"When the lambs is lost in the mountain, he said. They is cry. Sometime come the mother. Sometime the wolf." -Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian


2 - Hounded

Beyond the deer hide that hung in the doorway of the hut lay a narrow wooden porch, its steps leading down to well-tromped dirt. Walls of interlocked wood hemmed the building at two sides, and opposite them stretched the village. The sky was a dull gray, and mist hung in the air beyond the huts and the longhouses, which were all built on stilts, a few feet above the ground. Through the ebbing fog there were hints of more walls, a skeletal watchtower looming above it all.

Down on the dirt path, people milled about. Women bent over claw pots, a pair of men walked by carrying a net full of fish between them, and a clump of children knelt, weaving something out of long grass. They all looked a bit like Durlyle and Delainy, with an earthy tone to their skin and a narrow cast to their eyes, a bit like the people of Kara-Tur. These people didn't look entirely like easterners, though; some sported auburn or even blondish hair, all worn long.

And they were dressed in…well, not in much, despite the morning chill. Ashura had assumed that Durlyle would put something on over the underclothes he had been wearing in the hut, but all he had donned over the loincloth was a fur cloak and footwraps. The other men were dressed much the same: loincloths under cloaks, some of them made from fur or hide, and others from fiber-cloth. Some of the cloaks were conventional, but others covered the front of the body, slit to open at the sides.

The women all wore garments much like Ashura's and Delainy's: loose, plain dresses that left the arms and shoulders uncovered and came down to the knee. Man or woman, the collarbone was always bared, displaying blue and red tattoos. Every tattoo looked the same; a marker of membership in the clan, it seemed.

There was something else off about their appearance, which she couldn't quite put her finger on. In the tomes of Candlekeep she had seen many illustrations depicting tribal peoples, from Chult to the scattered forest elves to the Uthgardt of the Savage North. There was something different here. Something off. Something…missing.

No one approached as Ashura stepped down and surveyed the place, the siblings padding along behind her; all she got were wary looks. "So this place is..?" she asked, looking to the siblings. They just gave her blank stares. "Does the island have a name? Does the village?" If she had to guess, they were somewhere a bit west of the Nelanther Isles. Then again, she was no ship's navigator.

"It is…home," Durlyle offered. "Apologies. Island is small. There is no other village. Just here," he gestured. "And the wild." He waved to the north.

"Come." Delainy beckoned, leading the way down the dirt path and towards a storehouse.

The four dead sailors had been laid on a carpet of woven grass across the building's floor, blue lipped, ghost-pale, and dressed in torn and sodden clothes. Ashura recognized them, certainly: members of the Harpsong's crew. It was a relief, however, that neither Edwin, Shar-Teel, nor Alora were among the corpses.

She smiled and nodded. "Huh. None of my friends here. Bet Edwin survived, at the least. He had all sorts of contingencies set up to protect himself from the sea." Or so he had bragged.

Durlyle gave her a curious look. "This Edwin. He is your mate?"

"Eh?" Oh yeah. That universal question all young men find an awkward way of asking. "No." Well, you could say that she had mated with Edwin a few times (Ha! He'd hate to hear it put that way), but she wasn't about to start fawning or asking to come home and meet his parents. And no reason to talk to these strangers about who she had or hadn't slept with on a whim. "He's an ally. A pretty useful one too," (if you can ignore the constant whining). "A skilled conjurer."

In addition to the dead bodies, the room had two living occupants: a pair of middle aged women. They had sour looks on their faces, and one gestured at the siblings, speaking in their native tongue. "Externus, si reliquero."

The other woman nodded. "Videatur nobis non metus kott."

Delainy took Ashura by the arm and tugged. "Come. They need prepare the bodies."

Nodding, Ashura let herself be led, trying to keep her face blank. 'Prepare' was not quite the proper translation, as she understood it. 'Metus' was an old Thorassi word for 'cutting,' and 'kott' was the Illuskan word for 'meat.' So this might be an island of cannibals? Lovely.

"So what now?" Ashura asked, glancing around, once they were outside.

"We meet with the Gan," Delainy answered. She fumbled for the proper words. "The…she is mother to clan."

"The headwoman?"

"Yes. She will decide what is to be done with you."

