The Heartwood Slowly tears you apart

It wasn't until after he made camp in the Heartwood that the rain eased. It did not stop but transitioned from the many heavy pelting drops to something more mist-like.

Kigipigak took the time to clean himself up. There were many pools of standing water leftover by the storm, and he used these to liberally remove the mud and discoloration to his forelimbs, belly, and anywhere else the road had tarnished.

It wasn't a perfect job. Refreshed nonetheless, he then set about finding a meal. Throughout his morning and in to the late afternoon the showers intermittently strengthened; he remained alone, and silent, and found little here to ease his hunger.

Another defeat, temporarily.

sólhárr had caught the faint waft of a male’s scent on the mist-laden air, mingling with the earthy dampness left by the morning’s storm. it wasn’t far from forneskja’s grounds, a distance that kept his curiosity sharp but guarded. he moved quietly through the dripping foliage, tracing the scent as it grew stronger, drawing him deeper into the heartwood. soon, he caught sight of the stranger—tall, built like a boulder, his pelt a mix of white and grey that seemed to blend effortlessly with the muted landscape.

with a purposeful stride, sólhárr emerged from the shadows, his blue eyes sharp and assessing. he dipped his head in a brief nod, a gesture of acknowledgment rather than submission, and then spoke, his voice carrying a calm confidence.

hail, stranger. i’m sólhárr of forneskja, he introduced himself, his tone level but with a hint of friendliness. he noted the way the other wolf cleaned himself in the standing pools, clearly preparing to settle in or perhaps hunt. you look strong. would you care to hunt?

He was about to find a path of egress when the sounds of movement in the forest made him pause and pay attention. A stranger—swarthy and warm, and large—came from the shadows to cross his path. It was not someone familiar.

The young man greeted him. At what point did an adult become a young man to Kigipigak's eyes? He looked to be a fully grown, established person with the confidence and affect of a leader; but his son had looked much the same, and Kivaluk remained a boy in his father's eyes. At some point recently Kigipigak had transitioned from a young man himself in to the five-year-old he was now, and it was jarring to think about how quickly time would fly.

He regards the stranger a moment and then gives a nod back. I am Kigipigak, a trader of this area. He did not commend this Solharr on his size or apparent strength, as that was too obvious a thing. Better to withhold judgement until any hunt had happened, and by then Kigipigak could decide if this was friend or foe.

Hunting is always easier among comrades. Yes, I will hunt with you. He knew of a few places that the resident deer might be sighted, although it had been months since the northman had been this way.

sólhárr dipped his head in silent acknowledgment, golden eyes briefly sweeping over the man who introduced himself as kigipigak. he seemed seasoned, his bearing unassuming yet confident. there was wisdom in his words, in his quiet acceptance of the offer. a man like him would fit well among forneskja’s ranks, sólhárr thought, though he kept such musings to himself for now.

without a word, sólhárr turned his focus to the forest. the crisp air carried the faint musk of a buck—large and likely formidable. a worthy challenge for the two of them. his nose lowered to the ground, and his paws moved with deliberate quiet as he began to track the scent. the trail was fresh, the sharp tang of it cutting through the earthy scents of the woodland.

he glanced back briefly to ensure kigipigak followed before his attention returned to the task. this would be no easy prey, but it was suited for men like them—men who thrived on the hunt and the thrill of conquest. his steps quickened, the scent growing stronger, and he felt the stir of anticipation in his chest. the buck was near.

The man said nothing and began to march. Kigipigak fell in line to follow, and soon the two were stalking the woodland as if it was their own. Whenever the other wolf paused to check a scent Kigipigak would keep watch, or double-back to see if his nose could discern a path forward if the other might falter. Over time the pair hiked the forest and their paths wove to the same heavily scented point, both sharing a look of understanding when Solharr found the way forward.

Kigipigak gave a small chuff, acknowledging. He moved in a crescent among the ferns, first away from the point that Solharr had indicated, and then in that wide arc, towards it; the path tracked its way through saplings and there, Kigipigak noticed teeth marks where the buck must have grazed on the last green shoots. They were on the right path.

sólhárr moved with practiced ease, his movements fluid and deliberate as he followed the faint trail. the tundran’s sharp eyes and quiet acknowledgment confirmed what sólhárr had already suspected—they were close.

as the pair crept further, the scent grew heavier, mingling with the musk of the forest and the faint metallic tang of recent grazing. sólhárr's nose dipped toward the earth, tracing the trail with precision until the beast came into view.

there it stood, a massive buck, muscles rippling beneath its coarse hide. its rack of antlers gleamed, their sharpened ends a testament to its power. sólhárr froze, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. a low huff escaped him, a sound of both admiration and resolve.

without looking back, he shifted slightly to signal kigipigak. their quarry was here. this hunt would not be an easy one, but it would be worth it. silently, he glanced at his companion, the unspoken question clear in his gaze: are you ready?

