Ragnar smiles. "Not yet, but--" He thumps his spear handle against the deck, then begins speaking, quickly and fluently, in Yilithi's tongue . They speak heatedly for a few moments, Ragnar seeming to question what he is hearing, with Yilithi quickly growing adamant in making his point and gesturing frantically.
Ragnar nods and looks to the rest of you. "He says his people are beset by dark ones, clans of the icy plain who were once his brethren, but have turned against his village. For years, they have fended them off, but other villages have fallen, their hunting has proven poor, and the winters turn colder and colder. He has been sent to find help. He asks that we take him back to his village and help his people." He points across the water to the northeast. "There."
Does he appear devious or in earnest, Ragnar? What kind of help does he need? We do not have great stores of food, and I would not fight starving men for it.
"I do not speak this language, but a man would have to be devious indeed to risk death by the elements and the fury of the sea on the slim chance of drawing us into a trap. He was truly not far from death's door when we found him." Þyrnir replies to their new captain.
Ragnar places a hand on Þyrnir's shoulder. "Aye. I do not sense that the man drinks of Loptr's mead."
And so the crew is faced with a choice: continue on using Hallbjorn's notes to land upon the original campsite of the Long Serpent, near where Jarl Olaf was slain, or alter course to arrive instead at Yilithi's village, Laquirv, to aid them against the dark ones.
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Ramundr contemplates the horizon grimly. You have made me Captain, so I may choose our destination. Our expedition is predicated upon vengeance, glory, and yes, for silver. That calls us to the lands upon which the Long Serpent landed. My heart is drawn there, for I wish to cleave and pillage those lands.
Ramundr turns to his crew. However, we are Northlanders first. We are more than men who cleave and pillage with no thought of our brethren at home. I tell you. There is an evil rising in the North. That evil is not content to rule the northern wastes. I and my companions have fought some of those demons, and their dark powers are mighty. Ghouls, and ghasts we have also seen. They exist! Upon my word as a Northlander, I tell you true!
Ramundr draws his sword and activates its magic with a command. Icy crystals flare across the blue steel blade. I took this mighty sword from the temple of the demon-god Althunak. .Demon Lord of Ice and Cold, the Master of Cannibals, the Winter King! You have heard the tales. They are true. All of it. And worse.
The dark ones of whom this Ulnat speaks, I believe they are the emissaries of Althunak. And do you doubt that the Althunak and his demons only covet dominion over the Ulnat? Nay, they seek to enslave into death all the Northland peoples.
Lest we let their power grow, we strike. For the Northland. For Olaf. For Wotan! For our Mind’s worth!! Ramundr shouts to the heavens.
Smiling deviously Ramundr adds with a sneer And if you are of small mind, and care only for silver, be assured that the demons have treasure beyond consideration stored in their chests.
On the morning of the fourth day after rescuing Yilithi (nearly four weeks at sea), you can suddenly spot a fog-shrouded coastline that resolves as you draw closer into a small inlet and village. The settlement is a small affair, not more than fifteen hide-covered huts and maybe twenty kayaks pulled up on a rocky beach. The villagers panic as the longship approaches and can be seen fleeing into the tundra, their most prized goods in hand.
As the Long Serpent grinds ashore on the rocky beach, Yilithi vaults over the side and wades ashore. With his arms raised, he addresses his village, prompting one old man to come down from the tundra. After a brief exchange with the older man putting his hands on Yilithi’s shoulders, they embrace. Then Yilithi and the men approach your ship.
In heavily accented Nørsk, he introduces himself as Jarvi, Yilithi’s father and one of the village elders. You are welcomed as guests to stay, and soon the hesitant villagers prepare a meager feast of salted seal blubber, lichen soup, and seabird eggs (eaten by chipping a hole in the shell and sucking the yolk out).
During the feast, Jarvi tells you the tale of himself and his village.
“I know of your kind fair-haired ones. Many years ago when I was as young as my son, a storm blew me far out to sea. I paddled and sailed for many days, and made my way to a green and fair land, warm and full of game. I was foolish as to the ways of the southern folk, and was caught hunting the short-haired bison that are too stupid to run away. My captor pitied me for I was far from home, and took me into his household, where I learned of your ways and language. In time, I longed for my own people, built a new kayak, and returned home. Your people were generous and brave, and saved a young seal hunter wandering the Great Water. Now your people have come to my home, and I pray that this old man’s memories are true. I pray that you can be my salvation once again.