"That sounds a bit ominous."

"What?" Delainy gave her a curious look, then shook her head. "Oh. No, you are our guest. We will not hurt. The Gan only decide how best to greet. She is kind. You will see."

They made their way through the walled-in space of the village, from one dirt path to the next. Ahead lay an open square, with a series of firepits. "So," Ashura asked as they went, "you two are the village healers?"

"Could be saying that, yes," Durlyle replied. "My sister is more healer than I." He patted Delainy's shoulder. "We apprentice under wise woman, but I felt less of the…calling of the Great Hunter. And I know to spot the plants but…well…the doing with them…"

Delainy chuckled. "I make better medicine. He lacks the patience. But my brother took to the campfire and the stories, passed from great-grandmothers to ears of the pups. He gestures. Makes stories come to life." She shook her head. "I too shy for that."

"So, together, we fill the job. Ludil —the wise one— left a great cloak to fill, but we try."

"She died, I take it?" Ashura asked.

"Yes. Taken by the beasts beyond the wall. She fell defending Jorin and his hunting party. A sad night, four moons ago."

The headwoman, Kaishais Gan, was an intimidating figure: well over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and muscular, with ice-blonde hair that had Ashura thinking of northern valkyries. Her voice, however, was surprisingly soft. "You are the stranger then," she asked by way of greeting, descending the steps from one of the longhouses. Big hands took hold of Ashura's shoulders, and then the woman leaned in to sniff at her hair. An awkward moment followed, Ashura just standing there, arms loose at her sides. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff.

When she tilted back, Kashais' eyes probed Ashura's. "Strong blood in you. Power. Where did you receive it? From who?"

Ashura cocked her head. "Uh. From my father, I guess. He was…a power, you might say."

"Ah. So all your life. This is good. You learn control, like us."

"She is not like us," a voice objected. A man was stepping down the longhouse steps. He was wiry and middle aged, and like everyone else Ashura had encountered, he turned his nose up towards her and sniffed. Was it some sort of shaman's power that these people had, sussing things out through scent? Or maybe she just stank really bad. She resisted the urge to lift an arm and check.

Turning to Kashais, the man continued to speak, now in their native tongue. "Est fortis. Ita…" Meaning: "She is strong. Yes. But it runs wild in her. Like the beasts. The others. How do we know she is no spy? And that sword…"

"Hm," Kaishais grunted. She spoke to Ashura, in Chondatahn. "I would like to see sword."

"Sure." Ashura drew the shortblade from its sheath and held it up between them. The man recoiled, and the headwoman took a step back as well.

"Quod si missus uti man metallblad nobis?!" the man hissed ("What if she was sent to use the moon-metal blade against us?!") "Condemnabitus nobis, Kashais!" ("You endanger us, Kashais!")

Ashura rolled her eyes. "Non autem impetum," she snapped in old Thorassi. "See," she went on, still speaking their tongue, "I'm just holding it up. Happy to prove myself. Point me at one of these 'beasts' of yours, and I'll kill it. Give me a task and I'll do it. I'm not your enemy."

The man grew no less suspicious. "You speak our tongue?"

Maybe revealing that was a mistake. Ah well. "Apparently," she went on, still speaking Thorassi. She sheathed the sword. "You're speaking the old trade tongue of the Western Heartlands. Scholars still use it, and I grew up among scholars."

"Or you are a spy for the others."

Kashais shook her head. "This woman is foreign. Look at her seashell-skin. The round eyes. And they are a shade of blue we do not see. She is not belonging, to either clan." She faced Ashura fully. "But I say that she could be belonging."

"Uh…" Ashura raised a hand. "I was sailing for Amn. With my friends. If they're still out there…"

"Of course. Today, you are a guest. We shall see about the matter of belonging later, should it come to that." She pursed her lips in thought. "Though, you mentioned a task. In the clan, we all work our way, and there are tasks for this day. Perhaps…"

"Of course," she said. "Happy to help." She shot the wiry man a glare.


Everywhere, there were verdant green leaves and blooming flower-vines. The leaves dripped, the forest floor was soft and soggy, and their boots or bare feet (several of the sailors went that way) squelched through the mud. In the lead walked the big, brutish woman, followed by Edwin, then the sailors.

