Husk of a Nord

by Flutterwaken

Mountains lay frozen as dragons rule the skies and wolves lurk about unseen. The Companions have been called to disband a group of poachers, though find themselves faced with a creature of their own design as they unwittingly set the beast free. Follow the story of Husk, the burnt wolf of Hircine as he tears and claws his way into freedom and into the Silverhand's destruction.

1. The Find

FULL SUMMARY:

Mountains lay frozen as dragons rule the skies and wolves lurk about unseen. Whiterun's weathered warriors The Companions have been called to disband a group of poachers, though find themselves faced with a creature of their own design as they unwittingly set the beast free. Only a year after the Companions have lost their Kodlak, the new Harbinger is left to make the final choice. Will they kill the monster to prevent possible bloodshed, or with they take him unto their fold?

Follow the story of Husk, the burnt wolf of Hircine as he tears and claws his way into freedom and into the Silverhand's destruction

_

Jorrvaskr was buzzing with excitement as the party carried on. It was the first anniversary of Alduin's defeat, giving reason to celebrate, and oh a grand celebration it was. The Companions were gathered in the main hall listening to their Harbinger tell the grand story.

Elriah ElderGleam smiled proudly as he told of the killing blow that took down the world eater. The shine on the dragon's scales as its soul was torn to pieces, to the cries of the fellow warriors were portrayed vividly by his words and envisioned in the minds of those who listened.

Elriah was a younger Nord, whose features were framed well by long flaxen hair and the lightest beginnings of a beard, had once been a healer before becoming a warrior. Yet now after such feats and tasks of bravery was more than fitting of the name Dragonborn. Next to the Harbinger Farkas sat merrily, adding in his own tales of his blows and of how he had accompanied his husband into the fray at the guarded temple.

Elriah smiled proudly as he continued his tale.

"Sovengaurd sung when Alduin died, even the stone statues hummed. The mist was gone and I could finally see what Sovengaurd looked like. Mist made from starlight and heroes of yore stood tall about me carved forever into dragon bones and stone. From all the faces of those long passed, to the colors of the heavens above… All I will say is that it was more gorgeous and haunting than any song or poem could describe." His eyes were distant and clouded with memory as he retold the story of Kodlak's greeting, smiling slightly with scarred lips.

Away from the hustle and bustle of the celebration, another Companion watched from a seat across from the main doorway, looking over the main festivities. Vilkas sat off to the side listening to the merry sounds about him. Farkas shot him a happy glance as he spotted his brother. Vilkas returned it half heartedly, though his eyes were still hard.

Farkas's smile grew, thinking that Vilkas was only trying to be gloomy to protect his image.

Vilkas was a well built Nord similar to his brother, though was nowhere near as muscular. His hair was shorter and a scowl always adorned his face. The war paint around his eyes was dark and smudged; making him appear as if he had not slept. He sipped at his mead as his mind wandered; blocking out the sounds of the party.

Jobs had slowed down and the Silverhand had not been heard from in months. Though that was a good thing his gut said otherwise. They were lying low in a cave somewhere no doubt, breeding like the skeevers they were. Vilkas was happy despite his angry appearance, yet felt dragged down from the lack of activity. While jobs were slim life did not grow to be boring, in fact numerous things had happened in the absence.

Yet he still longed to be out on the road.

Not only had his brother finally gotten married, to the Harbinger no less, but Skjor had finally fully recovered from his injuries he had gotten at Gallows rock.
The Companions coffers were filled to the brim as well, allowing Jorrvaskr to be patched up and fix the various leaks in the roof; keeping in the warmth of the fire and the smells of feasting locked tightly inside. The smell of honeyed mead was strong around Vilkas, as well as the smell of sweetrolls and other sweet rations that were displayed along the extensive tables.

The sun was shining through the open windows as a light breeze accompanied the rays. It was a grand day with perfect weather that joyous hearts matched and filled to the brim. Light reflected off of the dust floating in the air; stirred by the happy movement of bodies dancing.

As Vilkas looked about he saw his fellow companions rejoicing together.

Aela was with a heavily scarred and drunken Skjor, his brother still with the Dragonborn as they spoke of battle, and Tovar had found interest in a newer female recruit he was trying to win over, although looked to be failing. Vilkas was not surprised to see Athis and Njada off to the side as well, throwing lazy drunken punches at each other. He was almost certain that it was their form of affection.

The pairs were smiling along with the rest of the companions and as time went on they began to tell stories of their valor as well. Tales were tossed about almost as much as the freshly filled mugs. Vilkas was happy for the companions and for the event they celebrated, yet he also felt ill as he watched.

Though never alone among his fellow comrades, his beast was making him feel excluded. It had become a problem as it constantly attacked his thoughts. He thirsted for adventure and coin yet neither seemed to be any closer now than it had been a month ago. His beast howled nightly for the hunt. Vilkas had almost given in a few times, but he tried to stay strong.

His ominous brooding was broken by a sudden slap against his back.

Skjor smiled down at Vilkas before speaking, his voice slightly slurred from the several mugs of Ale and Mead.

"Well nice to see you're enjoying yourself! Quite a party these whelps can throw, eh?"

Skjor laughed as Vilkas gave a half hearted grunt. Skjor pointed a finger at Vilkas as his rambling continued.

"We've got a job if you want it. Some Trappers are poaching near an old Silverhand Fort, same one that almost did me in. Why don't you go take care of that?"

Skjor looked confused by his own words for a brief moment as he thought.

"I mean the hunters, not the fort...though I guess it can be taken care of too if Elriah yelled at it, the magical bastard…anyways; you seem to have too much time on your hands if you can brood like this, on a good day no less! So why don't you get out of our hair and go do something. Can't have you all lazing about."

Skjor had tried to sound annoyed yet failed as a smile broke through the charade. Vilkas gave the elder a small smile in return before shaking his hand, accepting the job. Skjor let go of the hand before grabbing Vilkas's shoulder, giving it a friendly, yet hearty shake. He sat next to Vilkas to down yet another filled cup.

The two friends watched as Tovar began to dance in a drunken whirl. His arms flailed as well as his legs as he tried to dance. He was encouraged by the other Companions, some even clapping at his antics. Even the female he had tried to woo seemed to enjoy it as she pointed and laughed, encouraging him even more. As he picked up speed he began to get dizzy.

Tovar began to trip over his own feet. Not even a moment later he wound up falling. But instead of falling onto the floor he fell back and onto Elriah, spilling the drink from his hands.

Before anyone could react or even gasp, Elriah burst out laughing full heartedly.

"I think that's enough dancing for one day, Tovar! Best to stop while you're ahead."

Elriah's grinned as he helped the drunkard stand. Tovar could only nod and agree as he got up to retire to his room, stumbling the entire way.

An hour had passed and Aela had found her way to Vilkas and Skjor. She joined them, bringing them each a mug of mead. Vilkas took his mug with a nod of thanks; while Skjor took his and offered her a wink. Aela scoffed before taking a seat across from them. She took a sip of her own mead before resting her eyes on Vilkas. He seemed distant as he drank, his eyes dark with thought. She gave him a playful glance of curiosity.