When the other man came to a halt, Kigipigak did as well. He did not yet see the buck; in fact, he had lost sight of the dusky Solharr in the process—and only after the man huffed did Kigipigak take note of his position. He glanced up in time to see the hunter motion with the slightest movement towards the shape of the buck. The creature was tall and strong, no doubt having enjoyed a bountiful season as it bulked up for the winter. As Kigipigak watched the buck lifted its head and brandished its crown. It had not noticed the wolves yet.

One of the creature's ears twitched, and Solharr's questioning gaze lingered upon Kigipigak. The northman carefully squared himself to the buck's position so that he could give chase if the need arose; his teeth flashing briefly in preparation, and then he awaited the movement of Solharr to start them off. If they did this quickly enough the buck would be surprised and perhaps it would lose its ability to run cleanly through the forest. Neither of the wolves knew the Heartwood as well as their prey, so surprise became their biggest asset.

sólhárr’s body lowered, muscles taut as a drawn bowstring. the underbrush cloaked him like a second skin, concealing the russet of his coat. his breath was a shallow rhythm, steady and controlled as his sharp gaze locked on the towering buck ahead. its muscles rippled beneath a thick pelt, and its antlers seemed almost like a crown, regal and intimidating. this was a worthy challenge.

his companion, the silvered tundran, positioned himself, waiting. good. sólhárr didn’t need words to trust his capability. his focus was absolute.

with the stealth of a shadow, sólhárr crept forward, each pawfall silent against the forest floor. closer, closer. the stag remained unaware, its attention caught by a distant sound—perhaps a bird or the crunch of leaves far from the wolves. the moment stretched thin, and then, it snapped.

sólhárr lunged, an eruption of power and precision. the buck’s head jerked up in alarm, but it was too late; sólhárr’s teeth found purchase on the thick hide of its hindquarters. his weight dragged the creature off balance, and the forest exploded with movement as the chase began, the buck's panicked strides crashing through the trees.

he snarled through his grip, a signal for kigipigak to join the fray. the hunt was on.

As soon as Solharr leapt from cover for the buck, Kigipigak was charging for his own attack. The buck had a suitable response to the arrival of a wolf's teeth in its flank: shock, terror, and the vital need to escape. Fortunately the two hunters were wise enough to place themselves in a pincer-like angle with the buck in the middle; so when the buck did try to plunge away from one wolf and through the ferns, it was met only by the white mass of Kigipigak who was abruptly right there, causing the buck to stop, and rear up, and practically lose its footing with the weight of Solharr on the one side.

Kigipigak ducked and wove to one side, not wanting a hoof to the face. As the buck staggered one way, the hunter aimed for an exposed cache of flesh along its ribbed side and scored it with his teeth. Solharr was pulling, presumably; Kigipigak would snap and rend at the living flesh while it was possible to reach it. In what felt like a flash—the buck had hit the dirt and stomped its way upright again, swinging its head wildly—either in search of safe harbor or to brandish those tines in defense of itself.

With a snarl Kigipigak moved to flank it on the other side, and it struggled to keep itself aligned with the white shape of the wolf, while also trying to struggle free of the shadow gripping it. The sounds of struggle filled the grove and the admixture of musk, blood, and fear soon dominated the area as the struggle persisted.

sólhárr's grip was ironclad, his jaws locked firmly on the buck’s backside. the muscled creature thrashed beneath him, each desperate motion threatening to unseat him, but he held fast, his weight pressing into the beast like an anchor. he could feel the sinew and strength of the animal beneath his teeth—a worthy foe, a true challenge.

the white tundra wolf moved with precision on the other side, his pale pelt a ghostly blur against the chaos. sólhárr noted how the man’s fangs flashed in and out of view, tearing into the buck’s side with a ferocity that matched his own. together, they had forced the beast into a deadly dance, its powerful hooves pounding against the earth in a frantic rhythm.

the buck reared again, its crown of sharpened antlers slicing through the air. sólhárr released his hold for a moment, shifting his weight to avoid the dangerous tines. he landed lightly, circling the beast as it twisted to face both wolves, its nostrils flaring, sides heaving with effort. blood seeped from its wounds, staining the forest floor beneath them.

he fights well, sólhárr growled low, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. his oceanic eyes flicked briefly to the tundra man, a glimmer of respect there. but he did not linger—his focus was sharp, fixed on the buck as it prepared its next move.

with a quick glance, sólhárr signaled to his hunting partner, a subtle motion of his head. he lunged again, this time aiming for the buck’s shoulder, his intent to drive it further off balance. the fight was far from over, but he could feel the tide beginning to shift in their favor.

