Sun Mote Copse The flesh is weak

In the cold days of winter, carving out a den was hardly the task for a thing thin and weak as he, but somehow he had done it. Well, not without the help of a pesky old badger. He had not the brute force to break it under his own weight, but he had enough hemlock to rid himself of mustelid threat, its body in a heap outside the up-pushed roots, slowly being buried in a pile of dirt as he painstakingly carved out his little doctor's office.

The thick snow and frozen ground had been the final nail on the coffin, convincing Ragna not to dig nor seek out a proper den. She had grown comfortable in the small hollow of a thick forsythia bush, whose branches were so tightly woven they caught most of the snow, making a solid roof over her head. Space was tight and shared with twittering birds that remained just out of reach, but it was comfortable enough for the Shieldmaiden.

The new male sparked a similar but less potent protectiveness as Flaris had. He had proven himself to Eshamun, and that was enough for Ragna, though she felt the need to meet him herself. So in the cold of the morning she sought him out, following scent and sign until she came upon the corpse and a den under new management. Hail, katimir she greeted. He was a fierce beast. You must be a warrior of some skill.

He pulled himself out of the den at the sound of the unfamiliar feminine voice, turning to face the new woman. She was young, pale, her eyes bright and blue like robin's eggs. And not pregnant. That was a first. He greeted her with a wag of his tail and a smile, Guten tag, Fräulein, I do not believe ve 'ave met yet, He sits back on his haunches, his forepaws caked in dirt. There was no point in bothering to clean it off just yet.

He looked to the badger, then to the woman. He laughed jovially. Nein! 'Twas no work of zhe body, Fräulein. Hemlock did zee vork, He could not imagine fighting anything, with sheer force that is, I am your new Doktor, Bastian Höffner, at your service,

The male greeted her with due friendliness and an accent so thick she had to take several moments to parse it and still found herself confused. I am Ragna, she said, then tipped her head in an invitation for him to introduce himself in kind. Again he spoke and again she was confused. What is Fräulin? And who is Hemlock? Subtler tactics neither occurred nor appealed to her, so poison did not present itself as a solution to the badger problem. To her, Hemlock was another wolf, some new joiner among the ranks that she had not yet met. Meanwhile she did not understand that some of the words he spoke were of a different language. Indeed she found this new wolf baffling, but not altogether unpleasant.

He was used to confused looks by now; he made the same whenever the wolves spoke those foreign terms of theirs. It was simple a fault of clashing cultures and languages. You are a Fräulein — it iz like sayink miss, I suppose, He preferred the term from his native tongue than the one from the common on. Homonyms were rather annoying. Miss. miss. Ugh. Had you a mate, I vould call you Frau, but zhat term is reserved for the lady, Frau, Eshamun, 

The German blinked, then laughed vigorously. Ach! Nein, Ragna! He looked about for any traces of the white flower, his laughter subsiding to a chuckle. The mustelid still had some clinging to its pelt. The Doctor grabbed it tenderly between his teeth, pulling it off and dropping it before him, gently pushing it into the woman's view. Zhis iz hemlock. It iz a poison. Zhe badger didn't know zhat,

Ragna frowned at his explanation. Do not call me that, she said, feeling comfortable enough in her position to tell him as much. This man seemed to be woefully uninformed, and Ragna took it upon herself to correct his misunderstandings. Eshamun has no mate. None of us do. That is not Molech's will. There was much she still had to learn about Molech, but she felt secure in preaching at this man if she had to.

His sudden, uproarious laughter made Ragna scowl and her skin heat with embarrassment. What had she said? He offered no explanation, and she watched through narrowed eyes as he retrieved what seemed to be an innocuous white flower. It was lovely to those that appreciated such things, and Ragna misunderstood his intent and reared back in embarrassment. She took the flower to be a gift, a token of affections! Yet even when he spoke her lip curled in distaste and her original suspicion died. Poison is a cowards weapon, spat the Shieldmaiden, dismissive.

Ah, zhe language barrier strikes again, He chuckled to himself. He knew of this whole lack of mate's practice — why else would there be but one unclaimed male and several pregnant females? But he had no other word to call her, without calling her royalty, which she was not. Frau could mean an older woman, or a woman worthy of respect. Fräulein is me just being polite to you ladiez, 

She did not take well to his laughter, though many did not. He did not care much for what they thought of him. They needed him. Of that he was certain. Zhen I am a coward; but Asherah did not ask me to come to be a warrior. Nein; I came 'ere to be a doktor. Und if zhat means I am a coward, zhen I am one, He shrugged, nonchalant. He tossed the hemlock back towards the corpse, pausing to wonder what he could do with the corpse. Decomposition was rather slow in winter — he could not get the skull and bones just yet. I got zhe job done vith little scratch though, ja? Isn't zhat gut enough?