"So, how's the moping going?"

Vilkas ignored her and continued to sip the mead, though his eyes squinted.

"He won't have time to mope now, I gave him a job," Skjor mumbled into his mug.

Vilkas nodded and continued as he watched the other Companions around him. They had begun a drinking game between Athis and Farkas, the prize being a new shield detailed finely by their blacksmith.

Vilkas took a swig before speaking up.

"I have to take care of some poachers, but I'll admit that I'm not looking forward to being so close to the Silverhands old fort."

Aela hummed in agreement.

Farkas seemed to be winning the contest. Vilkas chuckled into his mead as he watched the antics. Athis was beginning to become ill from the drinking while Farkas was still going strong.

"It's been a while since any of us checked the area, and I'd rather not go alone in case any of the GrayFeet has the guts enough to show up."
It was the closest thing to humor Vilkas could muster, yet it seemed to do the trick as Skjor almost choked as he laughed mid drink.

GrayFeet was the nickname they had lovingly given the Silverhand after a long night of heavy drinking, to their defense it had seemed funny at the time. The first Silverhand to hear the joke did not share the humor; though it was beyond entertaining once they realized said dunmer had grey feet. It was an incident that they agreed to never let Elriah hear of, knowing it would only prompt questions that did not have pleasant answers. One question being why a grey pair of feet had been left on the doorstep of the Elven embassy.

Aela nodded in understanding at Vilkas's words.

"I can't blame you for that, Shield-Brother; I'll accompany you just in case they show up. That is, as long as I get half of the gold from the job."

Vilkas agreed and finished his drink with one long draw.

Vilkas was relieved when the party finally decided to die down as dusk settled. He was able to retire to his room and close his door between himself and the overwhelming stench of mead. Tovar was not so lucky however. Instead Tovar was slumped at the bottom of the stairs, leaving the other companions to step over him as they entered the sleeping quarters. Sadly it was not an uncommon occurrence.

Vilkas had already unclasped his chest plate as he began to change. Though sleep sounded wonderful to him, it would most likely avoid him again tonight. His beast was far too active to let him have a decent nights rest. His thoughts jumbled as he undressed. At last he could leave Whiterun and sate his appetite for adventure. He could only hope that it would help calm the wolf. There would be more gold after the job that he could spend on books from the next Khajiit caravan.

His metal kilt fell off of him and he kicked it under his bed, too tired to care if it scuffed the floor.

The khajiit always managed to get him what he wanted. He never had to worry about how either, they knew better than to sell him stolen goods. Then again if it was stolen from a bandits den or the Thalmor it was something he could easily overlook.

Vilkas fell onto the bed with a huff. He draped an arm over his eyes blocking out the nonexistent light in the dark bedroom. His thoughts began to disappear as he relaxed and sunk into the furs. Never had a bed felt so good. He did not mind the smell of spilt ink or dust that surrounded him. The room it was like his own little world, free from the nagging of citizens. Only his beast would disturb him here. Sleep edged at his mind, lulling him closer to sweet unconsciousness. Perhaps he would be able to rest after all…

His hopes vanished as a loud knock came from his door.

Vilkas's arm fell away from his eyes as he groaned and sat up. His door was now open; a hairy face peaking in. Light poured in from the hallways oil lamps, making Vilkas squint.

"Sorry," the intruder grumbled.

Farkas closed the door behind him and sat in a chair near his brother's bed. Farkas held his large hands on his lap, fidgeting as his brother shot him an annoyed look.

Vilkas rubbed at his eyes, smudging the war-paint even more. He knew he should have washed it off but paid no heed. He was too damned tired to care, it could be bothered with in the morning.

"What do you want, brother?" He asked with annoyance.

Farkas wasn't bothered by the tone at all.

"I know you haven't been doing so good, and I just want to tell you to be careful. I'm not asking for you to go out of your way to avoid any fights, but don't do anything I would do."

Vilkas had not expected that.

"I've been fine. A little beast blood isn't going to get me killed, if anything Aela is who I have to worry about. She can be worse than a Saber-cat when she wants to be." He laughed sarcastically and ignored his brother's last comment as if it had never been spoken. He didn't plan to get into any unnecessary fights like his brother now only seldom did. He hadn't lost control of his wolf that much.

Farkas did not seem to believe Vilkas and leaned forward in his chair. His eyebrows brought together as his hands tightened their grip. It was apparent he was thinking on how to word what he was going to say. Perhaps his husband had rubbed off on him.

"We both know that it's not just a little, it's started to make you act different. You're just brutal now, and the other companions can see it too. You didn't stop hacking at that last bandit till we pulled you off, and there was nothing left of the guy but bones and pieces."

"Pah, you make it sound like I went crazy. I had to make sure the bastard was dead."

"More like you just wanted as much blood and gore as possible. Face it; it's not just you that needs this hunt."

Vilkas bristled in anger as his wolf was spoken of so blatantly. Farkas knew better than to bring it up yet here he was warning him about what he already knew. He was only concerned about him though, if not a tad drunk, so he reigned back his annoyance as best he could.

"Its no hunt, we need to eliminate the poachers and get back before anyone else can take the next decent job." He paused briefly before mumbling something under his breath.

"Poachers won't put up a good fight anyways."

Farkas had undoubtedly heard but he made no remark about it. The brothers talked for a while more as the lamps outside began to wane. They spoke of times before where the jobs had been plentiful, then of months where they had worked together clearing caves and killing bandits. Farkas eventually went to leave the room, but as he held the handle he looked back at his twin.

"I mean what I said you know, be careful out there."

"Aye, I know. Now beat it so I can get some sleep before I have to throttle you!" He joked and moved as if to get up. Farkas put on a face of mock horror as he cringed and sped from the room, closing the door with a resounding thud as he scampered off.

Vilkas fell yet again back down onto his cot, yet sleep never came for him again. His mind clouded by the words of his brother and the smell of the hunt.

Eastmarch felt somewhat colder than normal to the traveling Companions. Snow covered most of the ground, except near the geysers or steaming cracks that scarred the land. Off in the distance the Velothi mountain range could be seen towering towards the east before trailing into the Rift. There was always snow in this section of the hold, yet something seemed oddly bitter and out of place among the snowy grounds. Perhaps trolls had moved deeper into the hold or some other vile mountainous creature had managed to creep in as well.

Aela had picked up on the pungent feeling as well and was tense. Their journey had only been started three short days ago yet only now had the instinctual worry set in. Vilkas looked over before jumping over a bothersome boulder, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. It was not that he didn't trust his Shield-Sister but he knew that once they would begin to talk it would only end up as discussion on the curse they shared. He was tired of the beast that haunted his very existence and wanted nothing more than to be done with it. Vilkas had also grown tired of the discussions themselves.

The only thing preventing him from the cure was his pride and worry of how much he would change. Would he still be as strong? What if his senses became too dull and couldn't hear the next time an opponent snuck up on him? It did not help that the Harbinger partly shared Aela's view on the curse, and considered it to be a morbid blessing.

