the sear of the tooth and claw long gone. Long past. Echoes remain; echoes that followed him, some resonating within his very flesh as scars and markings, all the way to where he stood.

    The Lodge. The cabin out in the woods, between the two massive Douglas Firs that stabbed the sky, beside the field of wild flowers marred only by the stone epitaph in the center, squatting near the crystal water pond, abandoned. The shingling held a dense collection of moss, but he would bet his life the shake was still in good shape. The thatching had been hard and laborious—so had everything been with building his once home. Perhaps that was one medicinal aspect of this place, the hardship its creation had been could commune within him the hardship he was facing or had faced.

    His first task was to dig out the wax. All along the door frame his knife blade sunk in and pulled out bits and tangles of wax, the year old seal. He worked at it hungrily until enough was free for the door to budge a hair’s width back and forth. Sheathing his claw Erik dusted off his hands.

    He hesitated.

    The smell of the memories wafted out to him, between the cracks of door, into the crevices of his mind, painfully. There was the pine and alder smell, the crisp tinge of cedar still in the air, long extinguished moth balls and hint of lavender and soap. Why he had left her perfume in there, Erik’s understanding of his own actions could go only so far before he just had to accept what he does in grief or instinct or both as the best course. Facing the decisions of the past, erupting regrets, were a path to destruction not even this bastion could resurrect him from.

    Thick fingers enveloped the large wooden sliding latch, more fitting on a barn door but that mattered little to him, as he grunted and pushed. Functionality had always outweighed aesthetic beauty in Erik’s mind, of course with the exception of wooden ornaments and women. Well, maybe just ornaments. Erik had grown up on the Caralain Grass along the River Ivo where women were known to build houses, fall trees, reap crops, and run the farm on their own when their husbands were inscribed to war or were never returned from the battlefield. There’s a town in Haevin made up almost entirely of widows, a town’s civil war between Houses like an inferno that consumed brothers and fathers and uncles and grandfathers in its flames. Erik smiled. Even a blind traveller was enticing to some of the women, back in the days he avoided much of the woods before he could shield himself from Kin and wolves alike.

    “Jarret’s Passing, three days west of the Black Hills, where the fields sing with golden chimes and the river roars like a drowning beast. Jarret’s Passing…” Erik’s smile stiffened as he slammed the latch the rest of the way, “where the women watch a man like a starving wolf stalks his prey.”

    The door groaned like a dying moose, long and hard and aching. The woods seemed to shudder along with it until the ordeal was passed.

    “Oil… I’ll need oil in town.”

    The air was old and made his nose turn. He could feel the passages of time roll over him, that a mouse had made it’s way through a loose floorboard into the room some months before but was gone maybe a week past, his own smell in and around the room from the last night he had been there, panic, concern, anxiety, excitement, and there was always her. She lingers in the corners and near the bed stand as if she had been standing there only a few moments ago. The pull just strong enough to tug him there before it evaporates and once again he would doubt his sanity.

    “Welcome home, Night’s howl.”

      His own voice sounded like gravel, but Light it felt good to be home.

All apologies. I was quite drunk last night but I do recall speaking with you.

Just post the few seconds before Erik shows, your own introduction to him, describe how you're fairing and feeling and then we'll get to some grub and info.

-erik

OC:

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMP

buddy cmon

This one smells odd, he thought as he caught the scent again. A great deal like a pup, the Wanderer's musk reminded him of a wolf too old for nipping games, yet he dismissed it.

I'm a better judge of character close up any road.

Wolflover had been an impressive Sage and had heightened senses even far and beyond his own. She knew what he was coming down with by his intake of breath, what he was thinking by the orientation of his hands, whether or not he enjoyed Owen's singing by the smell of his hair.

Sages need to understand people. I need to understand my surroundings. Which was mostly true. Erik had spent years in the wilderness, tracking, hunting, foraging and surveying and living. The ground was fertile enough for minor growth, small trees and perhaps a lovely shrubbery, he could smell the fragrance of three herbs he'd cook with tonight and the odor of a rabbit's droppings five paces to the left. The length of the grass and the line of greenery told him the water-table was high enough here he could dig a few feet down and reach drinkable water that won't give the Wanderer the Churns.