“Ten summers ago, a young man named Elvanti was in disfavor with the elders of the village of Alcanavt. He sought the hand of the happiest maiden that his people had to offer, but none approved the marriage, not even Klinqa, the maiden herself. Elvanti was angry, for his parents were rich in furs and seal fat, and his uncle was the village shaman. He turned to them, but they replied that he must abide by the wishes of his elders and the girl.
“In anger and shame, he fled across the tundra, vowing to return with the heart of a great-tusked one to prove his worth. He was gone that summer, and into the winter, and all feared he was lost. Before the ice broke the following spring, he wandered back into his village, his body sprouting shards of ice and cold fire. With great gusts of wind and snow, he laid low the elders, his parents, the shaman, and even Klinqa’s parents and brothers. Elvanti then proclaimed he was the Chosen of Althunak, the great God of the North, Bringer of Cold, and Lord of Winter. Those who would follow him found themselves gifted in strange ways, and those that did not froze to death, though their huts were warm and fires lit.
“For ten summers we have fought off the Children of Althunak, but the other villages were not as lucky, one by one they have fallen, and soon we will as well. Our sons and daughters die beneath our cousins’ spears, the hunting has gone poor for us, and the winters are ever colder. When I heard that the Dragon Riders had come with their skins of shiny metal, I sent my two sons, Yilithi and Kelvani to find them. One has returned and brought you here to save us; I only hope it is not too late.”
Ramundr shakes his head. These people could not defend themselves, and he was not one to plunder weak farmers, though he knew many of his people had few qualms. He'd need to be stern with his crew if any sought to take advantage.
As the days pass at sea while the Long Serpent makes its way to Yilithi's village, Signe resolutely puts Hallbjorn's death behind her and focuses on the work at hand. She still remains quiet and contemplative but her overall mood is lighter as time passes.
When Yilithi's village comes into view, she is dismayed to see the people flee in terror. Granted, the Long Serpent was a formidable craft but it is sad that their first reaction is to run.
Signe eats just enough to be polite, not wanting to deplete the village's food stores more than they were. She listens to the story of Elvanti and finds herself becoming angry. Why was it that some men were willing to unleash evil just to get what they want?
Ramundr stands. We thank your for generosity and the warmth of your hearthfire. Many would not believe your tale, believing it to be fantastic, or spun to excuse unwise choices. However, there are among us those that have fought the minions of Althunak, and though we prevailed against those foes, we saw the power of Althunak and feared it. Though we had hoped the lords of Althunak defeated, your son's plea spoke warning to my heart, and so we parted from our original destination and came directly here. And here, my fears are realized. I see your people do not have many young men here. Are they hunting, or have you lost them to the children of Althunak?
Otryggr is a fierce presence to Ramundr's left, hunched over his meager bowl of eggs and blubber, slurping it down and accepting seconds if offered. As massive across the shoulders as a bear, as deep in chest as a bull, his braided hair and beard greasy now from weeks of travel, his cheeks and nose burned a raw red by salt spray and wind, he appears almost feral, a wendigo spirit summoned from the heart of darkness and cold.
He listens to the tale without much expression, other than his customary glowering one, and when finally Ramundr speaks his piece he nods, clearly having been wondering the same thing.
"Elvanti has become one with Althanuk. What of the other people with him? Have they special powers or abilities? How many are their number? Do they fight by day or night? Have they attacked your village? How far is Elvanti's home?"
Þyrnir sighs heavily as Jarvi spins his tale. "Such evil. We cannot let it continue."
Turning to Ramundr, he lowers his voice. "Captain, we have some extra food stores from that whale we speared. Might we not spare some for these people?"
Þyrnir, a goodly suggestion. Determine which portion we can spare, while leaving us plenty. We should not fight on an empty stomach.
And what of Klinqa?
Jarvi looks troubled, the creases in his aged brow multiplying. "After returning, Evlanti conquered Alcanavt first and took Klinqa back with him beyond the mountains, proclaiming her his first “snow bride.” It is said that after that, many other villagers were taken prisoner as his conquest spread — many of them likewise fair maidens to be made brides of the new master."
That trouble is lessened when Ramundr confirms these tall tales with descriptions of your own experiences to the south.
I see your people do not have many young men here. Are they hunting, or have you lost them to the children of Althunak?
”Our men have died fighting these children of Althunak or, worse, turned against us and joined their forces in exchange for dark gifts. If what you say is true, as I believe it is, then Althunak’s influence grows stronger than we knew.”