Aela was now in front of Vilkas looking around for any sign of a camp.

"So Vilkas, Skjor tells me that you have been rather…unlike yourself recently. Is that true?"

Vilkas answered with a slight growl in his voice. "The beast-blood has been calling to me, nothing more than that."

Aela smiled knowingly. She understood the blood more than anyone else.

"Sounds to me like you haven't had a good hunt for quite a while, that's all. Come, let's hurry and get this job over with. I do not like the feeling I'm getting from this place. The sooner we find the poachers the better."

He was relieved when she didn't press him further on the matter. Vilkas nodded in agreement before they headed down the path.

It did not take them long to find scattered bodies littered among bones and arrows. Carefully they crept closer. There was no sound from the poachers' camp, nor any sign of life. Aela and Vilkas looked around once more but saw no poachers nearby. With a quick sweep of the area the two began to inspect their find. Aela counted two smaller Mammoths while Vilkas noted numerous skinned deer and roughly a dozen rabbits thrown about or lying on the stones mid butcher. Scattered dried bones cracked underfoot sending bugs frantically buzzing into the air.

Elk carcasses dotted the grounds though their rot and rough butchering made it impossible to tell how many elk had originally meet their fates before being drug to the horrid place. Some of the other bodies of wildlife had remained untouched with the traps still holding fast to the legs. The most recent bodies had only started to seize and harden. The Companions looked about the grounds scornfully as they saw all the waste the poachers had left in their wake. Aela without a second thought withdrew a small knife from her bag before kneeling down among the bodies.

Her knife scratched at the hides, determining that some of the meat was still salvageable. They could not bear to see any more of it be wasted on the maggots and carrion birds that circled overhead. Vilkas kept searching as Aela began to cut and peel back the skins. It took her little time to gather meat before wrapping them in taunt cloth and placing them into her bag. As a hunter she knew to always carry wrappings. Her jobs were long and hard and she was prepared to gather her own supplies should the need arise.

Vilkas stood off to the side looking down the hill that dipped down from the camps edge when Aela stood. "Do you see any signs of the bastards, Brother?" He barely responded except for an offhanded grunt. Any other comment Aela would have made became silent as the look of disgust appeared on Vilkas's face. His lip was curled upwards as he turned away from the sight in disgust. "Aye, I see them alright." Vilkas sneered as he shook his head and spat to rid himself of the horrible taste that filled his throat. He motioned for her to join him, pointing then towards the grueling scene far below.

Remains of a small pack of werewolves were torn apart along with the disemboweled bodies of men; their eyes still open, reflecting the fear that had gripped them in their final moments. There was no doubt that the scent of spoiling meat had called to the now fallen werewolves, luring them in. Now the once tempting smell was replaced by horrible stench of the rotting lycanthrope and human carcasses that drifted from the battle ground.

Vilkas felt ill as he realized how thin the wolves had been. Emaciated werewolf ribs showed clearly underneath their blood soaked furs that was held down and showed the deep crevices. They had been desperate to attack so brazenly, and stood no chance as weak as they were. To have such creatures be felled by mere poachers was a pitiful sight to see that filled the Companions equally with rage.

Aela scanned the scene with a still face. The silence between them was charged with hatred for the killers. Bugs could be heard as they took in the graphic scene of a battle not long passed. Their persistent buzzing ever present. A long silver blade stood buried into the back of one of the werewolves, blood splattering up to its very hilt.

Aela cleared her throat. "Good thing you brought me along, Shield-Brother. It looks like we will be taking care of your hunting problem after all."

Vilkas sneered at the bodies below.

"These were no ordinary poachers; they were Silverhand hunters."

He felt little surprise as the gruesome scene played out before him. The werewolves had come when there was no food left to hunt. They had suffered from the large scale hunting leaving them preyless and hungry. The smell of the rotting animals pulled their minds away from any fear for the hunters they should have felt, replaced with desperation.

"It was a trap." Vilkas decided aloud. "The Silverhand knew they couldn't wait much longer so they set the bait and waited."

His sister nodded beside him as she watched the flies beginning to feed of the fellow werewolves. They landed on the open eyes and danced about the open wounds that they crawled inside them. The bugs would never be plagued with starvation; they had won from the loss of others and feasted on their victory.

Aela sniffed at the air before heading down the embankment. She walked respectfully around the fallen brethren, though did not care to step over the hunters. The bodies seemed to dot the land in almost a row, leaving a trail of bodies to follow. Vilkas waited before following her, taking the time to be certain the bodies were actually bodies and that no life lingered in them or left one who needn't suffer anymore. It was the least he could do now, though the rage built more and more with each body he checked.

The line of corpses lead down into a less snowy area while the dark reaching feeling they had felt previously only grew. The array of bodies had ended far behind them, yet the streaks of blood had continued. There were human tracks among the last of the snow now marked with blood. Prints that were dragged showing that the survivors had not left unscathed. Eventually the tracks ended in front of rubble and slowly gave way to the old dilapidated fort. Its walls were almost nonexistent as they lay broken, the tower slanted and crumbled. The Companions both knew where they were, the feeling now sinking into place as they shared a glance.

"Gallows Rock, notorious for Silverhand cowards and the murder of werewolves and any other poor bastard they find," Vilkas mumbled before adjusting the great sword that rested on his back.

"It's also where Skjor almost died." Aela added bluntly.

She drew her sword before slowly creeping around the broken walls, looking for any signs of activity, while leaving Vilkas no room to comment on her statement. With a quick thought Vilkas took the bag from her back and stashed it along with his own in a nearby collapsing barrel that lay next to the wall.

"We don't need to be weighed down in case of a fight," he briefly explained. "There will be blood spilt today, though it will not be ours."

The pair slid in through the crooked doorway of the fort as their hunt for the Silverhand began.

No one was in the first room but the Companions and the fresh heads of werewolves lining the stone walls. Some were jabbed onto pikes while others hung from hooks; tongues lolling out of the open bloody jaws. It was a blatant statement for anyone entering the fort willingly or not that there would be no tolerance or mercy; a message that the companions did not take as a threat but as a fuel for their revenge.

Herbs hung from the roof and barrels lined the walls. The plants did nothing to hide the rotting smell about them nor did the casks of mead. Carefully the Companions began to creep down the first hallway, the slightest sounds of their armored boots on the damp stone floor accompanying them. They continued to sneak until they made their way to the main room.

Two Silverhand sat around a makeshift cooking pit; their backs facing the doorway. One was an older Orc while the other was a Redguard woman, both easy to kill if their plan held well.

Aela notched her bow and aimed for the back of the Orc's head. Vilkas prepared to dash and slay the other target as soon as his sister's arrow were to meet its mark. His beast blood boiled and yearned for the thrill of a fight. It was almost maddening to feel the pulse under his skin that was not his heart beat. It was a heart none his own, preparing to pounce and fueled by the smell of prey before them.

The arrow flew and hit the target, burying itself deeply into skull and into the brain of the Orc, killing him. Vilkas snapped back into reality and lunged foreword. Before the other Silverhand could be ended by Vilkas's blade, the Redguard gave a shrill defiant cry. She pulled out her silver sword and slashed at Vilkas with surprising speed. He parried the blade with his own but the silver tipped edge still managed to knick his cheek as it ground against his steel. It stung as it burned him but the pain only fueled his rage more.

