Heriwulf

It wasn't just the mead that had Heriwulf's head feeling a little too heavy, like his neck couldn't quite keep it up.

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.

A glance to her side as she thought she heard the start of a complaint from her hound, and the walker saw that, indeed, his hackles were raising. Then, she also started to hear the padding of the paws behind them. Why are the wolves…? Oh no! I forgot about the birds! Fresh-kill scent, and moving! Not that her thoughts were quite that ordered and verbal, but such was their meaning. She whirled as she heard one settle in to spring, and met it with her spear, cursing herself inwardly for her carelessness.

Fang would be fine in a sennight or perhaps a fortnight; this much Heriwulf was sure of. He'd removed the clumsy but effective field sutures, cleaned the wound thoroughly, put in cleaner sutures, and inspected the hound for lasting muscle damage, finding none. Hounds are smart and sturdy and they know how to take care of their own hurts better than men. And their injuries were less likely, at least while the hound was young, to fill with angry heat, the sure sign of danger.

The folk of Bree-land rarely visit the Chetwood that much, and most of those who do, like the hunters and trappers that Hildegund meets during her wanderings and scouting journeys, don't pay much attention to the small lodge that the Woodmen had built. It was easy for Heriwulf to think that it was somehow hidden, but of course, it was in plain sight to anyone who happened to cross the woods from the west, or the marshes from the south, or the hills from the northeast.

Judging by the angle of the fading light, Hildegund was sure she was a bit early for the moot that had been called, but being late was unthinkable. She made her way up the hill to where they'd built the clan-lodge, watching her hound. He'd caught some squirrels not much earlier, and seemed like perhaps he wanted to nap. When she got almost to the building, she pointed to a likely spot in the leaves. "Stay, Fang. Wait." Needing no further encouragement, he sniffed at the place, turned around a few times, and laid down for a nap as the woman walked on.