Dogs are easy to please on Saturnalia. Elk bones for everyone.
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@grizzledwolf
Dogs are easy to please on Saturnalia. Elk bones for everyone.
âSo do you,â she noted, looking him over.
âAnd maâam?â Ylva scoffed, almost in disbelief, âI really look like a maâam?â she made a face and crossed her arms.
âTrying to be polite. Didnât mean anything by it.â His voice was low and rough, but not necessarily gruff. He scratched at his chin. âSomething else I can call you instead?â
sacredtrials started following you
âYouâve got the wolf smell on you, maâam.â
A Night of Hunters
Did it want something? Rori couldnât risk lowering the spear, but it seemed the wolf was trying to get a message across to her, draw an answer from her about the howl in the distance. She couldnât tell what it asked, let alone what answer it wanted.
âYour pack? Then go.â She tried, making a gesture with the spear.
This was frustrating. His hackles raised and he snarled in reaction. He didnât dare ease back from his form, even if he could figure out how to do so at will. He didnât spend nearly enough time in this form to know the ins and outs; The wolf was a tool, but not one he liked to use very often.
And besides. It might have been hard to plan and think, but even in this form Bjarne knew that standing stark naked in the middle of the Reach wasnât a good idea.
His nose twitched. He could smell wolf coming closer, but not with any immediacy. Probably wandering, trying to smell him out even as Bjarne did the same. He dropped down onto his four, nose pointed in the direction the smell was coming from. If this Reachman was skilled enough to kill a werewolf, she might be a useful ally. And they had a shared purpose. These members of his pack were too fargone; If they would not be reasoned with and controlled, they would have to be put down. And it was his responsibility.
He looked back at her, pointedly, and started off in the correct direction, keeping his gait slow to allow her to keep up.
A Night of Hunters
Her spear was out and ready before the beast was upon her, held out in front of her to take the brunt of a wild pounce and drive the point into its chest. But such a pounce halted, skidded, circled about her, and she found herself moving counter to it, spear between them.
That the man-wolf hadnât simply dove upon her was a good sign that there was still some sanity left there, perhaps a pack member of the one sheâd slain. Not yet feral, but older and not subject to a young-beastâs frenzy. That bode well.
It could also go poorly. Rori was half the creatureâs height, or close to it. She was solid and stocky, and she could fight well. But against a creature blessed by Hircine? She would be lucky to escape at all.
The wolf seemed undecided on what to do. Let it. She backed away, spear at the ready. No sudden movements. No dash of fear. If it would attack her, it would do so of its own accord, and not because she looked like game.
He watched the way she backed off away from him, and he followed in slow steps. Reachmen were notorious for ambushes, and if there was one of them, there were likely to be more. Bjarne was not a cold-blooded killer, however, and though the beast in him urged him to dive upon her, to bite her throat and tear into her, he knew better. The self-control was difficult, and he snarled even as he held his ground.
The forlorn howl of another beast diverted his attention, and he spun at once to locate the sound. Faint, but not so terribly far away that he could not make it there quickly. Another form his pack. Perhaps this one he could salvage. He didnât dare return the call for fear of giving up his location. He turned his head back to look at the Reachwoman; Was she hunting the weres, too? He turned his head in the direction of the howl, and then looked sharply back at her, as if to ask her the quesiton.
An Encounter (Bjarne/Camille)
âThatâs a very Nordic name!â He smiled, beaming, âAh! No, no, I donât want you to go! Thatâd be rude, I think. You were just trying to be friendly!â When he mentioned that he was a hunter, Camille had to wonder, âI didnât scare any of your quarry away, did I?â
âOf course itâs a Nordic name,â Bjarne commented, torn between amusement and incredulity. âWhat did you think Iâd be called?â He was willing to let that matter go, however, and shook his head in answer to Camilleâs question.