Aela heard the sounds of the other Silverhand charging towards them before he could manage to look away from his prey. "Careful Shield brother, the bastards are heading this way!" She finished the offending Redguard with another arrow and replaced the bow with her sword. He felt disappointed as the body slumped away from him sending the silver sword clattering onto the mossy brick.

Aela grinned wolfishly at her brother, and gave him a competitive wink. Vilkas smiled evilly and nodded as he saw the mischievous gleam enter her eyes. The hunt had begun and the game was on and Aela was already ahead. As the first Silverhand came through the door Vilkas decided to give his sister a good competition. His beast blood was set ablaze as his sword found its first victim.

Yes, he would give Aela quite a challenge indeed.

The sound of screams mixed violently with the clash of metal against metal. Shadows danced upon the walls as they mimicked the fight taking place in front of the mounted torches. The fighting echoed in the stone halls and resonated like thunder in the prison cells.

Aela parried the blow from a mace as her brother cut the advancing attacker down. Swarms of Silverhand surrounded them now as they entered the makeshift dining hall. For ever blow they would land and ever bandit they cut down they would receive twice as many blows. The battle was not going as planned.

Vilkas wheezed as the wind was knocked out of him from a blow to his stomach. His armor deflected the war hammer. He turned sharply as he swung with rage aiming for the Imperials head. The Silverhand managed to step out of the weapons range just as cut through his beard. The knotted clump fell onto the ground and was stomped into the dirt as the battle continued.

Aela's laugh rang above the noise as she caught sight of the Imperials face. She quickly cut down a fellow Nord as she moved closer to cover Vilkas's back. The Imperial lunged forward with a cry, weapon held high as he dove it for a killing blow. Vilkas met the weapon with his own. The force traveled up his arms as silver bit steel.

"Not today," Vilkas growled through his teeth.

He threw his weight against the sword, sending the Imperial stumbling back. The Silverhand had no time to block as the companions sword sliced open his stomach.

Aela stabbed with her daggers as the Silverhand forced them to fight in close quarters. The companions stepped over bodies as they wrestled with the enemy. Slowly they began to gain momentum as they pressed their backs together to defend themselves. One after another the Silverhand died and bled out as Aela and Vilkas moved deeper into the garrison.

The sounds continued to echo down the halls, though began to lose momentum as more men fell. A final scream was heard, then the clinking of armor shifting with movement.

Aela pulled her sword from one of the Silverhands' lifeless body with a grunt. She was rather unhurt though her newly christened wolf armor could not say the same. The sudden change of light armor to heavy had made her uneasy and restricted her movement. It left her feeling weighed down; though that was no longer a problem as she decided to replace it with her old perfectly worn armor once she had the chance. There were more dents in the armor now than there were Silverhand corpses.

Vilkas had been dealt a nasty cut on his left cheek during the fight, along with countless bruises while his armor had many dents and nicks. He and Alea had settled evenly on the hunt, but she still claimed to have killed more than he had. They were both tired and relived to see each other still standing. Silverhand though untrained always came in droves.

Vilkas sat down on a hay bale and glanced around him as he wiped the blood from his wound with a scrap of cloth. He was in a wide hallway with cells embedded in each wall. The smell of blood and rot was strong, as well as the odor of released bowels. Aela was standing at the end of the hallway, checking the papers and books that were scattered on a table there. As Vilkas dabbed the blood away he looked towards the cells.

Bodies of werewolves could be seen behind the bars, as well as those of men. Dust was settled thickly on the locks, though the bodies had not been dead as long. Vilkas grimaced as he thought of the beasts withering away in their cells after the locks were sealed.

"Maybe these poor sods belonged to the pack outside," he mused aloud. "Loosing most of their wolves would make them desperate, enough to attack hunters at least."

Aela crinkled her nose at the smell of rotting flesh and tried to ignore the sound of flies. She walked over to stand next to her comrade, her stride powerful and proud after such a fine hunt.

"Thankfully your cut is not deeper Shield-brother, or you might not be able to ramble about such things," She noted with a playful tone.

Vilkas shot her a gloomy sneer before responding.

"It will take more than a mere scratch to put me down, I assure you."

She smiled as she noticed his shoulders relax. The hunt had done him well. Even his eyes seemed less clouded now that his beast was satisfied.

Aela moved to sit down on top of an overturned crate, and began to start inspecting her weapon. Relative silence filled the foul smelling room as the Companions carried on their small tasks. It was akin to an unspoken rule, more so a ritual, to rest after bloody fights using the time to calm their beast blood and tend to their weapons. It would never do to go into battle with a dull blade or an even duller mind. Elriah had instilled the practice in the Companions soon after becoming Harbinger.

Aela cleaned her blade thoughtfully as her mind went over the bodies of the wolves outside, as well as the ones nearby. She was a warrior and had seen many things, though she never could brush off seeing such proud beasts turned into nothing more than lost decrepit shadows of their former selves.

A slightest sound reached and tickled her ears. Instinctively she scratched at it, thinking it to be another fly buzzing about. The sound continued though, making Vilkas take note of it to as it crept through the previous silence.

The companions stopped their fussing as they focused on the noise. Once they focused passed the sounds of flies another noise became clear to them. The sound of distant raspy breathing among the buzzing of flies, the sound of breathing that was drawn in by shaky and pain filled breaths. A sound they had heard far too many times sputtered by fallen brethren.

The female warrior looked up slowly before she put her hand up in a motion to be cautious. Vilkas snarled under his breath, gaining a glare from his sister. Surely they had killed the Silverhand that had held up in the fort. Perhaps they had left one not quite as dead as they had previously thought. Whatever it was couldn't be a threat if it was as bad off as it sounded. That did not stop his curiosity from gaining hold on him.

Their eyes landed on one of the cells as they traced the sound back. Aela got up first and carefully inched closer, blade drawn and ready. Cautiously they approached before peering through the silver coated bars. The sight made Vilkas take a step back in sheer disgust.

Rotten skin lay open and blistered upon a crumpled corpse; lying there on its stomach with only a pair of ragged trousers clinging to its emaciated body. The evidence of flies feeding on the exposed flesh made their stomachs turn, though maggots had yet to take root.

The decrepit man's back was exposed, showing a gruesome sight to behold. A large gash took up most of his flayed back leaving bloodied bone clearly seen. If it wasn't for the shallow sound of breathing the Companions would have never known the person was even alive.

Vilkas Gagged and covered his nose and mouth. The smell of rotten blood and singed flesh was horrific and overpowering now that they stood in front of the source. His stomach rolled once again but bit back the urge to heave.

"Smells like a Nord, and a werewolf at that," Aela whispered lowly. It was as if she didn't want to disturb the being in front of them. The body continued to swallow its shallow gasps of air, oblivious to the warriors that stood not even three feet away. Aela sheathed her blade and knelt front of the rusty bars.

