There was a man. Slightly taller than average, with oak brown hair and olive shaded eyes. He looked to be in his mid thirties, and the bags under his eyes implied that he hadn't slept in several days. Upon a closer inspection, one would be able to see that he had a scar, beginning just below his right eyelid and drawing a thin line down to the corner of his mouth. The air around him was crisp and sharp, a winter's breeze traveling through the air. The pine woods around him had a typical winter forest scent, and the ground was laced with pine needles and twigs. He stood in a clearing, perhaps fifteen yards from edge to edge.
The man was not alone. A small dog, looking to be some cross between a wolf and a golden retriever, stood next to him. And then, the pair were gone, only to appear across the clearing from where he stood, only perhaps five feet from where a boy of no more than six watched. This boy had similar features to the man, minus the scar and bags under his eyes. He crouched down and gazed directly at the child's face, stretching his arm out to gently tilt the boy's face up to meet his stare.
Then, in a stern voice, the man spoke. "Son. You must keep going. Keep moving. Whatever happens, do NOT look back to see if I am following you. Do you remember what I told you to do?" The boy nodded, and the man prompted him to recite what must be done.
"Find unca Eris. Work with him until I’m sixteen. Don't look back. I know, daddy." The boy said, mostly oblivious to the dangers around them. Unlike his father, the five year old was not aware of the war going on, and the drafts forcing people like his father away from their families. He was oblivious to the people chasing him and his father, attempting to capture them.
The toddler then turned around and continued waddling on clumsily, his father following. An arrow hit a nearby tree, and dogs barked in the distance. The man leaned down and gave his child a light push, whispering "Keep going. Avoid the Wolves at all costs. You are too important to me to be lost to them." To anyone paying attention, the capitalization in the word 'wolves' would be obvious, but at the time the child assumed that their father simply meant the creatures of the wood where it had lived the last five years. The toddler kept walking on, not noticing that its father had turned back around.
The boy DID notice, however, the shouting happening behind it, and the crackle of flame and breaking trees. But, the child listened to its parent, and did not look back, continuing to walk through the woods.
Cassiel shook his head out and swung the heavy axe again, cleaving through the log in front of him in one swing. He had the same dream on a regular basis, and he always was watching from the side, as if he wasn't there. He knew for a fact that it was false. He knew he was the child. Since that day, he had grown ten years, and was nearing his sixteenth birthday. His features almost mirrored his father's, from what he remembered of him at least.
Cassiel took a quick stride over to the shrinking pile of logs he had been toiling over for the better part of the morning, picked one up with slender fingers, and moved it over to the stump of the old tree that had been cut down the previous winter to make firewood. With a quick glance up, Cassiel ascertained that it was just about noon. One more log and he would go inside for lunch.
Gripping the axe in both hands, he swung down, hitting the log dead center with the tool. His axe got stuck halfway through the log, and, a short while later, it was out and Cassiel had split the piece of wood as cleanly as the rest. Aside from hunting down food for him and his uncle, and feeding their old cow to keep her producing milk, chopping up firewood was his only real job.
Swinging the axe into the stump, Cassiel turned and began to walk back towards his and his uncle's small wooden cabin, across a large and mostly empty meadow. Without the sounds of the axe slamming into the wood logs, the meadow felt uncharacteristically quiet for being in the middle of a forest. There was no rustle of the wind throughout the trees, and no birdsong in the air. Cassiel was the only noise. Generally, one might take that as a sign of bad things to come, for it felt like all life had ran away from the clearing, but Cassiel thought nothing of the silence at the time. Forests were silent all the time. It was one of the perks of living away from civilization. The nearest town was at least a three hour ride from the cabin.
Stepping into the one room cabin, Cassiel didn't notice as, beyond the meadow, a thin pillar of smoke raised itself into the sky. At the bottom of this pillar of smoke was a small campfire, surrounded by makeshift militaristic tents. Sitting near the flames and eating the undercooked meat of forest wildlife, was a group of eight men in suits of armor, each suit bearing the insignia of a wolf.