There was Raface, of course, walking just behind a tall, blonde man with impressively meaty arms. He had been the ship's boatswain (and now made a potentially decent meat-shield). Next came a spindly, Turmic woman with nut-brown skin and dreadlocks that were dyed in vivid reds, yellows, and blues, rather reminiscent of a tropical bird, along with a big Chultan man who had served as the ship's cook (a passable one, too), and a pudgy (though pleasantly buxom) woman with freckles and copper-red hair, who had served as one of the ship's mates. Ratface and the chubby one were both armed with knives, and the other sailors carried oars as improvised clubs.

Oh, and of course there was the halfling sprite, who skipped from the lead to the rear of the group and back again as they went, constantly pointing at colorful plants and exclaiming about their beauty. "For a thief," Edwin muttered down at her when she passed by, "you are spectacularly loud."

Alora was nonplussed, just turning and giving him a huge, toothy smile. "A big part of thiefin' is making noise, silly! Distractions and misdirection! Everyone knows that!" She looked around. "Though, since we're playin' at rangerin' today, I guess being totally quiet would be the thing to do. Like, if we were rangers, we'd be paddin' through here without making a sound, so as not to alert those doggies we heard earlier."

"An excellent idea. Why don't you play at rangering?"

She giggled. "Bet I can be quieter than youuu."

"I bet you cannot."

To Edwin's utter shock, the halfling girl shut her mouth, keeping pace beside him and going quiet as a cat. A little pointless, since the tromping of the five sailors was loud enough to alert the entire island to their presence, 'doggies' included, but it was a nice change.

A few minutes later, as they wound along the trail, Shar-Teel turned to look over her shoulder. "Edwin," she hissed. "I thought of something."

"A rare-"

"Stuff it." She talked over him. "You're always conjuring stuff up. Furniture and the like. Can't you just…conjure us a boat?"

He felt the eyes of all the simpletons shift to him. Hrmph! Was this intentional? Was she trying to entrap him? Force him to admit an inadequacy? The big wench often proved more cunning than she looked, after all (the sort of low cunning that a she-gnoll who had bitten and provoked her way to the front of the pack might possess). His answer was measured. "The spells do not work that way."

"Then what good are you?"

Edwin glared. "What good? Why, I am the only hope you have of escaping this miserable rock. Simply conjuring a seaworthy ship from the ether is impossible —for reasons that your simple minds could never hope to grasp. However, if we can find the remains of our broken vessel, my arts can be used to fabricate any pieces needed to repair it. Within a few days, we might rebuild the ship, and sail away with this skeleton crew, supplemented by conjured elementals. So in a way, yes, I can conjure a boat, and you would do well to stay on my good side while we work out the minor details, lest that boat leave you behind!"

Snorting, Shar-Teel turned away and muttered something. ("I'll believe it when I see it," sounded like.) Still, the threat seemed to almost cow her. Pleasant how, sometimes, reminding the ungifted of what magic is truly capable of might (temporarily) humble them. Especially when you omit key details.

Also, best not to mention that he actually had a spell that could whisk them off the island at any time. Well, some of them. The drawback to teleporting was that the spell did not have the power to take them all, and could only move them to locales that he was familiar with. Back on the coast, he had burned a lot of bridges recently, and was in no mood to go backwards if he could help it. Better to head to Athkatla, if they still could, and with the Bhaalspawn girl, if she yet lived. Combination bodyguards and bedwarmers did not grow on trees, after all.

Up ahead, the foliage was thinning. The sun had begun to peak through the clouds and the canopy, throwing shafts of light down onto the mossy forest floor and what appeared to be some moldering ruin, propped up against a lichen-choked boulder. The remains of a…house? Some sort of structure at least, though only wooden pillars and a few crossbeams remained. Cautiously, they approached the clearing.

"Looks old," Shar-Teel muttered.

"A sign that there were people here," the boatswain said. "At least."

As they neared the ruin, other hints of habitation caught their eyes: piled up stones, an overgrown space that looked to have been dug out, and more pillars. Four of them were taller than the rest, spaced close. The remains of a watchtower, perhaps? Had this once been a fortification? The boulder was jagged, tall, and sharply vertical. A natural wall.