"What are you…?" Vilkas began to question his sister before glancing at the lock pick in her hand. He fell quiet as he received a reprimanded glare. It was rather obvious now.

"What does it look like? I'm going to try to open this damned door to put the beast out of its misery."

With precision Aela began to work the lock. Metal scraping against rusty metal grated at his ears. Dust flew off of it as the lock was disturbed.

"Why waste time fidgeting with the damn lock? He could shift at any moment, it would be easier to just shoot it with your bow instead."

Aela gave a crude huff of laughter. Her voice louder as she realized the dying man probably couldn't hear her anyways. "Poor beast couldn't change if he wanted to. The Silver hand carnage made sure of that. Besides, if I do it by hand, I'll make sure it gets done right. The beasts already suffered enough."

Vilkas couldn't argue with that, it was a sound and rather honorable reason, though the thought of opening the door between them and an injured werewolf troubled him.

The pick shifted and bent in Aela's hands. She cursed as she replaced it. Aela was an expert lockpick, but not even a master could even begin to predict whatever contraption disguised as a lock the Silverhand would decide to use. They were always changing the inner mechanics; a crafty way of making sure that the same key could never be made or copied, making it difficult to attempt to use lockpicks without breaking them in the process.

As if to contradict Aela's previous assumption the sound of the new pick rattling in the lock made the creature within stir. Long thin fingers grasped the stone slowly. The Companions' breaths stilled as the movement became more distinct and controlled.

The body shifted vaguely as a face slowly crept up towards the companions. He trembled from the effort as he struggled to keep his head off of the ground. His empty eyes turned towards them.

Aela had been right.

The Nord's cheeks were sunken in under his cheekbones from starvation. When he moved another sight darkened their faces as the hair unveiled a nasty surprise. A thick band of silver was wrapped tightly around his neck; leaving blisters and burn marks all about the skin of his throat.

Vilkas grunted and winced at the sight of the crude and malicious torture device.

Long matted hair covered in dried blood and dirt clung to the stranger's damp forehead, leaving its natural color to be questioned. His hollow cloudy eyes were bloodshot and blue that was accompanied by heavy bags dark and profound.

They almost looked dead.

It licked at its cracked split lips, blood dribbling down his chin. It was as if he was a fresh drauger that had crawled out of the depths of an adventurer's nightmare.

Aela paused for a moment to stare back at the creature before returning to the lock, refusing to show that the sight had fazed her at all. The only discernible clue was the slight shake of her head directed at the horrific condition, and the swift change of her pick's pace.

Vilkas slowly kneeled next to her and watched the caged Nord study them silently as it tried to focus on the people before him. The caged beast's eyes dragged towards Vilkas, making the hair on Vilkas's neck stand on end. The look was black and empty, but the face was so young. He refused to blink until the werewolf looked away and back towards Aela. Vilkas felt his wolf stir, but quickly pushed it back. This was not a matter for his beast. The whelp had given a look clearly saying he was not intimidated by Vilkas in any way, that he had been caressed by death to the point nothing else but an actual demise could disturb him.

The eerie feeling did not subside as yet another gruesome discovery was made.

"By the nine," Vilkas whispered under his breath as the light of the lamps hit the younger face's turned cheek. "Do you see his face Aela? Look at the burns!" Aela glanced curiously at her Shield-brother, surprised he had not noticed the obvious.

Vilkas had been right however; the young Nord's face was burned on the right side in one clean bloody streak. The burn went from the hairline till it trailed down to the top of his cracked lips, burning them slightly as well. The eye on the burnt side was usable and could blink without difficulty, surprising Vilkas greatly.

The werewolf continued to watch the pair before him, eyeing the lock with blurry squinted eyes. The caged Nord began to clench his hands only to relax them and to once again tighten them. Its nails looked as if they had been torn from his very fingers.

Vilkas scrunched his nose as he smelt the foul unease and blood rolling off the lad now that it saw what was to come. It knew that lock would open. It knew that something would then happen, though whether it was to help or to harm was unknown.

A satisfied click came from the lock, causing the caged werewolf to try to move away. He groaned as the wound reopened from the sudden movement, making him sink into the stone floor with pain. His groan became a deep growl, now directed at the Companions. The fact that he even had the strength to voice such a sound was unexpected.

The Companions stood up as the werewolf eyed them in fear; finally fueled by uncertainty. Much to Vilkas's surprise the man did not beg for his life, or ask to be put out of his misery. Instead he locked eyes with Vilkas and then Aela. Wheezing from exhaustion, his eyes never left the door or the companions before him. His eyes were as feral as his voice as he bared sharpened fangs.

Perhaps he was not as fazed by death as Vilkas had though.

The sound of a blade scratching against its sheath pulled Vilkas's attention away from the lad.
Vilkas stopped Aela from drawing her blade by placing his hand over hers. Aela looked to him in surprise.

"Wait, I want to try something first before we do this." He was met with a look of trepidation but no arguments. Alea gave the slightest nod of her head for him to continue.

A feral werewolf would never show fear so openly as the Nord now was, human appearance or not. That was something that bothered Vilkas as the feral now watched him. His eyes though barbaric had softness to them, an understanding behind the dark circles as he looked at the two hands on the swords hilt.

"Do you want us to put you out of your misery lad?" he asked gently.

He did not want the Nord to suffer, yet the thought of killing him did not sit right with Vilkas. He had never seen a Nord look so small or broken before, only beaten dogs came close to the appearance he held. Yet he still seemed to have fought for life, surviving gods knows how long locked away in a Silverhand fort, gaining some respect from the fellow Nords, feral or not.

Vilkas wanted to see if there was any humanity left that would understand his words, If not he would have no regret killing him, but he felt as if he owed him the chance to show it.

The young Nord's face went still and unreadable as soon as the words had been spoken. His lips became pressed into a thin line, enough to hide the fangs from sight. He said nothing as he blinked his eyes, slowly and with thought.
The werewolf's face remained rather blank; but his eyes lit up with the slightest inkling of what looked to be a real understanding of the offer.

Aela snorted at the remark her brother had made to the younger man.

"We can't get him out of here with a wound like that. Besides, he's unpredictable due to the beast blood. You already saw how feral he is," she explained dryly.

Vilkas ignored her watching for any sign of decision from the werewolf below him.

The stranger shook his head back and forth unsteadily as if clearing his thoughts. It was a very human gesture to make. He then looked up to Vilkas and gave a shallow shake, his eyes less harsh than before, though were still guarded.

He did not want to die and had given a very clear sign of that. It was enough of a sign for Vilkas.

Vilkas glared at Aela as he felt her tug at her blade. He had respect for his sister, yet was not about to allow her to kill the lad who did not wish to die.

"Look, you already said he's been through enough. If he's survived that long with such wounds he's entitled to at least a chance at life."

Aela looked at him as if he had just suggested she should chew her own arm off.

"Vilkas, I agree that it takes honor and spirit to survive such an ordeal as this, but we can't just let him out! Not even a moment ago he was growling and not to mention he looks like a damned drauger. Even if we could fix him up it would take more time, supplies or experience than we have. Humanity can only last so long, it would be a wonder if he did not turn on us the moment we'd free him."