Lynx hung back, his gray dun wary of the smell of new dogs while watching Smoke with a cloudy eye. Smoke ignored the beast and amused himself with licking his paws, keeping one eye up to watch Erik's back.

<Go meet pup Night's Howl. Four-leg-sharp-toe stay with Smoke. Smoke watch.>

Erik smiled back at the wolf as he moved through the low brush and along the small trees. He moved quiet, but not so quiet the Wanderer wouldn't hear, enough to get the boy's attention.

It was past the third tree in his way that he got a clear view of him. Slightly dirty face, matted hair, odd clothing- golden glistening eyes that echoed an eon of history.

Erik's heart howled low and hard.

"Ho lad! Don't be concerned I'm a-" For the sudden circumstances, Erik was quite proud later that he managed to get that out before a rock the size of a man's fist came hurtling towards him and slammed into his chest. Erik's back met a tree trunk as he sucked cool breath back into his lungs, watching the Wanderer fluidly approach him, watching with careful eyes.

That boy moves better walking than most Rangers do with their blade...

As the Wanderer neared Erik's eyes widened then he couldn't contain himself any more. His mouth opened wide and a loud cascading laugh came boiling up from inside of him. Sharp canines flashed in his mouth and his yellow eyes shone in the sparse light of the trees, he could hear and feel his laughter echo around him and that only doubled his laughing.

Small tears burned his eyes as he watched the Wanderer stare at him with wondering eyes, staring at the mad Woodsman with golden eyes clutching his sides and choking to death on his giggles.

"Boy..." Erik got out before he had to wait for another chuckle to work its way out. The Wanderer was perhaps a two or three Winters younger than him, but Erik felt older, much older, and the lines on his face nor the age in his eyes helped him get back that youthfulness. ".. Boy.. I've never been so surprised in half of my life.. And I've woken up to a bear eating my boots and seen a Trolloc court a birch tree." More chuckles.

"Erik Nighthowl's me name, and as you can see, we may have something more in common than a taste for laughs or mulled wine." Erik grunted as he stood, his back ached more than it used to with sleeping on rocks and roots. "Now.. You may have to forgive me twice, because for one, I'm terrible at introductions so I should have half expected a rock to eat as soon as I open me mouth. And secondly, I'm not a big talker on an empty stomach so I hope you don't mind I cook and eat while I listen.

"But, I will shake a man's hand and take his name before I cook a thing."

Erik held out his hand, after first wiping the dirt on his breeches towards the other man. Towards the Wanderer. Towards.. the pup?

Erik Nighthowl

Tracker

Finder

Hero Extraordinaire

OOC: no problem mate. I do find myself running into dying threads quite often and it kind of kills your enthusiasm for it (as does losing enough threads). I'll post in the morning.

-erik

Evidence

[in the] march of the ant

pulse of the sea

look, find, free

yet! do you get it yet?

do you get it?

From here on it's instinctual

even straight roads meander

every piece contains a map of

it all, it all!

Out of line and indivisible

a crow left of the murder

every piece contains a map of

it all, it all!

A Crow Left of the Murder - Incubus

Lynx tossed his head irritably, dull grey eyes watching around him carefully, as Erik patted his long neck. He’d only been riding the horse for the last fortnight, getting acquainted with the beast, if a few torn vests and a bloody arm count as acquainting. Wolves still bothered the animal—that much was clear, especially whenever Smoke drifted in and out of their camp— despite the fact that it had spent most of its life in the Stedding.

“There’s some mule in you somehow Lynx,” Erik whispered as he led the animal to a strong enough tree to tie it up at, “ and try not to tear this one out of the earth, this time.”