âWas just out checking snares. Doesnât matter if you scared âem or not; Caught is caught. I could use the company, though,â He offered, âIf you want to make up for it. The noise, that is.â
A Night of Hunters
A sick, wet schlucking sound accompanied the pull of Roriâs spear, freeing it from the back of the man-wolfâs corpse. Sheâd tracked him a few days, waiting to see a change, a reversion to human or mer. But the beast was clearly tormented, stuck in its pitiful, violent shape. She had left Anluan behind tonight, and prepared for a mercy kill.
The slaying had been as clean as she could make it. She attacked suddenly, from downwind and behind. She couldnât risk a bite or grievous wound. Luckily, she knew these lands better than most. It wasnât too difficult to sneak up on the miserably feral creature.
The night was only still a moment before another howl cut the air. It had the tone and timbre of an animal much larger than a normal wolf. Another, so close? She didnât pause to worry or wonder. She took off, looking for a higher vantage point to address this new threat. She could bury the corpse come morningâs light. For now, it was about survival.
He usually didnât travel this far West. His pack, growing though it was, had always been successfully contained within the forests around Whiterun and Falkreath. Never before had one of his own traveled so far, and though he had been uneasy with the thought of leaving the rest of the ferals unattended, heâd ensured that they had all had a meal before heâd left. Wolves were less dangerous when they were fed, and with any luck, theyâd sleep for the next couple days and not cause any trouble.
He could feel the hunger himself now, however. Heâd eaten a little before he had left and had stolen from a hunterâs snare the day before, but there hadnât been anything since. He tried to ignore it. It was easier if he focused on the feeling of the earth beneath his paws, or the sound of his own breaths. Keeping his calm while using this form was a difficulty, but staying on scent and on task helped him keep his mind.Â
And he was close, now. He could smell the wolfâs matted fur, touched with blood. His mouth salivated, and it should have disgusted him that he might relish the thought of feasting on his own mind, but the wolf inside of him was an opportunist. He threw back his head and howled a single warning before he extended his gait from a lope to full on run.
He crashed recklessly through a gnarled tangle of safe and bramble, and he didnât even pause for the thorns which nicked his skin. He leapt from cover, jaws gaping, lips curled, and then skidded across rock and dirt when he realized his mistake. Heâd been so caught up in the scent of wolf, so dedicated to the chase, that he hadnât even scented a human nearby. And now, at the sight of her, he jumped to the side, yellow eyes fixed on her weapon.Â
His enormous body was pressed low to the ground, and he slowly raised himself up on his hind legs to get a better look at her. Larger than the withered ferals who stalked his woods, Bjarne was a mass of muscle and black fur, peppered with silver. A touch of grey had started on his chin. His shoulders and haunches were too bulky to be built from running and leaping, however, and there was a certain clumsiness to his actions which suggested he was not completely familiar with his skin.
A couple of yards still separated them, and he might have attacked if he had not again scented blood. Wolf blood. Far too much wolf blood. The scent was too strong. He gave a flick of his tail as he leveled his gaze on hers. It was hard to think of words in this form. He meant to ask something, but the sound which came from his throat was a low, rumbling growl.
An Encounter (Bjarne/Camille)
âAnd you still didnât give me your name!â Luca barked, punctuating her masterâs point, âReally? You scrape people off the road? With a chisel or a shovel? Thatâs awful work!
But I digress, if youâre offering a place to stay, itâs awfully kind of you. But wouldnât it be suspicious? I mean, I already told you Iâm noble, how do I know youâre not just being nice because you wonât sell me to your bandit friends later?â
"If I wanted to kidnap you and sell your ransom, I could have already done it,â He points out. âNot like you were trying to be discreet. How do you think I heard you in the first place?â Still, he can understand being suspicious. That was the kind of attitude that kept you alive.   He shifted his weight and crossed his arms.
âNameâs Bjarne. Hunter. Smith. In a manner of speaking, anyway. Donât mean you any harm. Iâll leave you be if thatâs what you want.â
An Encounter (Bjarne/Camille)
âSolitude.â He answered with a smile, entirely too cheerful for his own good, a clever lie for the woodsman to buy, âAnd anyway, if I get robbed, thatâs the least of my problems. I know I donât look like it, but I can take care of myself.â
He looked the fellow up and down though, âYouâre awfully concerned with my well-being, messere. I havenât even gotten your name yet! Iâm Camille!â
âSolitude,â He repeated, voice flat. âSure.â He didnât believe him, but that didnât matter. It wasnât his place to try and uncover other peoplesâ secrets.