"Elvanti has become one with Althanuk. What of the other people with him? Have they special powers or abilities? How many are their number? Do they fight by day or night? Have they attacked your village? How far is Elvanti's home?"
Jarvi patiently listens to and answers each of Otryggr’s questions as best he can, sometimes asking the Vastaviklander to repeat himself due to his strong accent and Jarvi’s limited grasp of Nørsk.
”Elvani has gained many followers, most lured by the promise of potent, evil magic, though some succumbing to the latent darkness within their own hearts. And magic they have. Many can conjure mist out of empty air or spin webs of spider’s silk large enough to hold a man. How many, I cannot say. Enough. Enough to overcome the other villages. Enough to threaten the very existence of our way of life. Hundreds? More? They attack by day and by night, and with the season drawing late there is less light each day. And yes, they have attacked our village. Only small groups have some thus far, but each day we wait in fear for the full force of Elvanti’s power to strike us down. His forces remain further inland...” Jarvi points north-northeast, ”...Somewhere across the tundra. We have been too afraid to venture there to find out. They also occupy the villages they have overtaken or which have surrendered.”
Jarvi and the villagers of Laquirv are delighted to share in any rations the Long Serpent is willing to provide. The crew are apprehensive at best, advising Ramundr against this decision as it it’s unclear how long you will remain in the north. But, in the end, the captain’s word is law, and meat and blubber from the narwhal are exported from the ship to aid the struggling village.
In exchange, Jarvi offers a rough-drawn map of the coastal region, identifying the six known villages. He suggests that you may wish to begin your campaign against the cult by striking at each of these in your “dragon kayak”, or even by marching overland while hunting on the tundra. His most valuable offering, however, may be an intriguing story about the origins of his people. He stands and motions over a fire as his story is told, his shadow stretching far behind him over the snowy ground.
“They say that long ago we Ulnat came from a faraway place across the sea to the southwest, a land of warm springs and mild winters. There we had a great land of many stonewalled villages, much wealth in the form of yellow discs and shining stars plucked from the heavens. I know not if that is true, for it does not sound like us but the metal-skinned men who ride the dragon ships. But, they say that we came across the sea in great kayaks that were larger than even those of you Dragon Riders. Again, this sounds like so much old men’s tales, but it was an old man who told me, and one who told him, so that is what it is.”
”When we first came here, so the old men say, we built many villages, the first at Gualivik. The other villages were built later, including a lost one high up in the Wailing Mountains to guard a pass called the Trail of Ravens. This I don’t know, for I have not seen it. What I have seen is the tombs on Heroes’ Rock, off the Seal Coast opposite of Gualivik. There a great stone cairn is piled, and a rock with strange carvings sits. Go there, and you may find the graves of those who led our people here. If they were men like you, then mayhap they had mighty spears to vanquish evil.”
Signe's nose wrinkles in disgust as Klinqa's fate as well as the fate of other young women is revealed. That alone earns Elvani an arrow through the eye.
As the sky darkens, Signe is grateful for the fire. She watches the flames dance and breathes in the comforting smell of the burning wood as she listens to Jarvi's story.
When he finishes she asks, "Did the old men ever tell you why your people left the south?" To Signe, it sounds like they had had homes and wealth so it made no sense that they would have left.
"It makes sense to start with Heroes' Rock. It is closest to where we currently are."
Jarvi smiles at the curious Signe, clearly pleased to have an attentive listener. It's clear this story has been told countless times. "Such things are lost to time, like the old boats and golden discs. Mayhaps they fled a great evil. Or they were explorers who lost their way. Or maybe they just grew tired of the Southern heat. Those stories are for another night."
At daybreak, the Long Serpent takes once more to the waves, bound northeast for the village of Gualivik.
The Seal Coast is indeed rich in seals and walrus. The cold and rocky shore supports hundreds and hundreds of seals, walrus, and seabirds during this, the late summer months. Cliffs rise up along the coast, broken here and there by beaches that tend to be more rock than sand. The cliffs are home to hosts of seabirds, including gulls, ospreys, cormorants, frigate birds, puffins, and terns. Fur-bearing seals, as well as elephant seals, walrus, and sea lions, cover the shores. Fish, crabs, squid, krill, whales and porpoises seem to fill the seas.
Enterprising folk could quickly make a fortune in ivory and rendered blubber, and this fact is eagerly noted by the enterprising crew. They beg Ramundr for a chance to hunt, and propose camping overnight along the shore before proceeding to Gualivik the next day.