Unseated in the chaos of the struggling buck, Solharr eyed Kigipigak, and the northman only grunted in response to his commentary. The buck was healthy before their encounter; if anything he would have been a prime candidate when the rut came, and perhaps he had sired something worthwhile of the area's females before this.

Why Kigipigak thought of the prey's family at all, let alone while trying to dispatch him, made little sense to the man; he tried to put aside the musings and focus as the buck cleaved the air with that thorny mantle, and then lunged for yet another barrage of attacks.

He saw no reason to speak while they worked. It was much like the bison hunts upon the plains which he had once led; there was a time and a place for such things, and now was not one of them.

If the wolves had more to their number it would have been a more even fight. As it stood now—even with the two strong and capable men working in tandem—their capacity for violence would indeed be tested. Their endurance, their strength, all would come in to question against this creature as it struggled and bled.

Kigipigak managed many strikes, tearing in to the animal's hide while narrowly avoiding the thrashing and kicking of the animal as things became more desperate. The buck began to waver, to favor one side over another, and spun with a staggered step, wheeling around to keep its deeper wounds away. Red streaks slowly came to dominate the animal's hide—and again, Kigipigak could not help but think of times before, when a woman might take that hide and make something of it.

He had no woman for such work; there was no need for Kigipigak to be cautious about such things now. With a final lunge he sought to grab for the buck's face or neck, and while he would miss—there would be an opening to Solharr if the man should be keen enough to take it.

sólhárr saw the miss—kigipigak's teeth slicing air rather than the buck’s hide—and in that fleeting moment, opportunity struck. the buck’s staggering movements left its neck exposed, the pulse of its life force thrumming like a beacon. sólhárr's muscles coiled like springs before he lunged forward with precision born of experience.

his jaws parted wide, and with the force of his weight and momentum, they clamped down on the vulnerable flesh of the buck’s neck. blood spilled warm and metallic into his mouth as he bit down hard, feeling the sinew and veins give beneath his teeth. the creature buckled under him, legs scrambling for purchase that would not come. its movements slowed, strength waning as its lifeblood pooled on the forest floor.

sólhárr held firm, unrelenting until the buck's struggles ceased. only when he felt the body grow limp did he release, stepping back to watch as the beast fell fully to the ground. his breath came in heavy pants, each exhale visible in the cool air as his oceanic eyes turned to kigipigak.

well fought, he said simply, his voice steady despite the exertion. blood stained his jaws, the metallic tang still sharp in his senses, but there was a flicker of respect in his gaze. this had been a worthy hunt, one that demanded strength and skill from them both.

he nudged the buck's side with a paw, ensuring it was truly finished before looking back to his companion. a kill like this is not for one alone. we share it, as hunters should. there was a weight to his words, a silent acknowledgement of the bond forged in the hunt.

The momentum of the hunt carried Solharr straight for the throat of the beast, and in one quick motion the creature was cut and bled; this was a kindness. If the two of them continued to harass the thing, the meat would spoil from the stresses endured. It was typical to chase down a buck and wear it out over time, however in the confines of the Heartwood the pair had managed to dispatch it much more quickly.

With the buck finally felled, both men were left to gather themselves. Kigipigak was panting nearly as hard as Solharr, and when the adrenaline had begun to wear off Kigipigak became aware of an ache in his body from the exertion of it all. He was thankful it did not go on for much longer—although capable, he had been on the road for too long and his spirit had worn thin. A hot meal might remedy some of that.

There is more than enough for mouths beyond ours, he comments as he circles the fresh carcass, ready to begin the work of butchering it, and eager to consume some much needed calories. Help me to take it apart. I will carry it to where you have made your camp, if you have one. He had not mentioned it, but the scent of other wolves did cling to Solharr, as did the scent of pine; but he had not yet connected the dots that Solharr had claimed his wife's resting place quite yet.