"We should check-" the pudgy ship's mate began, but she froze at a sound from the wood: baying — one dog's high and squeaky voice followed by a chorus. It was hard to count, but the voices from the pack were many: yips and snarls and howls and barks all increasing in frequency and volume. Next came the sound of crashing through the brush.

They all turned around. No sign of the pack yet; just vines and leaves and branches, but it seemed that the dogs were coming.

Shar-Teel was the first to act, spinning around and pointing to the ruins with her bladed gauntlet. "Get to that rock!" she shouted, then sprinted.

Seemed like a good idea. They ran through the clearing, stomping over flowers and tall weeds. The big boatswain slipped into the lead, taller and faster than even Shar-Teel, yet somehow the halfling girl, whose head barely came up past the man's knee, managed to race right behind him. Alora had picked up a stick, for some reason. Looked like a rather pitiful weapon.

As they neared the first set of pillars, with the rock wall perhaps a dozen strides ahead, the halfling shouted: "Wa-wa-wait!" No one slowed, until she leapt ahead and hugged the boatswain's knees, forcing him to stumble. He managed to remain up right, the others slowing behind him, and then Alora untangled herself, hopped past, and smashed her stick down through the weeds and grass.

Clack! The rusty jaws of a foot-trap burst out from the brush, clamping together. "Watch out!" Alora shouted. "There's some more, in the ruins."

"Well that's just great," Edwin groaned, whirling around. The yipping and barking had grown in pitch. Branches rattled and leaves shook. A shaggy body shot between the trees, keeping to the brush.

Edwin glared ahead. The first snout that peaked out would get a nose full of fireball. The words of the spell were on the tip of his tongue.

Another clack sounded behind them. Alora was hopping forward through the grass, poking the traps one by one.

Up ahead the brush shook some more, and a figure finally emerged. Edwin took aim but…it was a woman, not a dog. Her bare arms flailed and her tattered skirts billowed as she flew down the path towards them, eyes wide with terror. "Helping me!" she screamed in broken Chondathan. "Helping me! Thou must!"

The big boatswain rushed up to meet her, his oar raised high to beat back any dogs. The barking and crashing continued, though it seemed to be spreading out. Just one target. Give me one target. Fire would ward the things off surer than any stick.

Another clack. "That's the last foot-biter…ack! Wait! One more!"

The running woman had crossed over to the ruins now, stumbling and dropping to her knees in front of the boatswain. She was dressed in a ragged gown whose colors had long ago bled out, leaves tangled in her messy brown hair. Barefoot too, with mud-streaked arms and a face contorted by fear; she was the very picture of a harried damsel, almost as if she had stepped out of a storybook.

Clack! "Now that's the last trap! For really-reals."

"It's alright," the boatswain was telling the woman, a hand on her shoulder. "It's alright." He looked over her head, towards the forest. "Those are wolves?"

The unseen pack (wolves, dogs, jackals, yeth hounds, hellhounds, or whatever they were) had still not broken from the line of trees and brush. In fact, they seemed to have slowed, and the yips and barks were dying down. The boatswain's crew had edged forward to join their comrade, their weapons up and ready. Shar-Teel stood behind them, neck craned, almost like she was a wolf herself, scenting the air.

"Wolves?" the strange woman replied, reaching up to grip the boatswain's arm and pull herself up. "Yes." The fear had left her voice. The forest went silent. "Wolves, here."

All at once there was a terrible blurring and ripping, the woman's dress going from ragged to rags and her mud-splotched skin rippling out into thick muscles and coarse, brown fur. The boatswain tried to yank himself back, but claws dug into his forearm, ripping as they pulled. Blood trickled to the grass, the man screamed in pain and shock and terror all at once, and then the wolf-thing was yanking him down to clamp her teeth to the front of his throat.

The sailors leapt back, screaming. Edwin, meanwhile, had slipped the fireball reagent back into its pouch, cursing to himself. Too many fools in the way.

Around the wolf-thing and the bleeding man, the sailors had all scattered, turning from the frenzy of teeth and blood to flee. The one with the colorful hair took off first, blindly racing away, towards the trees.

"Stop!" Shar-Teel shouted after her. "Idiot!"