Our generosity to the Ulnat means we could stand to do some more hunting. Let us not miss this opportunity. Ramundr advises.
The Long Serpent is soon rowed shore to an outcropped rock formation that juts into the open sea but abuts a relatively shallow gradient leading to the clifftop beyond. Numerous recessions and small caves dot the cliffs, likely current and former homes of the various wildlife. Beyond the crest of the cliff, the vast open tundra spans as far as the eye can see, littered with stunted and twisted trees and shrubs. There, mammoths, caribou, and even the fabled rhinocerus and sabre-tooth tiger are said to roam. The wind is strong and constant, bringing with it the promise of freezing temperatures at “night”.
The seals are so plentiful that they seem unperturbed by the existence of the ship, and only those nearest the shore make any effort to shy away. It is a wonder that the villagers are so deprived until one considers the lack of hunters in their midst, and the constant threat of invasion. There is clearly some threat that keeps the villagers from hunting openly--likely the presence of the cultists.
During this season, the sun rarely dips below the southwestern horizon, instead dropping low in the sky for a long, five-hour twilight before rising to begin another day.
There will be few places to hide on the open tundra.
Otryggr cannot muster the will or desire to butcher the seals as they lie upon the rocky shore; his heart burns to face their foe, to wrest the secrets from this alien land, to divine the truth from the mists of forgotten history and bring justice to the killers of his jarl. So even as the other sailors set to massacring their prey, Otryggr wanders along the shore, brow lowered, sword propped on his shoulder, pausing occasionally to peer past the breaking waves or turn to look up at the bluffs, half hoping for some sight of their enemy.
Hunting is where Signe usually thrives and she is proud that she can help the rest of her crew be successful.
You spend a good portion of the afternoon hunting and rendering the fat, docile seals and walrus. You acquire a magnificent haul of hides, blubber, and tusks worth 250 hacksilver and four days' rations.
On the ridges overhead, Otryggr spots a herd of shaggy musk oxen grazing the tundra, approximately fifteen in number, including several calves.
Ramundr is not much of a hunter but looks forward to watching Signe's great skill.
"Signe!" Otryggr's voice challenges the pounding surf in volume for her attention. "Up yonder! Fancy turning your arrows upon larger prey?"
Signe turns her head at the sound of her name. The promise of larger prey brings a smile to her face. "I will join you shortly."
She quickly makes her way to join Otryggr and demonstrates her prowess at hunting the land animals.
Ramundr laugh with great heart. Signe doesn't need us eh Otryggr?
Otyrggr doesn't even bother moving to help Signe once she begins unleashing her arrows. Instead, he stands beside Ramundr, hands on his hips, and shakes his head in wry admiration.
"No. She is huntress enough to feed the entire North. I've never seen the like, not even in Vastavikland. It is an honor to journey by her side."
On the shore, Þyrnir stalks towards a seal, seax raised. The seal turns large, liquid brown eyes on the man and flops on its side, a flipper waving in the air. Stopping in his tracks, the godi shakes his head and turns around, seeking other work that he can do without butchering these docile, trusting animals. As Signe unleashes her arrows at the oxen, he runs to the edges of the herd, shouting and guiding them in the path of the whistling projectiles.
Signe, with some sage advice from Þyrnir, is able to follow the tracks of the musk oxen up over the crest. and down the shaded, frost covered slopes of the tundra into a narrow ravine. Ramundr gives the command for the others to stay by the ship, and he and Otryggr follow close behind. It takes nearly half an hour to catch up them, but when you do, the herd of beasts forms a protective circle, their horns pointed out, their calves grouped in the middle. They snort and kick the ground in warning.
Clearly, this hunt will not be as easy as the seals.
Otrygrr's breath plumes before him as they clear the rise and see the oxen circled below.
Drawing his blade, he takes deep, vigorous breaths, unshouldering his cloak so that it puddles about his feet, and then seizing his sword with both hands raises it high so that the bronze catches the thin sunlight and lets forth a roar of defiance, followed shortly thereafter by a pounding charge that causes snow to fly from his heels as he races down toward the closest beast, blade swinging in a fell arc!
Usually we kill them first before chopping them into steaks, Otrygrr. And it would have been more prudent to take them down with arrows...these animals are stupid enough, they'd have stayed there or broke.
Oh well./ Ramundr charges after Otryygr, swinging his ice blade.
