The Panther and the Bear

On his way back to Herne, he detoured. With Ryheric, a detour could turn into a full blown, months-long journey all its own. But he discovered a hamlet. He did not intend to pass through it.

However, when he drew close, he felt it just as Son of Mouse shied. The colt was braver than he had rights to be, and for him to falter and refuse to walk on was significant.

Ry peered ahead. Already he suspected Vahiy at play. It was expected, inevitable. Something was eerie about the hamlet.

The crops appeared in good order, the wind rustled. But it was too quiet. There were no people, though all looked well tended.

Where were the people?

The wind came from the east and it bore with it reminders. Some beautiful, some cruel. That wind was fell, though, and he knew it. So did the horse.

For a long time, he watched. But no people appeared.

Further along his way, he passed The Bath Camp and upon the bridge were signs of orcs. Something was severely amiss.

When he came to Herne, Winnie was glad to see him. She shared instantly the important news that Tate was conscious and well again. It seemed the man had come around all on his own without the need for interventions sought.

Eirik met him outside; Ry took that as sign enough for what should come now.

"Come hunting with me."

And Eirik did. They tracked the orcs all the way from the Bath Camp and the bridge to Tharbad where like a shattering thunder crack in the intense rain they collided with their enemies.

Acrid, black orc blood spilled. Red blood of the two men spilled. Both were like an inferno, countering and moving in. Different beasts in the fight, but both blooded; both of a will for red wrath and unrelenting death. This was Ryheric's element, and Eirik's. This is what they were for. Men with nothing to lose, men who were ready to die. Fighters.

As two predatory beasts merged into wolves of the same pack they now seemed. Eirik with his loud, raw emotive hatred. Ryheric with the volcanic impact of that twice-chipped blade, letting the spectacle of blood and wrath speak.

For a while, they both lost themselves. Bloodlust, violence, dense combat with monstrous foes; severely outnumbered and only more far gone for it. Home.

They spat blood at the end. Ry's shoulder bled anew, this time from the front section of the massive injury. Eirik with newly gashed scars. Blood poured, red and black. But ultimately the men prevailed and the orcs perished.

...

No words were spoken at the end. The fight spoke for itself. They both needed it. And both of them made their way back to Herne in preparation to visit the hamlet the next day.

Ryheric knew it would be a dark day. But Eirik beat his chest and swore words behind already done actions. Ry didn't need to think about whether he believed the words; it was already known. Eirik's actions spoke and had woven patterns. 

They would fight and bleed together again, tomorrow.

Meanwhile, Winnie got word out to those with a strong stomach in Herne. They prepared themselves for the worst.