Too late. A pair of shaggy bodies burst from the tree-line, racing at an angle towards the running sailor. Wolves, on four legs, rather than two. She tried to turn from them, harried and herded towards the nearest copse of trees and brush.

Edwin aimed a finger and launched a blast of fire at one of the creatures, managing to catch it in the side and eliciting a yelp, but the beast zipped away into the undergrowth and the other one managed to pounce upon the sailor's back, throwing her face-first into the bushes. Her ceaseless scream of terror rose up and transformed, becoming a choked, agonized cry.

While the idiot sailors had clamored every-which-way, Shar-Teel barreled full-speed at the upright wolf, her longword raised to deliver a viscous chop and a warcry on her lips. Good.

Edwin turned his attention from her to the forest. Blast! Seemed there was little to be done for the parrot-haired woman; her screaming had ceased, she'd disappeared into the brush, and there were countless snarls and yips coming from her position. A feeding frenzy, by the sound of it. At least in death she'd drawn the pack together, and made them a single target.

Palms open, and turning round and round, Edwin intoned one of his most powerful spells, conjuring up a ball of orange smoke between his hands. Once it had formed he hurled it forward to fly between the trees, where it exploded in a hissing cloud that billowed up to shroud the wood. Pained yips spread through the forest.

There. He turned towards the wolf-woman now, in time to see Shar-Teel stumble back, the front of her scalemail tattered and the rents in the armor edged with blood. The werewolf left the ground in a leap, claws first, aiming to bring Shar-Teel down, but the warrior-woman turned her stumble into a roll to the side, springing up and away from the creature.

As the werewolf flew, a streak of arcane bolts sailed from Edwin's fingertips, striking the beast's shoulder and chest, then shattering into sparks. It was not clear if the attack had even singed the creature's hide, and once it landed it whirled on Shar-Teel, ignoring Edwin completely. (A little insulting.)

A violet blur came streaking in between the warrior-woman and the wolf: Alora, charging fast as she could at the roaring monster, shouting "Bad doggie!"

What in the Hells…

"Bad! Bad! Bad!" Alora repeated. The werewolf bent in low, jaws wide, and for a moment Edwin was sure the halfling girl would be bitten in two.

Instead, Alora leapt, flying higher than it seemed possible for her little legs to carry her. She planted a foot on the top of the creature's head, and it reared up, tilting back in an attempt to catch the girl in its jaws. That motion just propelled Alora further into the air, vaulting over the beast's back and towards one of the wooden pillars. She caught the trunk of it with a hug, near the top, then scampered up, standing on top.

With a roar the werewolf followed after her, racing along the ground. A full-bodied swing of its paw struck the trunk of the pillar, but Alora had anticipated that and jumped just as it did, flying from one pillar to another. She caught the next one just as she had the first, shimmied up, and then got onto her feet at the top. "Can't catch meeee!" she shouted down.

The beast took the bait, charging for the other pillar now.

Shaking his head at the absurdity of Alora's little game, Edwin drew in a breath for his next spell.


There was almost nothing left of the ship, at least on this little spar of rock and sand; just a shattered, belly-up section of the hull. By the shape of it this looked to be the forecastle of the Harpsong, along with some splintered poles that had once been masts. Approaching the tub of jagged wood, Ashura turned on the beach and looked out to the sea. Likely the stern and midsection, with the cabins and the hold (where her armor had been stored) were out there under the water. She frowned.

Above them, the sun had broken through the clouds, sparkling on the surf and the pebble-sand, and a gentle wind rolled across the light carpet of seagrass that clung to the shore. Gulls cawed and wheeled through the sky. "Little, and broken," Durlyle observed, "but there is good wood here." He was speaking his native tongue, now that it was clear that Ashura understood it. Funny. She was probably the one who sounded stilted now. She was also starting to notice that there were words here and there that she didn't recognize. Words that sounded completely alien, and not based on Thorassi or Illuskan at all.

Kaishas took a deep breath. "Yes. We will strip it. A shame there are no sails intact."

Kneeling at the shoreline and facing away from the others, Ashura searched for any sign of the rest of the ship. Nothing but foam and waves, far as the eye could see. There was no sign of the lifeboats either, at least. That gave her a little hope. She turned. "Is there any way to search the water? For more salvage?"