Stretching the muscles in his back, already feeling the effect of another day in a row of hard riding, Erik relaxed his breathing and brought in the scents all around him. Feel the tingle of a breeze through the trees as it washed over him, the smell of rabbit not a day gone passing through, the smell of long-grass cut by the stout trees that enclosed his campsite for the night. And the beacon; standing out in his mind like a glimmering pillar, drawing him closer, closer to the Wanderer.

The wolves thought him odd, this new Wanderer.

Like a pup.

Erik was certain the wolves knew the differences between two-leg adults and two-leg pups, but the way the emotions they used to describe him… Erik could think of nothing but a young cub falling over itself as it played, taking sheer delight in living.

A day since taking a ferry across the River Erinin, the sense of the journey half way complete left him content as he chewed on a strip of old mutton and cheese and some old tubers he had found in his previous adventures best eaten raw… Cooking seemed to awaken some dark taste from within, and left you breathing heavy and your stomach empty.

A day’s hard ride, perhaps a little more, and another Wolfkin safely brought back… As he lay down to sleep, the hackles on the back of his neck stirred.

“Can’t be worse than the last time…” Erik smiled to the darkness of the forest around him.

Night’s howl comes.

Erik paused as they came to the clearing, the milling soldiers all around them; the scents of a hundred different people washing over him, as Leila pushed on through. The determination written on her face, Erik wasn’t surprised the hardened men all gave her ample space as she moved among them.

Was it a full battalion? Erik couldn’t know the organization and if there were more scouting or catching up, if this was the main company or the only… All he knew was that this many people, this many soldiers, got his hackles up and made him nervous about any two-leg that watched him for too long.

The camp felt like it stretched at the sides, he had watched it as they approached, watched the Band, the mass of soldiers and tents and horse-lines.

He hastily handed the horse reins to a short boy tending the duns, and hurried after the fool woman.

Get a knife in her back… Trusting two-legs… This many of them, one’s bound to take exception…

Even if there had been more men he could still have easily followed her, compared to the musk of men, any woman would smell like lavender and spices; compared to the smell of a hundred men, any two-leg could have followed her path.

He shadowed his companion as she made introductions to her contact Franklin and the leader of the group, Amon Turamber, Under Commander of the Band of the Red Hand. Franklin struck him as nervous for a Wolfkin… Not an unfortunate characteristic, for a Watcher it may have kept him alive more than once, but just odd. Perhaps it’s me, Erik smiled lightly, a thing of moving his lips a hair and nothing else. He watched every direction at once, his pose relaxed, with a hand just so happening to be resting on his blade’s hilt, while Leila ignored him.

Something like a possession had overcome her in her drive to rescue Owen, each day it more and more apparent, while Erik sat quiet and made small conversation as he waited for an arrow to come from the tall grass.

Soon, perhaps not soon enough for Leila, but soon he was taking his and Leila’s horses back from the boy with sandy hair and a short fitting vest. He looked back at the boy as he was leaving… Must be… seventeen, eighteen Winters old… he figured.

Not more than five younger than me, but it wasn’t just his height that made him feel old… Bloodshed had a way of taking away a man’s years without him noticing it.

They mounted and moved with the group, Leila actually smiled at him, before she kicked her horse to the front of the line. A growl clawed its way up his throat before he found himself shadowing her again.

Hold on Owen. Not much longer now.

-erik

Erik rubbed the bruise on his left side and suppressed a growl. The woman had managed to avoid the old wounds and bruises but had given him a few decent new ones.

He wouldn't have called it manhandling.. But it had been close enough, just to keep her in the saddle and not going back for Owen.

His thighs shook as they gripped onto the horse, his chest muscles tired, it had been too long since riding horse. If the Watcher Leader had wanted to, she could have knocked him off his horse if she tried hard enough and go back for Owen.

But she had agreed, reluctantly, and had settled into a bristled mood as they rode. Which was fine by him. Women were hard enough to understand when you were talking to them, and with his luck, he had forgotten how to talk to them all together.

Erik scanned the horizon again, the way they had come and the light gust coming from behind them.

"We aren't being followed. Whatever Owen is doing, he is doing well."

He closed his mouth and continued to look around their surroundings as she gave him a look that said who she would rather distracting the hunters.