Vilkas felt ill as he listened to her. She had a point he had overlooked in his moment of brilliant thinking.

"The best we could do is shove a few potions down his gullet but we don't have anything that strong," she continued thoughtfully, her voice gentle. "There's not much choice than to put him out of his misery. It is a kindness we can spare, one either of us would hope for had we been in his place."

"Aye, but there's still a chance, the Silverhand are crafty Bastards," he argued. "They are always stuffing their pockets with curing potions. They're bound to have some decent healing potions around too. If nothing else we can help the Lad spend his last moments with his own kind, maybe find a small one to ease his suffering beforehand."

Vilkas would never admit it but he could not see another wolf die in vain today to the hands of the Silverhand. Though Aela would be the one to deliver the final blow, it would be the Silverhands achievement as they were the ones to create the problem in the first place. They would get what they wanted either way, another dead Werewolf. He didn't want to see another beast added to the list that lay outside. The memory of flies feeding off of their fear filled eyes clawed deeply at his mind.

Vilkas continued his warning scowl until Aela fully sheathed her sword. Defeated she heaved a sigh though there was no malice in it. "I'll see if I can find any potions around here then. I doubt there's any around to make enough of a difference, but I can at least find something to take off the edge. If not we put him down Brother. Good intentions do little to sooth such pains."

With that she turned and left.

As Aela walked out of sight Vilkas found himself moving closer to the door. He paused before taking the silver handle in his hands. It itched against his skin. Slowly he opened the cell door and put his foot inside, stopping to look over at the lad. The werewolf only eyed him quietly in response. Aela would have thought he had gone mad to see him approach the injure Nord. Not only minutes ago he had tried to convince her to shoot them through the bars instead of getting so close. Yet here he was, only feet away.

There was no aggressive reaction as Vilkas walked into the cell fully. The warrior slowly knelt down next to the lad, inching his way closer to look over the wounds. Still the stranger made no moves against him.

Vilkas pretended to not notice as the werewolf turned its head to watch him while he started to evaluate the wounds. The collar dug into his neck as he turned, though gave no sign that he had even felt the pain.

Though torn and bruised the skin under Vilkas's hands was soft to the touch. Many tiny burns and cuts covered the arms and legs, yet nothing seemed more serious than the gouge in the Nord's back. Serious he decided, was an understatement. Rotting flesh was never to be taken lightly, nor was the other clear signs of infection.

"Do you have a name, or anywhere we can take you? Family perhaps?" Vilkas asked to distract the werewolf as he began pulling away dead tissue from around the wound to see the full extent of the damage. It did little good as the eyes continued to stare directly at his face. It was rather eerie to have another creature known to kill and tear out the very hearts of its prey staring so intently, fellow beast or not.

At least the spine looked intact Vilkas decided. The wound was a good distraction from the stranger. There was dirt and other grime embedded deeply into the wound, maggots had actually settled into it after all. They were hard to see as they squirmed around the more infected and deeper parts of the wound. Vilkas cautiously reached in to pluck out the invading insects.

Vilkas apologized as the werewolf hissed in pain. It had not sounded quite as feral as before as it hinted at the slightest sound of a voice. Vilkas stopped attempting to remove the bugs. He had already crossed a thin line and was not about to take any more chances. The question rose again on the possibility of where the werewolf's family or home town was, but the Nord merely shook his head twice, causing Vilkas to wear a bewildered expression.

"Now, you must at least have a name right? Come on, you can tell 'ole Vilkas."

Yet again he shook his head and shared the look of surprised as well as confusion that the man had asked such a thing; the first clear sign of human emotion he had so far shown. The sudden movement made him dizzy however as his head slowly began to sink into the floor. A dazed expression replaced the last, though continued to keep a close eye on the Companion.

Vilkas was about to press further when Aela came back into the room.

She held up a large potion triumphantly if almost sarcastically for Vilkas to see. It looked like an expensive but likely effective potion. Whether it would work enough to make much of a difference was unknown, but it gave Vilkas some hope that the Lad would at least be in less pain before his demise. Aela made no comment about her brother being in the cell as she approached. Her face said it all as an eyebrow lifted in response.

After pausing at the door Aela entered as well, deciding to sit directly in front of the young Nord. He was startled but didn't move as she put a hand under his chin, blinking in an attempt to focus on the woman before him. There was a look of surprise, as if it was foreign to him to be touched so carefully that did not go unnoticed.

Aela uncorked the slender potion and tilted the strangers face so that he could drink. She waited until he was able to shake the daze long enough to see what she held clearly. His bloodshot eyes light up as he realized exactly what she held before him.

He stared at the bottle and then to Aela. It was as if he was seeing Mara herself giving him a chance. Aela stayed quiet though the slightest smile pulled at her lips in amusement. The stranger paid no heed to the other Companion, fully captivated by the one before him. Vilkas held back a huff of laughter at the sight. It was no surprise to be honest, gods only knew how long since the Nord had seen a woman of his own race that wasn't a blood covered Silverhand.

Aela lifted the bottle to the werewolf's lips, breaking him from whatever thoughts he had. He began to drink the potion unquestioningly, fully trusting and without a second thought. He was slow to swallow as the potion reached his lips. Some of it dribbled through the split on his lip and down onto his chin, taking away with it the dirt and blood that had been on his skin. The potion started to pool on the edge of the collar, creating a harsh sizzling as it touched silver.

Once he was done he pulled away and gave a small nervous look that almost resembled a smile. It was hard to tell for sure around the damage. Vilkas was surprised at how easily the lad could smile with the burn affecting his torn lips. He was also taken back by how well the smile had fit on the younger Nords face when he had been feral only moments before. It was almost frightening to realize how fast the switch had been.

Aela still held the prisoner's face in her hand, even as he made an attempt to pull away. Her other hand came up as well and rested on his forehead. There was no fever or even a detectable response of pain from the touch much to her surprise. Aela finally let go after another moment, letting him support his own head. The lack of a fever held promise.
"So now we wait for the potion to set in."

The empty bottle was tossed over her shoulder and out of the cell, only to break on the far wall making the werewolf jump.

"Aye," Vilkas responded.

Vilkas took a moment before addressing the fact the werewolf before them had no name. It was worth discussing if the lad could be a missing who was unfortunately bit. Perhaps he had once been a wanted bandit who knew better than to give his name to the Companions. The fact he was nameless left quite a gap in their knowledge about the stranger.

"I questioned the lad while you were gone."

Alea raised an eyebrow at the comment but continued to listen.

"He, well, to put it bluntly he doesn't seem have a name. Can you believe that?"

Vilkas was taken back by the saddened look that appeared on his sister's face, followed by pity and even empathy that made her hard expression soften. The woman who was known to cut the heads off bandits and slice through drauger was now pitying a werewolf youth.

"So you got him to talk then?" Aela asked, changing the subject briefly.

"No, not exactly, he shook his head a bit though. Now that you mention it he hasn't said a word."