âIâm concerned because Iâm tired of scraping people like you out of the road. Bandits arenât the problem here. You still didnât answer my question, though.â He stepped closer. âIf youâre in trouble, there are answers other than running away.â He paused for a beat.
âYou need a place to stay?â
An Encounter (Bjarne/Camille)
âA lot of people like the idea of hounds but havenât got the patience to train them, nor the money to hire a proper trainer. Lots of stories about poor frightened hounds mauling someone,â a sigh, âYouâd think people would be more responsible.â
He shrugged, âIâm noble. Well, not an important one, my brother is. Someone would try and get to him through me.â The way Camille had said it, it was as if it was nothing to be worried about, a small hinderance, âAnimals donât care for titles or whatever bit of fluff the courts try to sell you, theyâre a lot easier to predict that people, I find.â
âOr else they donât give a shit who your brother is and would be happy to pick you up just for the clothes off your back and the money at your waist.â Maybe he shouldnât have been so dramatic, but something about this boyâs manner was careless. Well-- Maybe not careless. Naive. He scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed.
âWhere are you traveling to?â
An Encounter (Bjarne/Camille)
âVisiting for weeks, though I will admit, Iâm not here every day, just whenever fancy takes me!â He smiles, âI know I donât look it, but I can take care of myself, Iâm quick!â
He pets Luca affectionately in return, âOur hounds can be a little unruly at first, theyâre usually hard to train, and mostly because of their size! Luca here used to love running into and jumping on people when she got too excited, you can imagine why that was a problem,â Luca barked in response, âNow she knows how to control herself a little better. Weâve trained smaller dogs too! Iâm surprised you managed to get yours so good!â
At his question though, Camille paused to think, âNot that Iâve seen. Iâm more worried about soldiers snatching me up than angry wolves, to be honest. Why, have you heard something?â
âWhyâd it be surprising that my hounds are well behaved? Not many bretons who know how to train dogs where youâre from?â He figured that the boyâs comment shouldnât have rankled him, but it did. At his command, both of his hounds lied down on the ground so he could hear what the lad was saying a bit more easily. And, unfortunately, he didnât have much of what Bjarne wanted to hear.
âWolves are a bigger problem out here than soldiers,â He admitted. âThe woods here are a bit wild. Why would you need to worry about a soldier coming after you?â He asked, and lowered his gaze to stare at Camille long and hard. His voice remained soft and even.
âYou in some sort of trouble?â
An Encounter (Bjarne/Camille)
âI can take care of myself, Lucaâs just here for company,â well, it was partly true. Luca was technically there to guard him, especially since she had much better senses than Camille would ever possess.
âI always come to this little spot here, itâs relaxing, quiet, I mean, really youâre the only soul Iâve seen here in weeks!â In retrospect, Camille wondered if that was a good thing.
âYour hounds, are they yours? Iâve seen a lot of the Nords here have dogs like yours, but never so well trained!â
âWeeks? Youâve been here for weeks, or youâve been visiting for weeks?â The news was starting either way. Bjarne prided himself on keeping a close eye on his home, and he did tend to know the comings and going of everyone within it very well. The fact that this boy had been visiting so long unnoticed was-- Well, not worrying. He looked harmless enough. Annoying, then.
He watched his hounds try to engage the mastiff and couldnât help but grin at the boyâs praise. If there was any quick way to Bjarneâs good graces, it was to compliment his dogs. âThey do their best,â He mumbled, gruffly affectionate as he reached out to stroke one of the houndâs ears as she pressed against his leg. âAnd I need them well-trained if theyâre going to work the woods with me. Lots of things in the woods thatâd like to take a bite out of either of us. You seen anything?â He glances sidelong. âAnything out of the ordinary?â
An Encounter (Bjarne/Camille)
@bardofthewest:
âCâmon Luca, letâs be nice now, yes?â And just like that, she calmed herself, it was clear the man and his own hounds werenât a threat to her master, sheâd behave.