That clearly was not how beasts were hunted, but he could hardly leave the others to be trampled or gored! Unsheathing his seax, Þyrnir rushes forward, the snow clinging to his boots and flying in great clumps all about him, his breath rushing out in a glittering cloud. He doesn't think much of his chances against one of the great creatures, so he stops a few steps short of the foremost one's horn and hurls one of his axes at it, aiming to catch it in a foreleg.
Signe shakes her head slightly in disbelief at the foolishness of the others for running at the herd but not everyone had been taught how to properly hunt. So she would work within the situation instead of trying to change it.
She takes a few steps forward to make the most of her shot and nocks an arrow as she moves. She then waits for one of the musk ox to be separated and then releases three arrows at it.
The slaughter ensues.
Otryggr and Ramundr quickly find themselves victorious. With a single stroke both men claim a beast. Thyrnir’s axe and Signe’s arrows make short work of another. Another of Signe’s arrows strikes yet another in the flank, sending it into a frenzy as it and another cluster before the young. The calves begin to scream in warning and fear, retreating against the rocky wall.
With a low growl three adult males snort and stomp their hooves. The ground quakes as they charge the hunters!
Ótryggr 54/72
Ramundr 40/58
Signe 51/51
Þyrnir 26/44
Otryggr lets forth a perilous laugh as the auruchs charge at them, opening his arm wide as if to greet the beasts in an embrace, and at the last moment cuts down the very beast that charges him.
There is a great spray of blood; the auroch's head is shorn clean from its great neck even as its massive form collides with the barbarian, knocking him down into the dust.
Through it all, Otryggr's laughter resounds.
Signe continues to quietly focus on placing arrow after arrow into the musk oxen hides. Her fingers may be a blur but her overall demeanor is quite serene.
Ramundr brazenly let them batter his body, but lets the length of his ice sword to slice open the great beast.
Not one to let Otryggr outdo him, Ramundr sets himself against the aurach's charge. Without regard to his mortal flesh, Ramundr absorbs the bull's blow, but as it passed he sliced opens its side in a great trailing slash. Whirling, Ramundr brought his sword down to crush the beast's great spine before it passed. Emitting a mountainous roar, Ramundr swings his great oaken shield in a godly arc to deliver a blow which sent visible shock waves through the bull's surrendering flesh before lifting its massive body off the gorund and flying back before bashing into the rocky mountainside 10 paces back.
This is enough! The wise hunter leaves the remnant so that there will be meat the next spring. Let us withdraw, so that more do not charge us again out of fear. When they move on, we will take our meat.
Otrygrr picks himself up from the torn muddy ground, laughing still as he shoves the bovine corpse aside, and then rears up, bloody blade flashing in the cold morning sun.
"Ramundr! Being captain suits you! In all our days together I've never seen you attack with such ferocity!" The barbarian limps over to the other fighter, a wide grin splitting his bushy black beard. "Now, if we could only muster the same deadly skill when facing the forces of Athanuk and not just a herd of cows..."
Not as bold as his comrades, Þyrnir simply dives out of the way of the heard with a startled yell, although a couple of hooves clip him as he rolls across the snow, blinded by the brilliant white powder.
Returning to his feet, he frowns at Ótryggr's remark. Was the big man chastising them for past failures? For softness of heart?
Well let us then go find them! Ramundr guffaws. Signe, have trick to get those others to leave us be while we skin these that met our blades and arrows?
Signe realizes that an immediate withdrawal from the field will allow the surviving oxen an opportunity to flee. Indeed they do, moving quickly northwest, leaving a trail of blood where one was shot with an arrow. Perhaps they will survive. Perhaps not. Such is life on the tundra. .
Rendering the six carcasses takes the remainder of the day. Luckily, there is always light. The musk oxen provide meat, and the Ulnat favor artwork made from their horns and garments made their soft underwool (called qiviut) that is remarkably warm for its light weight. The latter could make fine offerings for villagers.
Ótryggr 54/72
Ramundr 40/58
Signe 51/51
Þyrnir 35/44
Here is some information on the Inuit and arctic hunting.
Back at the camp, the crew have rendered their own kills and are celebrating with two great fires, song, and stories led by Ragnar. Despite the good cheer, Elk-Running remains solemn, walking upon the ridge and staring out over the vast plain.