Holding in another growl, he nodded towards a small clearing with little debris and the look of an old resting point for horse teams, before the road eroded away and Caralain had a capital.

They ate their meal of a fat quail in silence, the low fire crackling as the horses snored happily, stars blooming overhead. He sat back and watched the cosmos. He had since he was little, and seeing it on a clear night were the joys in his life that had remained.

He let the quiet roll around him as the fire died and his new travelling companion settled down to sleep.

It was safe. No one was following them.

His eyes finally closed as the rhythm of the wind and the horse's snoring, and Leila's breathing, eased him to sleep.

He may be out of danger, but Owen was on a razor's edge pulling whoever was hunting him along after, so they could escape. He was doing what his friend asked him to, he had a small purple bruise on his chest to testify to that--he actually apologized when it had hurt her hitting him-- but guilt still nestled in him.

He could be doing much more. He could be there. He could.. and Leila needed to be safe, he knew that too.

He woke as the first rays of sunlight began to bathe the land in gold glow, and the need to do something remained. If only.. If only he knew what.

“-But first does my explanation for your problem sound at all plausible?”

You're alone.

You're like those men who abuse the Power and crumble the Earth.

If Owen didn't know what he was talking about.. Didn't even give a hint he knew what Erik was confessing..

"What? Oh, you know Owen I guess so. Just been my mind playing tricks on me when I'm under pressure.. It's been hard to relax since coming back- just always expecting a knife in my side or a blackjack to my head... I don't want to leave the Stedding, and I have no intention to beyond retrieving Wanderers.. Pretend I didn't say anything..

His eyes held Owen's for a moment to reassure him he was being genuine.

"But I am sorry about your sister, Wolfbrother. Truly. Burying your family feels wrong enough that my hackles shake.. Come, Janna is waiting on us.." His smile was practiced and the glint in his eye believable. The scent rolling off of him was that of embarrassment and sudden eagerness.. The shame and concern were pulled in and suppressed.. Even away from the Stedding he had practiced controlling his scent around two-legs and by himself.

I am by myself.

Fooling myself, thinking he could help me. Least I know now. Least I know how I must deal with it.

Always alone now, Hammar. Runner is slain. You cannot replace her.

He smiled back at a still concerned looking Owen as they trotted up to the Infirmary door, well, concerned looking for Owen.

"Come on Owen, that Wanderer isn't going to Track and save herself. That's what we're for. Heroes of legend, Erik the Mighty and Owen the White." Owen's eyebrow twitched a hair, Erik near choked at the show of emotion. "Or we could switch... Though.. Think Janna has any chalk or baking powder?"

"No, but I do have talcum powder, Erik. And if you're being insolent to your Elders again, we may have to put you back in swaddling until you can behave."

Erik smiled up at Janna standing in the Infirmary door. She watched both of them calmly, leaning against the frame, not a bit of tire in her eyes nor disrepair to her hair.

"Today just doesn't seem to be my day at all.. Good morning fearless leader. I- We have news."

"I lost more than you can ever know that day, my friend, I not only lost my sister, I lost part of me, and it is a part that I can never get back, and at times it feels so bad that I wish it had been me and not her.”

Owen motioned and they continued on, Erik torn between holding a solemn silence and giving his friend some time or to confess his own. Owen smelled disappointed, and guarded.. The silence stretched as Erik felt the light stitch work of his pockets, finger tracing the thread, as he thought of something—ANYTHING— to say.

The Infirmary was before them and Erik stopped himself, eyes locked on the ground in front of them. Owen stopped too, he could hear Owen's hair move through the air as he turned to look back at him, sense the question as it began to move off his friend’s tongue.

“Owen… Have you ever… Heard things?” The question was nonsensical, he knew it, too vague to mean anything, but Owen just watched him now, waiting, not asking. Erik didn’t think he would be able to start again if he stopped now.

“Have you ever heard something… A voice… That isn’t there?... Feel like I’m going mad sometimes… Doubting my own sanity… And here I am going off to save a Wanderer who herself may be crazed and…” Breathe. He needs to breathe.