You are a fine hunter yourself.

sólhárr nodded in agreement, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beginning to steady as the thrill of the hunt ebbed away. he bent over the buck’s lifeless form, his jaws and paws moving with practiced efficiency to strip it into portions. the work was precise, reverent even, for the kill was more than sustenance; it was a gift from the wild, a connection to the spirits of forneskja.

you honor me with your words, he said, his tone humble but steady as he glanced at the tundra wolf. and you are no lesser. your strength matches the wilds themselves.

when the work was nearly done, sólhárr straightened, his oceanic eyes meeting kigipigak’s. forneskja is in need of hunters, he offered after a beat of silence, voice calm but edged with purpose. strong warriors, such as yourself. those who understand the land and the hunt. you would find your place among us, if you wished it.

he gestured toward the direction of neverwinter forest with a subtle nod. we take home there, beneath the shade of ancient trees. a good home, where the spirits are near, and kin float like whispers on the wind. his words carried weight, but there was no pressure in them—only the truth of his belief in forneskja’s purpose and the bond they could share.

women there can make pelts from this hide. my wife, in particular.

The man proceeded to motion towards where his camp lay, and when Kigipigak realized he meant the forest in the distance, the one he had been pointedly avoiding, it was as if all sound had terminated within the Heartwood. Everything stopped for that instant, except the pounding of his own pulse as it had just started to regulate itself—only now, it sped up again. Whatever hunger he felt was gone in that moment too, as his stomach dropped and twisted.

Women there can make pelts from this hide. My wife, in particular— Solharr had begun to say, and Kigipigak cut him off abruptly with his voice almost robotic: That forest is cursed. He was still staring off in to the distance, to where the band of trees darkened the horizon.

He turned his attention to Solharr fully now, frowning, and no longer interested in the buck as it's body cooled in the mud. You should find somewhere else to settle. Or in the very least, keep your wife away from—the lake. Images of Ariadne's body sunken and suspended, now flashed through his memory. The shape of the man beside her; the pain in his muscles now aligning with the memory of pulling them from the depths, to shore.

The wailing of Aiolos.

With a deep breath to center himself, Kigipigak appeared less and less friendly by the second. He was guarded now, filled with concern, and held no desire to tread closer to the Neverwinter now that he knew it was Solharr's claim. I will help you butcher the remains if you need it, as I said—but that will be all. I am sorry, but that place... It is not a place I ever wish to go again.

sólhárr stilled at the shift in kigipigak’s demeanor, his brow furrowing as the tundran's voice turned cold and his features seemed carved from something harder than stone. the change was alarming, as though something heavy had draped itself over the man and taken root in his soul. he had thought kigipigak unshakable, but now... now, he was not so sure.

the words that forest is cursed hung in the air between them, chilling sólhárr more than the autumn breeze. he felt his stomach tighten, but he did not press; whatever haunted the man was not for him to dig out. instead, he dipped his head slightly, offering a quiet, measured, okay.

silence settled between them as sólhárr studied the tundran for a moment longer, concern flickering behind his oceanic gaze. the lake. what could the lake have done to break such a stoic figure?

he turned back to the buck, letting his paws move instinctively as he continued their work. but the curiosity gnawed at him, quiet and insistent. after a moment, he looked up, his voice softer but tinged with resolve.

what kind of curse? he asked, not pushing but still seeking, careful not to tread where he was unwelcome. the forest has held us well, but... i... would not raise my own cubkin there.

There was a tension between them now which Kigipigak regretted, so he focused on the work, as he often did when things became unbearable to him. He felt the shadow's eyes upon him but he did not answer further questions, focused instead upon the buck and the pulling of its hide, or the cutting of the meat from the bone. It was messy. It was wet-work. It was everything Kigipigak had enjoyed about being a warrior and a man—but he could not find enjoyment in the company of this stranger now, and he could not shake the memories that now filled his mind so virulently.

He felt suddenly foolish for speaking of curses; Kigipigak, ever the stoic and pragmatist, who had refused for so long to even consider praying to the gods of his wife or her people; now, claiming this place to be evil. It was not the place, and he knew that—it had been a slip of the tongue, and one he could not explain. An apologetic look crossed his features when Solharr asked, but there was no answer he could give that would make sense, not without explanation that Kigipigak was not ready to give.

The man had questions and he had every right to ask them—wanting to know more than what vague warnings Kigipigak could share. The northman found himself with a tongue of lead, and he could not explain without delving back in to the trauma of his loss, which he was not yet equipped to do. Your wife, he now found himself questioning—Is she one of your people? Did you meet her here? He asked to distract himself, and to learn more about this stranger who would choose that precious forest for a home. When enough had been cut from the buck that Solharr might be able to carry back alone, Kigipigak finally stopped. He was slick and red, up to his chest.

sólhárr observed the tundran’s silence, his hands steady with the messy work of dismantling the buck. but he could feel it—the weight between them, the hesitation, the memory of something unspeakable gnawing at kigipigak's thoughts. sólhárr chose not to press further; some truths, he knew, were better revealed in their own time.

when kigipigak asked about his wife, sólhárr straightened, brushing the blood from his muzzle with the back of his paw. a shadow of pride touched his features, though his tone remained measured. she is not of my people, he admitted, his voice low and steady, like the distant rumble of thunder. but she is of moonglow. the moonwoman is her mother. her blood runs deep, strong, with the wisdom of the old ways.

he paused, swallowing the knot in his throat. she is... light in the dark, the fire on the horizon. we met not far from here, but it feels as though i have known her my whole life. there was a reverence in his voice, and he could not help the faint curve of a smile, though it faded as quickly as it came.

