A thousand years later...
Beorn exhaled as he loosed his arrow at the limping elk. It flew true, piercing the eye and granting it swift death. A far cry better than its fate under the fangs of a Direwolf pack.
Hanging the bow from his pack, Beorn leapt down from the tree whose crown had shielded him, and walked twenty paces to where the carcass lay, turned it on its back and looked around for a strong tree.
He unfolded his sled and put it next to a big and sturdy Everoak. Taking the rope from his pack he tied the carcass and bound the rope to his waist before he trudged towards a tree with his prey. Securing the foreleg of the elk, he kept some slack in the rope as he climbed the tree, coming to a rest on a sturdy branch. Hammering a spike in, he unwound the slack from the rope at his waist and hooked it before leaping down. He hung the elk, taking care not to scrape the crown of antlers. Taking out his dagger he cut the jugular, letting the blood flow out and spoke a brief prayer to Prosperia.
Thank you, for the bounty, mother. May this elk’s body nourish my body and its memory nourish my soul.
Beorn took an empty skin from his pack and collected some of the still warm blood. After the blood had finally run dry, he went about the grisly task of cutting out its pelt, meat and shoulder. Shuddering at the thought of attracting something so deep in the Wolvenrych, he packed the sled hurriedly and made his way back to Banehallow.
***
Trudging through the knee deep Beorn glanced worriedly at the sky, it was getting dark soon and even though he'd spent the 6 years living and training in this forest, he was still wary of the dangers it hid. Especially with the disquiet feeling he'd had since he entered and the fact that he'd never encountered such easy prey unmolested before. As he picked up speed, the hairs on the back of his neck rose and his muscles tensed. Dropping down into a half-crouch he let go of the sled's straps and drew his dagger with one hand and his hatchet with the other. It took him a moment to realise the forest had gone completely silent, no birds, no insects not even leave rustling in the wind. Peering through the increasing gloom Beorn didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. After a few moments he decided to hurry along before something got a chance to sink its claws into him.
Putting the hatchet back in his belt, Beorn bent down to pick up the sled straps when he heard a whisper at the back of his mind. Instincts honed from years of training screaming, he rolled forwards as he turned around to see a black shadow miss him by a hair. Crouching, he dropped his cloak to avoid tangling himself in it. He turned around just in time to put up an arm just before the shadow closed its jaws around his head. Knocked off balance he lost his grip on the hatchet as pain lanced through his bitten forearm, losing his footing he started rolling downhill. He wrestled the thing while rolling. Managing to keep the beast's fangs off his face and locked onto his arm, he struggled to breathe from the snow.
Beorn came to a sudden stop as his head smashed into a boulder. Slightly dazed, he stabbed the dagger as hard as he could from under the beast, twisting it but it only encouraged the thing to retaliate, bringing its deadly claws into the fight. Dodging its limbs drunkenly, a wicked slash to his bicep woke Beorn up as he put more strength into his right hand and stabbed the knife into its gut repeatedly. , he dodged the swings as he gathered his legs under him pushing upwards into the beast with his left hand while getting his right free. His heart thundering, he barely felt its teeth puncture his vambrace. The adrenaline allowed him to jerk the beast's head to the side with left arm before plunging the dagger into its brain with his right. As the beast stopped its dying struggle, he lay back into the snow exhausted with his head ringing.
Feeling the warmth from the blood flowing onto him, a rancid cloying smell hit him that caused him to heave. The warmth grew uncomfortable and started stinging before Beorn figured something was wrong and ripped his shirt off, rolling in the snow to rub the blood from his body. Taking a handful of snow and scrubbing his torso, he noticed his skin was slightly pink and feeling tender with a good number of new scars and bruises to add to the ones he'd already had. Sighing, he examined the rest of his clothing relieved at his trouser and boots being undamaged. His naked torso steamed in the cold, the exertion causing him to sweat despite the freezing snow. Centering himself Beorn lowered his heartbeat. Staying absolutely still he concentrated his sense of smell and eyesight to survey the brush. Failing to catch any signs of more monsters, after a few minutes he walked towards his fallen cloak and picked it up brushing the snow off it.
Although he hadn’t thought about it during the fight, no ordinary wolf would’ve been able to pierce his enchanted vambrace. Reaching into the pouch on his belt he took out a vial of red liquid and downed part of it before applying the rest onto the biggest cuts. He was remarkably unhurt after the scuffle, that whisper before the attack saving him from worse.
Those prayers definitely worked, thank Prosperia.
Taking comfort in the fact someone out there was looking after him, he had a good look at the corpse when he noticed that it was Direwolf just bigger and somehow even meaner from the ones he'd faced before. The fur was mangy and rotted with unhealed slashes and bite marks. As he studied it further Beorn noticed a slight shadowy essence drifting from it before suddenly remembering his dagger. Worried for the keepsake from his mentor, he hurriedly drew the dagger out wincing at the burnt leather wrapping on the hilt. Surprisingly the ornate blade was undamaged, it still shone under the moonlight while only suffering some damage on the leather wrapping the handle. Inspecting it all around, he felt the leaf shaped blade had become slightly darker, it felt slightly heavier as well.
What in the world?
Taking another look at the corpse he noticed it looking slightly smaller, a thought occurred to Beorn as he some of the spilt blood on the blade and was astonished when it disappeared. Sticking it into the corpse, it started visibly shrinking, growing heavier before stopping. Taking the dagger out of the corpse he stared wonderingly at the blade before sheathing it. The rapidly receding light told him it was a riddle to solve later.
He noticed the corpse was now bone dry, figuring he'd show this to Nathaniel, the captain of the Guard, he dragged the corpse to his sled and tied it on. He noticed his bow and pack lying in the snow, thankfully the bow had dropped out of its holster during the initial roll. It looked undamaged after checking the stave, his habit of un-stringing his bow probably saved it. Replacing his shirt, Beorn saw the twin moons rise over the horizon, figuring he still had a couple of hours left before complete darkness and not being too keen to stay in the Wolvenrych much longer he started trudging through the snow with his sled in tow once again.