“He talks to me, and I to him… In my head… A voice, a personality, like myself but, it’s the Beast. It’s what I’ve told myself since I started hearing him, it’s what everyone deals with… But no one says they talk with it, no one says the Beast challenges them, laughs at them, bringing up the worst memories...” Breathing is good. Owen watched him, but Erik could hardly lift his eyes more than an instant before settling on his friend’s shadow again.

“Night’s Howl… I named him that, because that’s what the wolves named me… I… I need to know I’m not insane, that I’m not like those bloody male channellers that broke the World… That this is something to do with me losing Gena… That what I feel for Leila is just some emotional attachment, some hangup I’ve built because I’ve lost my—”

Maybe that was too much.

“Just… just… I need to know Owen. I need to know before I go back into the wilderness again if it’s best for me to just stay out there again and to never return… I can’t go feral, I just can’t- I’ve seen what it does, how it makes you act- I can’t. Nor will I stay here and jeopardize what you have built up here. Just…”

So hard to say.

How do you ask a friend that? But there was a reason he was talking to Owen about it, not any other Kin, not even the Trackers who were his closest of family. Owen would tell him, wouldn’t line a rock in gilt to make him feel better, he’d tell him as it is.

“Am I crazy Owen? Like those men who use the Power? Will I become ultimately like them?”

“Come on Erik it is not that bad you know.”

Smitten? Smitten?!

Owen most likely knew Erik better than himself, probably just from watching him with his sword, the man was a good friend and was most likely the deciding factor in him remaining in the Stedding. Most likely? Who else is here for him?

His friend's words had put doubt in his mind now.. And he was enjoying it as much as Leila had. He felt something seemed so open about himself when compared to the others.. No mystery.. No question of who he is..

No. That was before I left. Owen may still know Erik Hammar, but I'm not the same. I may not know myself truly, but my heart, I know who that is left for.

"If only it was that easy to find another she, Owen. I don't have a flute to impress the women and woo them onto my veranda," he could smile at that, but it faded, "but my heart is still for Gena."

Something shivvered behind his companion's eyes and they shared a sober moment.

He knew.

Erik could remember Iris, fleetingly, grainy memories, but she was always with Owen. How long do we mourn? Am I to fall in love again, Owen? So soon.. It's always so soon. When am I holding onto a memory, onto the Dream, and not the real? He was as likely to voice such questions as sit down and ask Owen whether he knew what it meant that he could hear a voice in his mind, that it would talk with him, hate him, challenge him for control.

"As... long as it did last Owen.. I cannot look at another woman the same.. Though I have to say, not bad. Tracker Leader... You have good taste, I won't dismiss that." He scratched at the stubble beneath his chin, the grin smiling back at his friend as they made their way to the Infirmary. "I've seen a few unfamiliar lovely faces on my walks. Hmm.. Have to keep our options open, fearless leader, being bachelors, and all."

"A clever ruse Erik, I won't dismiss that. Now tell me, how long have you been smitten with Janna?"

Erik's hand caught only air as Owen ducked it and there was that grin he enjoyed flashing every so often now.

See how he grins with no teeth.

"I suppose it's no use trying to grab your ears, Friend," he growled the last word, "what with the women in your life, I'd wager they'd have been ripped off by now if it was at all possible."

"Come now Erik.. Now if Janna really is in the Infirmary, you wouldn't want to waste perfectly decent time romancing her out here giving me more reasons to sick Ice on you." His laughter resounded around the trees; Erik fought the urge to let his shoulders cave in.

Maybe it would be better that Owen thought he was smitten- burn him for saying smitten though- with Janna.. He may not see so deep into his heart then.

Do I know my heart as well as I think I do?

Gena.. Janna..

L...

Erik shook his head and broke into a quick jog, Owen matching it smoothly as if the ache in his leg existed somewhere else- Erik remembered the arrow head in his friend's leg, how he had gotten it.. The toll it had almost been.