Signe watches what is left of the herd move further out onto the tundra with a feeling of guilt. She had left one of the adults wounded and there weren't enough adults left to protect the calves. She mentally berates herself for such a rookie hunting mistake but there is nothing she can do about it now. What she needs to focus on now is properly dealing with the carcasses.
Seeing that Elk-Running has isolated herself from the group, Signe goes over to her, "It is warmer by the fire and the company is merry. Is there something that concerns you out on the plain? Something that I can be of help with?"
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Otyggr settles in happily beside the fire, accepting steaks of seal flesh and a flagon of ale as he watches the leaping flames and recounts to all and sundry of their oxen hunt. His is a humorous version, complete with gestures at his companions and ribald laughter at how bravely they fought against the dumb beasts, the majesty of their attacks and how quickly they won through. Most of the mockery, however, is directed at himself; grinning, beard gleaming with seal grease, he tells how he tried to go head to head with an ox, only to lop the beast's head clear off before being trampled beneath its hooves.
Clearing his throat, he stands, swaying from too much drink, and gives his best rendition of the deeds.
"Twas morning when Signe strung her bow,
Its belly bent like the belly of a sow,
And the sky was gray like week old turds,
And we took off after that oxen herd,
And... Signe shot an arrow true,
It sailed up! Up into the blue.
Then it came down and smote that oxen's crown
And I let out a roar like a pissed-off boar
And charged into the fray,
Like... a stone... rolling down a cliff... all day?
Blood! Chop chop chop,
Heads went flying and hooves went clop,
And we butchered them cows like only we knows how,
And... the snow was stained red for miles around -
And now it's time for bed!"
With a lusty laugh he sits back down, completely at peace with how awful his song was, and takes up another tankard.
"But that's all done with for now," he says, winding down his tale. "Come morrow, we should set out for the village of Gualivik."
Ramundr guffawed along with Otryggr, but largely stayed to himself this evening. There were decisions to be contemplated.
Otryggr's suggestion of setting out for Gualivik had merit, the tales be true. However, he had more practical concerns. While the hunting had been good, those fortunes may quickly change as the season's change, and what seems bountiful now may soon seem meager.
Ramundr walks away from the fire to where the huntress Signe sat gazing upon the stars. Signe. How long do you think the hunting will stay good, before the seasons turn? While we may seem to have plenty now, I fear that if we do not capitalize on the good hunting now, we will suffer for it later. Perhaps we should consult with one of the Ulnat who know the migrations and the seasons of these lands.
Signe can hear Otryggr's caterwauling from where she is trying to talk to Elk-Running. She cannot help but smile at the performance for it was as intense as it was terrible. How much ale has he had?
Eventually she makes her way back to where the others are even though she still keeps a small distance from the fire. The fire is nice but she also enjoys the cold. When questioned by Ramundr, she considers it briefly before providing her Captain with an answer.
The singing is terrible, but Þyrnir is so pleased at this sudden side of Ótryggr, who usually either drinks in sullen silence or bellows with frightening intensity, that he does his best to endure the performance and even claps along and cheers. Truth be told, he is more than a little pleased with their hunt, both with the results and with how he and the others handled themselves against the oxen herd. Belly full and his feet warmed by the fire, he smiles often, his white teeth flashing in the firelight.
"Ah, what a hunt, and what a tale. But now let us turn our minds and will to the task we have before us, and to the path that leads us there."
Hunting was all well and good, and triumphing against beasts, but they could not forget what they had come here to do, and the darkness that was spreading over the land unchecked.
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"It is warmer by the fire and the company is merry. Is there something that concerns you out on the plain?
”Always and ever,” replies Elk-Running as she brushes her long hair behind one pointed ear. ”I have come far with you, traveled the long road and the open sea. It’s impossible to say how grateful I am to you and the others for releasing me from the Black Oak. But the path is now split. The roads we are traveling, they lead to different places.” She points northeast. ”There is yours, to protect the Ulnat and face Althunak.” She points west. ”And there is mine, to find my family, to learn if they even still live. To learn if the land of my ancestors is still my own.”
She takes Signe’s hand. ”Our paths must lead us apart, but they continue on nonetheless. With luck they will cross again. I hope that they do.” She smiles, squeezes Signe’s hand, then releases it. ”I will think of you when the sun circles the sky, and when the river runs under my feet. Remember me, too, in the rain of summer. And in the snow. Especially in the snow. Say goodbye to the others for me, won’t you?”
Signe blinks, and Elk-Running is gone. Overhead a tern flies fast to the west.
That night there is snow.