Delainy gave the sea a thoughtful look. "The tide will only go a little lower. And the waters are cold, though that can be born easily with a blessing from the Great Hunter." She nodded to herself. "I could dive and search."

"What was the cargo?" another member of the clan asked. Taloun was his name, and he was different from the others in many ways: with a bushy red beard and a pinkish, freckled cast to his skin. Between the hair, the freckles, and the man's accent, he seemed to have originally hailed from the Moonshes, though he had just introduced himself to Ashura as 'an old seadog.' Like her, he was a castaway; the survivor of an Amnish merchant vessel that had been sunk by a kraken, saved by the villagers a few years back.

"Hm. Think it was mostly pelts and hides," she answered. "From up north. Valuable stuff in the Amnish markets."

Taloun whistled, and the eyes of the others all went wide. "Beshaba's breath," the sailor swore in Chondathan. "That's a damn shame."

"Sorry. There's a shortage, I take it?"

"There are no hides or furs left," Durlyle said with a sad shake of his head. "There was once much game in the forest, but now even the bears are gone. Hunted to the last by the beasts."

"Ah." She looked up and down the sandbar. "Maybe some crates washed up? They might have floated."

"Aye," Kaishas agreed. "We shall spread and sweep the sands for salvage. Bring whatever you can carry back to the wreck. And Delainy shall dive and search the waters." She looked to the young healer. "Do not stray far. Just see if there is salvage beneath the surface."

A nod from Delainy, as she placed her hands together and rubbed them, a warm glow beginning to emanate from her palms. "Do not fear. The sharks will let me pass." The glow was apparently a 'blessing from the Great Hunter.' It spread, silhouetting her for a moment, and then faded.

They fanned out to search the beach, walking the sands and threading their way past the clumps of jellyfish that the storm had drudged up. There was little to find but driftwood and seaweed, until Taloun spotted something sticking out of the sand. Several somethings, in fact: three broad and sturdy table legs, carved from mahogany and gently tapered. Once they had gathered and dug a bit in the sand, they found the edge of the table that the legs belonged to, and managed to lift and flip it.

Ashura laughed. "Heh. Think this was the captain's desk. Maybe has some gems in it or something." The moment she had said that, she felt a little silly. Doubtful that these people cared a whit for polished rocks.

Still, Kaishas was eager to yank the top drawer open, a hopeful, almost hungry look in her eyes. That look did not fade when she reached in, pulling a handful of scrolls out. Gently unfurling one, she gasped, and Taloun slipped in beside her. One glance at the scroll, and he laughed a joyous laugh, as if they had found the lost treasure of Black Alaric himself.

"Is this truly it?" Kaishas asked the sailor.

"It is! It is my Gan! Sea charts! A fine collection of 'em at that!"

"Then we've reason to celebrate tonight."


They raced through the forest now, the barking of the wolves and the pained screech of Edwin's summoned creature echoing behind them. The conjured pawn (a giant, barbed, and armored insect straight from the pits of the Second Hell), was buying them a retreat, even if it's pincers could not pierce the damnable hides of these thrice-damnable upright wolves. The bulk of the pack appeared to be worgs, and his spells had managed to fell a few, but the pair of creatures that led them…

Dogs and wolves have thick hides, and the enchanted sort are even worse. These creatures were so leathery-thick, it seemed, that they even shrugged off evocations. He could throw more conjured creatures at them, but that would only be a delaying measure, now that the wolves had taken down the hellish mantis.

They burst out of the woods and into an open field of grass and wildflowers, Shar-Teel stumbling along with a hand pressed to the ragged wound at her chest. Behind her ran the cook, the pudgy ship's mate, and Ratface. Alora wasn't immediately in sight, but that hardly meant that she'd been eaten. Edwin did not concern himself, instead, standing and turning to face the forest. A strategically placed wall of fire would impede their pursuers for a little-

"Look'it that!" Alora (down at grass level) squeaked.

Edwin turned. At the far side of the field there seemed to be some sort of rickety wooden structure. Good. A defensible position. Saving his conjured flames for later, he took the lead and hurried towards the cabin. He slowed, however, when they drew nearer and the crude wooden door flew open, a hunched figure emerging.