"He probably had a name before all this, I doubt he was one of the wolves from the pack out there…He calms down too well for that, feral outbursts or not. I'm guessing he forgot his name durring the abuse and starvation. Probably forgot how to talk too."

Vilkas had not wanted to acknowledge it more than he already had but the stranger was almost nothing more than a bag of bones held together by skin. His ribs were easily seen as the skin was pulled tightly around them while there were gaps in the skin between each rib, deep and profound.

Countless bruises dotted the lad's sides and shoulders, matching the look of fists. Vilkas grimaced as he thought of what the Nord had been through.

"He's only a husk of what a Nord should be. Perhaps that can be changed in time," Aela spoke as she pondered the sight before her. "For now we will have to call him something while we decide what do to with him."

The lad eyed them curiously at the notion of a name. He had been listening into their conversation though had yet to make any move to join in. As they watched, the lad opened his mouth slightly; looking as if he were about to address the thought. Any words he had been ready to voice died as he became confused and his one good eyebrow became scrunched. He gave up and laid his head down on one of his arms; letting out the smallest huff.

The Companions waited a moment more before returning to their topic as the Werewolf continued to watch attentively.

"A name has to be something that reflects on the spirit," Vilkas thought aloud. "But I can't believe we're naming the whelp. I'm sure he will remember his own name later on."

Aela disagreed and looked the stranger over again. His eyes were now half closed as his breathing began to level out to a slower, more comfortable pace. The potion was definitely making the pain tolerable at any rate. Though how well it would manage to heal him was still something they would have to wait out.

"There's a chance he may not, and well, we can't call him scars or skinny bones in the meantime," Aela mused, finding her remark funny as she grinned.

Vilkas grunted and sneered yet soon he gave a small laugh of his own. The stranger crinkled his nose indignantly at the suggestion.

"Now what do you have to say to that? I see you don't exactly agree with our choices," Vilkas grinned. "And if nothing else I suppose we could call you the mysterious stranger now couldn't we?"

The response he received was little more than a glare before the werewolf turned his head away with an angry huff. Aela sniggered as the stranger did his best to avoid looking directly at Vilkas, quite visibly cross at his humor. Squinted eyes still kept an accusingly gaze in his direction, but it was plain to see he was far from actually being upset.

"I do not think he appreciates us joking about his new name. Can't have our favorite grump out brooded by some whelp now can we?" Aela coaxed her brother playfully. He nodded as he caught on to her game.

"Aye, that would be a shame. I've worked too damn hard on that title so those new bloods don't annoy me." Vilkas gently nudged the stranger to get his attention putting their game into play. "Say, would you forgive me if I found you a suitable name before Aela here could?"

That caught the lad's attention as he carefully eyed Vilkas, weighing the offer. He shrugged back his reply with a smile himself. He was interested now and had also caught wind of the Companions fun.

"You're on Shield brother; I have an advantage you could never have."

Vilkas sat back against the stone wall smugly. "Oh really now, and what is that exactly?"

Aela grinned evilly, crossing her arms and leaning forward towards Vilkas. "I've had to listen to Ria and Tilma prattling on lists of names for the Battleborn's future grandson."

Vilkas mocked her with a yawn and a stretch, clearly not worried by her words. The werewolf carefully watching all the while as the Companions prepared to begin their contest.

"I don't see how listening to those two go on for an hour makes you have a chance at winning. What's a few names going to do?"

Aela's grin only widened as she corrected him in a dark tone. "An Hour? No, for the last two months."

Vilkas blinked in surprise as his confidence melted away. "Well then, I'm just going to have think of even better names than them. That shouldn't be so hard."

Aela shrugged with her head tilted and a smile still shaping her lips. "Well then Brother, let's see what you got."

The wound on the lad's back began to close over the bone by the time the Companions had begun to run out of names. None of them so far had caught his attention, leaving them with little ideas left.
Torn muscle and skin slowly eased back over the gap, though there was still more left to heal. Marks from torture healed while others vanished completely.

"What about calling him Hemskir, like that annoying priest outside Jorrvaskr? If he makes it out of here it will be an act of the divines after all," Aela teased.

Vilkas rolled his eyes.

"No. What about…Olaf, like that fur trader from last season? It's a simple and strong name at least."

It was Aela's turn to roll her eyes at her brother's suggestion, which she did full heartedly.

"Let's not forget that we found Olaf rotting in a bandits den with a dagger in his back a month later."

Vilkas winced at the memory. "Aye, lad here already has enough problems without another back wound."

The werewolf watched them groggily as they tossed names back and forth. The back wound had become a shallow injury that was less of a serious threat though still showed red irritated sinew to the open air. It looked less like a failed murder and more like a failed attempt at skinning.

Vilkas swatted flies away from the wound as it healed.

Aela shrugged before making her final suggestion.

"How about calling him Husk? That is all we really know about him so far, it's basically all he is after all, a husk like you said. At least that way we'd both win and we won't have to deal with your sulking hide."

Vilkas scowled at the horrible name. It was borderline degrading.
"There is no way any decent Nord would want to be called that, there's no strength to it either. No one will take him seriously with a name like Husk!" His rant faded away as the Lad opened his eyes to stare at Aela a before tilting his head to think.

It took little more than a moment for him to smile at the two, nodding his head in acknowledgement as he picked his name. Aela shot Vilkas a triumphant smirk before standing up. Vilkas was taken aback by the name Husk had accepted, and wondered if his brains had become rattled from entrapment as he also stood.
Aela put her hand out towards the newly named werewolf.

"Well Husk, you seem well enough to be able to sit up now."

Husk looked drained at the mere thought, the previous smile faltering at the idea. Hesitantly took her hand in his before trying to pull himself upwards. He faltered, almost falling back to the floor when another helping hand appeared to steady him.

"Easy now," Vilkas warned. "You don't have to get up fast, just take your time."

Husk was pulled up and then carefully placed back down in a sitting position. His back was against the wall for support while the Companions sat almost directly in front of him, though still close enough to his sides should he begin to fall they could catch him.

The Companions gave each other worried glances as Husk sat there. Had the potion done enough to have a good enough effect on Husk? Or would they be left to spare him anyways from the pain that would soon return? Thankfully Husk began to smile again dashing away their worry, looking overly pleased at the fact he could even sit up again.

"So, are you feeling any better?" Vilkas asked, smiling as well. Husk responded with another nod as he stretched out his legs. A pleasant quietness began as Husk continued to move his legs carefully. He rubbed one of his arms too as he sat there, rubbing at the rather large bump. The potion had without a doubt removed almost all of Husks pain, and quite a good amount of damage.

Vilkas looked over at Aela, raising an eyebrow in silent question. Did she think that Husk was going to be able bodied or well tempered enough not to be put down? She responded with a shallow smile. Aela thought he would be alright, but there was still more to it than that. There was still the question on his mental stability, and now on what they would do if he could make it out of the Silverhand fort.

The trio stayed sitting for quite a while, letting Husk rest before Aela stood.