"Then let's not waste that time then Friend. Think I should wear a flower in my hair or go change into my Bel Tine best to see her? I may need some of your hallowed advice. Do you tackle them or get Ice to do it for you, or do you just play your flute 'til they give up and submit?"

He whistled an awful tune as they moved, fingers clumsily playing an air-flute before him, as he butchered the song 'Three Tinkers in the Shed.'

His heart was for Gena.

Wherever she was.

He hoped it was.

It near broke his heart again to think of forgetting her for another.

-Erik

“The sooner Janna hears, the better, since we don’t know if the stories of this girl’s madness are unfounded. Thanks,”

He bid Leila a smile as she left, the warmth failed to reach his eyes but he couldn’t care whether it did or not. The story the Watcher Leader had spun for him had unnerved him and settled a burr between his shoulder blades, he twitched his muscles trying to move the annoyance despite the fact he knew it was all in his head. His mind spun as the swirling thoughts and process buzzed, he lowered his hand onto the main room table to stable him, before feeling a soft bit of fur and a hard sharp connected by a leather cord beneath his coarse hand. His hand slid across the soft bit of fur, along the rough and smooth yellowed canine; lifting the two talismans by the thong joining them, Erik felt a calm and quiet come to him.

A Wanderer… Well then they must be helped.

Janna might be gone… Then she is gone, and I am here. I am a Tracker again, no use thinking I’m not.

Could be as mad as a male channeller… Then it is the Wolfkin’s responsibility to take care of her and do what must be done to protect the pack.

Lowering the cord over his head, tightening it to fit, Erik felt an eagerness begin to bubble up inside of him, clouding over but not quite forgetting the urgency of finding the Wanderer. Merely, Erik thought of being outside again, running through open trees and away from all traces of two-legs again.

It was on the table the entire time, wool-head, don’t forget that.

Still smiling he hefted his cloak and opened the door, breathing in a fresh breeze that carried the smell of bark and grass dew, a new day; Erik closed the door behind himself and began making his way towards the only person for sure that would know where his brave and fearless Tracker Leader would be.

“He can eat stone, they say, while others think he’s made of it.

His bones and teeth are made of steel, so say those he has bit.

Eyes of stone, heart of fire, he slays the Trollocs and Fades.

Saves the day, gets the girl. Walks through a forest of blades

To get where he’s going, untouched, unbruised. Why he’s our very own,

The fearless, the brave, none other than our Ranger, Sir Owen.”

Strange… He hadn’t sung that tune in some time…

“Can kill the Dark One with a single look, he’s the Big Guy.

It’s Owen to the rescue. Don’t fret… Watch the lasses all sigh.”

Night’s howl cackled in his corner, pushing against the restraints, testing his strength, watching Erik from within his mind.

She’s mad, Hammar. Will you do what must be done, two-leg? Do to this female what you did to that cub, among the fire and teeth, when the rankness gripped him too?

It smiled.

Erik stopped singing.

-Erik

Why wasn't I standing next to Myth?

*growl*

Whoever was wearing the red catsuit, a nice choice mind you- my butt's never looked more taut (like a tige-a), should let out the sides a bit more.. I enjoy breathing...

*gasp*

Still.. very... hot...

-erik

Should I have worn green? I always feel like red makes my curves stand out.. Though.. the red silk does breathe a bit more *smiles as he swishes a smooth leg out from under his sweet Elf Dress*

I don't usually opt for a midi length, but with the sexy slanted cut, its slim fit, and cute little sweetheart scoop on the front and a deep scoop on the back... I couldn't say no. And with Leila helping me shave I think this is perfect.

*swishes over to the bar, obviously ignoring all of the wolf-guys' envious glares and the wolf-girls' hungry stares*

Double-scotch please. My legs itch like bloody balefire, I'm wearing a corsette, *takes off elf hat and ears to scratch his scalp* but I'm totally the hottest one here. Oh thank you.

*knocks it back*

Alright, that takes S off the board.. think I'll knock T off then.

TEQUILA WENCH!

-erik