The Blood Of The Wolf

Chapter Three

        Maris looked around the mead hall, counting the heads of the companions.

“Where is your brother?” She asked, turning to Farkas who was bringing logs over to the fire. He dropped them down heavily into the pit, sending ashes and cinders into the air. Some floated towards Maris, who hissed slightly and moved away. One thing that Maris had forgotten is where she had acquired this irrational fear of fire. It was the only thing she could say that she was afraid of. Perhaps that’s why she stayed in the shadows and the cold. Farkas wiped the sweat from his brow and thought for a moment. He was certainly the strongest of the brothers, though wasn't as smart as Vilkas. They seemed identical in every aspect apart from Farkas' hair was much longer. That was the only way she could tell them apart. That and the fact that Farkas actually smiled.

“I think he's down in the under-forge.” He shrugged. “He goes there to read sometimes.”

“Thank you.” She grinned cheerfully.

        As soon as she was out of the door, she pulled her cowl over her mouth and pulled her hood up, casting a hard shadow over her pale features. She threw her cloak over one of the chairs. She looked up at the wall. Of course it would be easier to use the gates but she wasn't one for bright streets and talkative guards. She ran to the wall and jumped up to grab a rock that jutted out. Suddenly her arms screamed out in protest. She was no longer bleeding but they throbbed and ached. With a groan, she made her way up the wall, her footing so light that not even the loose pebbles were disturbed. She would have preferably gone under cover of night but she could feel herself about to succumb to blood-lust. She stepped back then launched herself forwards and off the edge of the wall. The ground came to meet her quickly, the wind pulling at her black cape and baggy hood. She rolled to absorb the impact and carried the momentum to tumble up onto her feet and run. She loved to run. It was the closest she could get to flying with her feet still on the ground.

        Vilkas' eyes fluttered open. He sat up and looked around, slightly in a daze. He yawned and rubbed his head. The under-forge? Oh yea, he'd gone there to talk to Kodlak. He knew that Kodlak was dead and that even if he could hear him, the under-forge probably wasn’t the right place to do it but it was solitary. He must have fallen asleep. He pulled himself off the floor with a groan. How long had he been asleep? Two hours? Five hours?... At least in this time he had chance to think. This wolf was consuming him from the inside and soon it was going to reach the point where he could no longer keep it within him. He wasn't as strong as Kodlak. He just couldn't... And if he wasn't as strong as Kodlak... What did that mean for him? He was a hero. The idea of going to Hircine's hunting grounds would be an ideal afterlife for many. Just not him. He wanted to go to Sovngarde, like a true Nord should... and like Kodlak. The only person that could give him that afterlife... No, no he couldn't ask her for help. He would rather be hunted down like a dog then ask for Maris' help... but what else was there? He looked into the stone basin in the centre of the forge. Dried blood stained the sides. He was so young when he had become a wolf. Him and Farkas where the youngest in history to become part of the circle. All those years spent cadging it... He couldn't take it any more. He walked slowly out of the forge and looked up to the sky. It was night. He really had been asleep for a long while. Pink and green streaked across the inky blackness and stars dotted the sky.

        Vilkas pushed open the door of the mead hall and was immediately hit by the heat of the fire and the strong smell of mead. The entire hall was lit with a warm, honey like glow that rippled like water when the fire quivered. As usual, everyone was hanging off Farkas' words and tales of adventure. He had always been better with people then Vilkas. Mainly because Vilkas didn't really like people. Vilkas sighed and grabbed a bottle of mead from the table. Suddenly, the opposite door opened. In walked a hooded figure, their head down and their cloaks wrapped around them tightly. Vilkas watched over the rim of his bottle as they walked slowly towards the stairs that lead down to the lower levels. Farkas glanced over his shoulder.