"Looks like you should be able to stand now too then. Let's see how well you do out of this cage." Husk took her hand, this time with more confidence as he tried to pull himself upwards with little of her help. He faltered almost falling again when the same helping hand appeared as before. Vilkas helped steady him with an arm around Husk's midsection and pulled him into a standing position; careful not to touch the wound.

The pair waited there until Husk no longer needed to lean on them as much, giving time to collect his bearings as the world spun from the effort. Husk began to move his feet forward carefully. He continued to stumble but the companions kept a steady hold on him.

After minutes of shambling Husk was able to finally take a few shaky steps out of his cell. He lifted his foot over the silver door frame shakily. Husk made no eye contact, focusing instead on his feet as if that if they would stop working the moment he would look away.

Vilkas couldn't help but notice that Husk stood half a head shorter than he as he supported the fellow werewolf's weight. It was just about even with Aela's height. Had Aela noticed she made no sign, leaving Vilkas to question the odd height alone.

Husk slowly glanced about for any Silverhand and smiled as he was told of their demise.

"So what now, should we drop him off somewhere?" Vilkas asked before carefully stepping away, letting the werewolf stand on his own.

"No. We'll take him back to Jorrvaskr," Aela decided, removing her arm as well once she was certain their new comrade would not fall. "Perhaps the Harbinger will know what to do with him."

Vilkas was taken by surprise by the sudden decision but found himself agreeing. It was the best option they had. Who knew what Husk would do once he would be left alone after all? They could not leave him only to have him attack a village nearby.

"Either way he can't go walking out in the snow wearing only trousers, he'd freeze to death before we got even half way there!" Aela pointed out, snorting a little at the end. The idea of Husk's body lying lifeless in the snow was more than Vilkas cared to think about, as he agreed with Aela.

"I wonder what Elriah will say when we bring a stranger to Jorrvaskr?"

Aela shrugged at her brother's question though looked troubled. "Perhaps we should send word to him first. There aren't very many options at this point now that Husk' managed to survive. He won't object to one more werewolf on his doorstep."

Vilkas didn't doubt that. Not even two years prior a man had appeared at their door asking for the Companions to destroy him before he could hurt anyone else. Elriah had coaxed the man inside before finding out that he was a werewolf who had already attacked two towns on his way there. Instead of fulfilling the man's plea he instead housed him in their halls. Vilkas found himself wondering what had ever happened to werewolf.

The thought of a werewolf made him turn to look at their new found friend. An empty space where he stood moments before greeted him instead. Aela was perplexed as she also realized that Husk had left, though simply shrugged it off.

"He's fast, I'll give him that."

Not an hour before Husk had been unable to move, and now he had vanished without a trace.

"How the hell did he manage to slip away like that?" Vilkas wondered aloud, amazement finding its way into his voice.

"Simple," his sister explained, "It's the potion. It should have numbed him up quite well from the size of it. Must have finally kicked in if he was able to scurry off like that at any rate. We should go find him, can't have him slipping away after all that. I'd hate to find him dead from falling down the stairs."

The sarcasm went ignored as Vilkas prepared to look for missing lad. He was sure he couldn't have gotten too far numbness or not the wound was sure to keep him tired.

They had barely exited the hall when they saw the shadow on the wall in front of them. Someone had walked up from behind. It was the shortest search they had ever been in to say the least.
Husk tapped on Aela's shoulder lightly for her to turn around and opened his arms for her approval. Vilkas was amazed at how quiet the lad had been, even with his injuries. Husk was now wearing miners clothing he had looted from nearby, as well as a silver dagger in a belt that was loosely wrapped around him. He held a shy, yet proud look on his young face as he stood for inspection. The collar still showed but was mostly hidden by the shirts wrinkled neck. Its eerie gleam a clear reminder that it still held on tightly to his neck.

Aela scowled at the blade before reaching out and snatching it from his belt. Husk looked confused, but became white as he realized what he had been carrying. He became frightened as Aela stared begrudgingly at his choice of weaponry, making Vilkas worry about the more feral nature resurfacing. The lad must have taken it directly from a Silverhand corpse or from a bed stand and put it on without realizing what sort of weapon was attached.

Aela took his hand and pulled out her own dagger before placing it into Husk's hands. The silver dagger was tossed to the side. Husk gave her a bewildered glance as he looked to the dagger then back to her, making sure he was allowed to take it before putting it carefully in his belt.

"If you're coming with us you need to be armed, and not with Silver. Take my dagger for now, but once we return to Jorrvaskr I expect you to give it back."

Vilkas grinned at Husk a he finished his own inspection. "As well as you did you forgot one thing Husk, you can't go barefoot out in the snow now can you?"

Husk frowned before looking at his exposed feet, giving his toes a quick wiggle before he turned and left again. Vilkas watched as he walked away, watching the starved body leave the room without an ounce of worry. Vilkas received a look from his shield sister. Her eyebrow was raised and her lips were curled in a wicked smile. Vilkas returned the look with a glare. He did not want to know what was on Aela's mind, or what thoughts were hidden behind the smirk.

Husk returned with boots as well as small pocket sized bags he had scrounged up carefully in hand. He handed one to Aela without a word and smiled carefully again. It was a simple coin purse that opened easily as she pulled in the ties. Inside she found coins as expected and small soul gems that would make quite a few coins on their own on the market.

"There is no need to pay me for your freedom, but I will accept the gift." The response made Husk smile more as he handed another bag filled with the same to Vilkas. It was clearly his way of thanking them as his words could not say it. Instead of thanking the boy, Vilkas ruffled the lad's hair before nudging him towards the door. Husk was stunned by the rougher yet unaggressive physical contact and gave his savior a wide eyed look before hiding it away. Vilkas yet again nudged him towards the door, this time a bit more persuasively. Without hesitation the werewolf stepped back so that h was behind the companions and followed their lead as they left the cells behind.

Husk eyed the bodies as they would walk past them. Aela saw how Husk would glare at the corpses as the group rounded the corners. Bodies were scattered here and there, the result from the failed ambush. He was happy to see them dead and left to rot as they had done to him. It was more than happy though as his eyes squinted with glee. Revenge had been dealt even if it had not been by his own hands. Aela's steps slowed as she came to a full stop and turned to look at the Nord. Vilkas stopped next to her as did Husk, both wondering clearly why they had stopped in the middle of the room.

Aela's face held the slightest smile as she gestured with her head to the nearest body.

"Go on, kid. You know you want to."

Husk took no time turning to the closest Silverhand. His leg pulled back sharply as he kicked at the body as hard as he could right in its side nudging the body away. There was little strength behind it, though it was enough to throw him off balance. Alea grabbed his arm before he could fall and helped him steady him. Vilkas let out a laugh at Husk's proud beaming face.

Husk was smiling ear to ear at the fact he had kicked the Silverhand. It might not have been the revenge he had hoped for, but it felt just as good all the same. Either way his captors were dead and he was free. His eyes held a fire in them that was now able to burn. There was pride and the hope of freedom, burning low though strong.

It was a fire that Vilkas knew there was still a beast lurking behind the flames, and it was not one they could leave unchecked. Pride was a tool that Husk would need, but it would feed the wolf as well. They would have to bury that wolf down as far as they could.