âYouâre right, my family breeds war hounds, theyâre prized! You like dogs then?â Camille is grinning wide, friendly, âThey can say hello, of course, Luca wonât do anything unless I tell her.â
âGood.â  He released his hold on the girls and they bounded forward, leaping around the larger mastiff like deer.  Bjarne watched them happily, and then turned his attention back to the Bard. âBreeding mastiffs isn't cheap.  You must be well off,â  He commented.  âAnd that means youâre doubly stupid for walking around here with just your dog.  Might as well be waving a money sack around by parading her around.â  He nodded to Luca.  âYou with anyone?â
An Encounter (Bjarne/Camille)
Camille held his own hound back by the harness around her body. Luca was disciplined, she knew not to charge or attack unless ordered to, but she was tense and her teeth were bared, warning these intruders not to come any closer.
The young noble, however, was excited to see such friendly creatures for once, âItâs quite alright, ser!â He motioned for Luca to stand down, âSorry, sheâs just a little tenseâ guard dog, you know? Are you hunter? I was sitting here playing my lute, I hope I didnât scare off your quarry!â
âHunting,â He confirmed, âBut weâve bagged enough for the day. We were just heading home.â He rubbed his thumbs over the top of his dogsâ heads. âDaggerfall Mastiff, am I right?â He jerked his chin in the direction of Camilleâs own dog. âShe friendly? We might let them say hello, if you donât mind.â
An Encounter (Bjarne/Camille)
Camille always found solace in the woods. As cold as it was getting, the thick embroidered cloak kept him sufficiently warm. He strummed his lute along a quiet stream. Though the large red hound he brought with him relaxed, anyone with a trained eye could see she was keeping careful watch over her young master.
The lad stopped, frustrated, âAugh, not even my songs are coming to me,â he turned to the hound, âThatâs really frustrating, Luca. Coming out all this way here, in this pretty little spot, and⌠nothing. I really shouldnât call myself a bard anymore.â The hound blinked back, and Camille frowned, âWell, Iâm glad youâre not complaining.â
He didnât register the hulking figure approaching him until Luca starting making noise.
âSage!â He called out for what felt like the hundredth time in the span of five minutes. âChicory!âÂ
He often brought the dogs with him when he went to hunt. Some of the other foresters preferred wolf crosses for this sort of work, but Bjarne had always felt there was no better companion than a hound. They were far less likely to run off, and, perhaps selfishly, he liked the utter devotion and constant companionship. Wolves were aloof. Loners.
And so were his dogs, at the moment. He could hear where theyâd run off to, and he was alerted to their location as they burst through the underbush, baying and wagging their tails. The girls bounded around the enormous Bretic hound with overflowing enthusiasm, ears flapping, drool flying as they sniffed at the dog and her master. They only came to heel as a Nord made his way through the trees. He gestured sharply, and whistled for his dogs. At once, they left the bard alone.
âSorry they bothered you,â He apologized. âThey donât bite.â He eyed the other hound with an appraising eye. Not his type. With his hounds in hand (quite literally, he was grasping their collars as tightly as he could), the woodsman studied the young man before him with some small measure of curiosity.
âYouâre a bit young to be wandering out here alone.â
bonecrusherqueens
Chase me out, or deal with it.
Excuse me. Chase us out.
Not afraid of more than one of you. Â Doesnât have to come to fighting, is all. Â
But if it does, Iâve got more than me, too. Â Itâd be a bloodbath. Â Just move along. Â Iâve nothinâ to prove to you.
He lurks beneath the trees, footfalls heavy. Â You can hear him before you see him, snarled breaths, saliva dripping onto his paws. Â He wanders madly, pacing back and forth as if rabid, ears laid back, teeth bared. Â Heâs worn a small furrow of a path into the undergrowth of the forest.
Control. Â Control. Â Control, control, control.