Even before Radagast's question had been read out, slowly and carefully by Hildegund at the clan moot a few days earlier, Heriwulf had spent a lot of his time thinking about what he could contribute to the small clan. (What should he even call it? It wasn't a clan, but it wasn't like anything but a very small clan. Without a chieftain. At least the lack of a leader had stopped being his concern. It seemed to be doing all right without one, after a rocky start.) Faron kept them supplied, Aelfrida gave them shelter, Eiragerd kept them fed, Hildegund kept them aware of the goings-on, the hounds kept the lodge safe, and Ljota took care of the lodge and their everyday necessities. But all Heriwulf did is care for the hounds, and he couldn't even find a way for that to earn them pennies.
In fact, the question weighing on him the most now… Well, of course, it was Radagast's question, as it must be for the whole clan, but for him that question took a more specific turn. What if Faron's hatred for him was so great that she would leave to avoid him? Would it be better if he were to be the one to leave? The thought was the rippled surface of a deep pond; there was so much more going on beneath the surface than was evident. Could the others keep them supplied if Faron left? Could they keep up the hounds if Heriwulf left? And each of them also had a sister here; would the sister leave with whichever returned to the Vales? To say nothing of what might await in the Vales, for either of them. And on and on.
He hoped to speak to Eiragerd about it. Perhaps she would have some insight into her sister's intentions, or the reason for her to despise him so intensely. He was also concerned that no one had seen Faron in nearly a sennight, since the moot, in fact. She often went on her own for days at a time, but this was a bit longer than usual, and he kept having dreadful thoughts of her being caught somewhere, too hurt to seek help, hoping someone would come. Some scruffy fellow in Bree proclaiming dire warnings about an illness afflicting the wolves of Chetwood, making them more aggressive, did not help his worry; in fact, he planned to set out to scout the dens and observe the wolves for signs of illness, as well as opportunities to tame fresh blood; but also, he didn't want to admit to even Hildegund, in case he might find Faron there. Or her corpse.
But Eiragerd was too busy; he never managed to find her to speak to. So much, in fact, that he wondered if she sensed what he wanted to ask her about, and was avoiding a difficult conversation.
So he continued his efforts to explore the villages, make neighborly introductions, learn about trade, and thus, to have something to contribute to the clan, in case he did find he wasn't leaving. Most of those who'd come to Eriador were less comfortable with crowds, or people, than was he, leaving him best qualified to do business with the village folk, trade with them, learn their ways, and make sure his people were welcome amongst them at times of need. It had been an arduous struggle to get Hildegund to come into Bree to be attended by a healer he'd met there, and he'd had to lie to her a few times to do it, and make sure she could get in and out quickly. He could be like the emissaries that the Woodmen sometimes sent to Beorn's house, or through the Mirkwood to Lake-town. Well, not exactly like that, but somewhat.
It didn't seem like very much of a contribution. Certainly not enough to be worth him staying while Faron left, if it came to that. He hoped it wouldn't. The wait until the clan moot was, this time, unbearable, for too many reasons.