Shutting the door of the tiny cabin behind him, Cassiel glanced around the room, noting his uncle's and his own craftsmanship. The cabin had been mostly built by Uncle Eris, but over the years the home had acquired pieces from his own hands as well. The kitchen table made of polished oak, the shelves and small figures of woodland creatures on them, and the foxfur rug that spread through the sleeping area of the home were but a few of Cassiel's contributions to the room. Other items, like the long counter that took up the corner nearest to the door, and the two pine wood beds pushed against the far wall, were testimony to Eris' skill as a carpenter. There was only one set of items in the entire room that had not been handmade by Cassiel and his uncle. Those items were the bow and quiver of arrows that hung above Eris' bed, which Eris had bought two summers prior for hunting when they needed to.
Cassiel didn't even need to look around the cabin to know that his uncle wasn't there. It was Saturday, and every Saturday Eris went into town to sell any carvings or furniture he had made that previous week. Cassiel already knew that his uncle wouldn't be back until the sun was about to set.
Cassiel moved to the kitchen corner of the cabin, taking a quick glance through its contents. There was a pile of jerky on the unofficial food preparing area of the countertop, a few apples, and a single dry, half-eaten loaf of bread food-wise. For drinks, there was milk.
And more milk.
And even more milk. The nearest source of any liquid other one than the goat Cassiel cared for was the river that he bathed and played in a quarter mile southeast of the cabin. The river wound its way through most of the woods, widening as it went, until eventually crossing the main road of the kingdom of Alterrius, where Cassiel and Eris lived, at what used to be Half Cobble Bridge. Half Cobble had been turned into a pile of rubble during the first true battle of the civil war that had devastated Alterrius for almost twelve years.
But, such things were of little concern to Cassiel. He was the simple orphan nephew of a woodsman, and as such grabbed an apple out of the pile, taking a long and slow bite, savoring the juicy flavor and crunchy texture of the fruit. After a moment of debate, he took a strip of the venison as well, intending on eating it after finished with the apple.
Usually, Cassiel would have eaten more, but times were getting rougher than usual. The war had taxed the country greatly, and money, and subsequently food, was becoming something of a luxury item. He wasn't sure how much money his uncle would make in his trades, and couldn't be certain if Eris would make enough to provide much food for the next week.
Cassiel sat down on his bed and took another bite of the apple, considering his options for the rest of the day. He could get back to chopping firewood, but winter was not approaching quickly, and the pile of firewood was nearly gone. Perhaps hunting? No, that task took nearly a full day and he had at best only nine hours before darkness fell and the forest became dangerous. A nap? Sure, why not. It couldn't hurt to sleep a little more than usual. Cassiel took a final bite out of the apple and placed it, half eaten, onto the counter next to the beef stick before returning to the bed.
He laid his head down and drifted off rather easily, into a sleep that was only intruded by thoughts of his nearing sixteenth birthday. He already knew what he would do after he came of age. He was going to travel to the city of Alterria City, the heart of the country and perhaps the safest place in the country since the civil war's beginning, and apprentice to become a blacksmith. He was already used to hard work, and on the rare occasions he had travelled with Eris to Litwood on trading days, smithing was the one thing that held his attention for more than a few moments. Eventually though, even those thoughts drifted out of reach and he fell into a dreamless and silent sleep.
Cassiel's rest was interrupted by a hard knocking (more slamming than anything, truthfully) on the door. Off instinct, Cassiel knew it was likely about sunset, and Eris would be home soon, but his uncle, while being a burly man, never knocked on the door of his own home. Strangers were an oddity though. Hardly anybody ever came out to Cassiel and his uncle's woodland home. Those that did were likely there because they had broken a leg on a chair or table, usually one built by Eris. Cassiel's uncle was the best woodworker in the village, and everyone knew that his products were of high quality.
Cassiel groaned as he rolled off the bed. "Hang on, hang on! I'm coming!" He said, an accent that sounded faintly Scottish, like most Alterrians, coating his voice. Standing up and rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes, he walked over and opened the door. Before him was a tall man with a grizzly and stubby beard. His right eye was the color of marble, and there was a long faded scar running from his right temple down to the bottom of his jaw that looked like a bearlike animal had clawed him. He wore a set of armor colored dark gray, nearly the color of charcoal.
But none of that was what caught Cassiel’s eye, nor was it the troops in silvery armor standing behind him. It was the insignia on the man's breastplate that caught his eye. It was an intricate design of gold, black on the other soldiers' armor. A wolf.
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