@Callyope, is her name.

tag for mention; THIS IS GETTING JUICY...I WANT TO GIVE YOU KUDOS BUT NOT RUIN THE 69 XD

It was not too surprising that he would find a wife among the Moon villages. The way he spoke of her, there was a connection between them. Kigipigak could not help but feel nostalgic—for this man Solharr spoke of his wife in the same way Kigipigak had once thought of his Ariadne; but she had not been his for long, and even in her death she had been with another man. Solharr spoke the name of his wife and Kigipigak's expression softened some.

Callyope. Her mother is Kukutux. Yes, he knew her.

She knows of the lake. Perhaps I need not warn you; she understands. But still, he did not want to go there. He would not help beyond this butchering as agreed. If you bring her here to the kill, she can tell you also if the hide can be salvaged. I did not think—I should have considered its use to you. Again he looks apologetic, but it does not last long.

Have you brought the bride price? He asks next, showing an understanding of the way of the Moon villages which might give Solharr some hints. It is not his business to know, and perhaps it is wrong of him to ask.

sólhárr listened intently, his gaze thoughtful as he nodded at the mention of kukutux, the moonwoman. her name carried weight, and hearing it from this tundra man's lips was both a comfort and a reminder of the significance of the ties he sought to forge.

no worries for the oversight, he replied, his voice steady and warm despite the lingering tension of their earlier exchange. the hide will serve, if it can, and if not, it is no fault of yours. i appreciate your aid, kigipigak. he paused, his eyes drifting to the bled-out buck before returning to his companion. you are a good man.

at the question of the bride price, sólhárr's expression shifted, a mixture of pride and anticipation. i have yet to be told my bride price, he admitted. but i prepare for the moment. i have hunted boars for their tusks, salvaged their pelts. gifts, offerings—proof that i am a good man. a worthy man. there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes: determination, devotion, perhaps even a hint of nervousness.

callyope deserves the best, and i will give her nothing less. his words carried a weight of conviction, spoken as if to assure himself as much as his companion. with that, he fell silent, nodding once more to kigipigak as if to reaffirm his gratitude before returning his focus to the task at hand.

He did not want to delve in to his own history. No doubt if Solharr thought to ask Kukutux about it, she would have opinions; same could be said about Callyope. Kigipigak would not mention the bad blood between them, or speak out against the moon villages, now that he had returned to the Wilds. It served no purpose. They cared for his children while he hunted for the one he had lost, and he had to be grateful for that.

I thought the same, he said in regards to Callyope deserving the best, but that was all he mentioned. He would not name Ariadne by her Nuiruk name, or her Tartok name; it hurt him too much to think of her now, as the image of her in the water was all that came to mind.

I wish you well, then. The work was done to a point Kigipigak could be pleased with himself, and the meat was arranged now in a way that Solharr could carry it home. He thought of lingering—to guard the carcass against scavengers—but, perhaps that was overstepping too. The man was capable, and Kigipigak had other things to work on that would take him away from here.

sólhárr nodded to the tundra man, his gaze steady but marked by something unsaid, something turning in his mind like a stone polished smooth. farewell, kigipigak, he said simply, his voice calm as ever, but a flicker of something lingered behind his eyes. he watched as the man turned to leave, his pale form weaving back into the wilderness, and sólhárr let the quiet of the moment settle around him.

yet his thoughts churned.

kigipigak’s words, his tone, the mention of curses and of things unspeakable—it all sat uncomfortably within sólhárr’s chest. his elska, callyope—was she hiding something? had the moonwoman’s daughter carried some shadow of her family’s past into their future? he clenched his jaw, dismissing the idea as soon as it came, yet the seeds of doubt remained, small but persistent.

he shifted his weight, adjusting the burden of the butchered buck across his shoulders. this would be a gift to his people, a sign of his strength and care. yet he could not shake the questions left behind by the northman’s warning.

with a final breath, sólhárr turned toward home, the weight of the hunt matched only by the weight of his thoughts.