Bah! If this is another shape-shifter…

Still, the hut seemed the best bet. Edwin jogged on, eying the figure, as they ran by neatly planted rows of blooming yellow flowers. The man in the doorway was dressed about as poorly as the woman-turned-wolf had been (a bad sign), in a threadbare shirt and tattered trousers, all riddled with holes and smudged with dirt. He appeared to be elven as well; sharp features, tapered ears, silver hair and such, though his face was more lined and worn than any of the fair folk that Edwin had ever seen.

"In here!" the elf shouted once they had neared, beckoning. "Come in! And you'd better not be figments this time! I've had enough of that." For some odd reason he was speaking old Thorassi.

Stopping at the door, Edwin crossed his arms. The pack had not emerged from the forest yet. There was room for cautious negotiation (or to blast this suspicious hermit with a spell, if need be.) "Into a wolf's layer?" he asked, speaking the old, dead tongue. "I think not."

"Bah," the elf huffed. "I'm no wolf." He pointed past Edwin's feet. "Wouldn't have made it past all that wolfsbane if I was."

Edwin glanced back. Hn. Those were indeed flowers that were colloquially known as 'wolfsbane,' but warding off werewolves? It all seemed rather silly. He turned back to the elf. "We will enter, if you back up, and keep your distance."

The elf grumbled again. "I go centuries without proper company, and when some finally shows it's a huffy Thayvian. Go figure." Still, he did back up.

The cabin's interior was no less dilapidated than the exterior; windowless, dusty, and lined with various kegs and barrels, along with a shelf of neatly arranged jars of herbs on the far wall. Looked like more of a storage space than any sort of home.

The elven man had backed up to one of the barrels, and now he cocked his head to examine his guests. "Yes, can't be figments. Far too vivid a shade of red, and I'm certain that I would never dream up a Thayvian rescuer."

Ignoring the lunatic's rantings, Edwin turned back to the door. The howls and cries of the wolves were growing in pitch. Sounded as if they had entered the wildflower field. "Shut and bar that door!" he shouted to the sailors. They gave him a stupid look, then leapt to obey. "We'd best use every measure to barricade ourselves, as I doubt these beasts can be warded off with…arnica flowers?"

The elf chortled. "When the flowers are blessed by The Moonmaiden? They most certainly can. One of the many tricks I use to keep the creatures back."

The three remaining sailors had shut the door, and were now propping whatever they could find against it. "Erm…careful please," the elf muttered. "Though if it makes you feel better, I suppose you can play at rearranging my barrels. Just don't break anything." There was no indication that the simpletons understood a word he said.

Shar-Teel had slumped down on one of the kegs, clutching at her wounds. Blood dripped down her fingers and ran between the scales of her armor. "You say The Moonmaiden?" she asked through clenched teeth, speaking Thorassi.

Edwin raised an eyebrow at the big brute speaking the tongue of western scholars. Ah yes, she was raised nobility, wasn't she?

"Yes," the elf replied. "A strange goddess for one of the Tel-quesser to venerate, but I was ready to drop on my knees for-"

"Don't care!" she shouted. "You a healer?" Her eyes swished down to her wounded chest, then up to give the elf a significant look.

He caught on. "Ah, yes. Just minor blessings, but I can see to…" He froze, cocking his head. "Oh. You were not…bitten, were you? You're not about to transform? You do seem a bit…bristly."

Shar-Teel growled, which didn't encourage the elf at all. "No," she snapped. "It just…" she searched for words. No doubt she'd be saying something more colorful in Chondathan. "Hit me a bit. Would you get on with the prayer before I cover your floor with blood?"

"It could do with some color. But yes. Yes. I will see what I can do to heal you. And we will need to wash the wounds, and watch you closely." He gestured towards the other doorway in the drab chamber, which seemed to lead down into some sort of earthen cellar. "Down there. There's carpets where we can lay you down, and a freshwater spring in the cave, for washing. And belladonna flowers. Can't be too careful." He offered an arm, and after a long glare Shar-Teel grudgingly took it and let the elven man help her towards the steps.

"My true home is down there," the elf went on. "And you all can take shelter. Although, there's something I'll be wanting in return."

"Isn't that always the case?" Edwin grumbled, following them down.