The snow was deep along the high paths Yorric patrolled. He ambled along in his snowshoes, hatchets at his hips, two larger axes, Warg Smite and Wolf Smite, at his back. At twenty, he had grown fully into his father’s shadow, even a bit beyond it. Tall, black haired and broad shouldered, craggy, wrapped in thick wool and furs from wolf and warg, he looked every inch his father's son, and certainly there could be no mistaking that he was a descendant of mighty Beorn!
He stilled as a feeling of unease took hold of him.
