A/N:I went back and expanded some of the first chapter with regards to the villagers and Fastus to better explain why they turned on Fenras and Greta so quickly (Thanks to Sapphire Basil over on Spacebattles for his excellent suggestions! They helped a lot); feel free to look back over it, but nothing really changed that would influence the story going forward, so it's totally optional to do so. Last but not least, a warning to animal lovers: this chapter will have some slight graphic elements to it—I did my best to keep it from getting outright cruel or gory, though.


"This one has much to explain, Ja'Fenras."

Fenras stared in confusion at J'Darro for a few moments before the pieces clicked into place. "...Master J'Darro... what is it that you know about me, and how long have you known?"

The Khajiit hunter sighed, gazing out of the tent and into the dancing flames of the campfire. "Truthfully, this one knew nothing until the night before he found you," he replied. "This one has long worshipped Hircine, but never did he believe that the Lord of All Hunters would... speak to him. Though 'speak' is perhaps not the proper word. Like you, J'Darro had a dream; in that dream, he was hunting when he saw a giant stag of pure white that sometimes seemed to be a wolf. There were words in this one's head that yet seemed to come from the stag, saying that I must travel along the road between Markarth and Whiterun until I reached a certain cave. It did not say why."

In spite of his shock, Fenras found that he couldn't come up with anything to say; after a while, J'Darro continued.

"When this one found you, he did not at first connect you with the vision; as this one slowly learned of your... differences, he began to sense that there was something about you connected to Hircine. This one still does not know what you are, or what that connection might be—only that you are somehow both blessed and cursed by the Lord of All Hunters."

"Master J'Darro, Hircine told me—"

"His words were for you, and you alone. This one knows all he must of you," J'Darro interrupted with a wave of his hand before looking Fenras in the eye. "Ja'Fenras is this one's apprentice."

A silence passed between them.

"M-Master... what else do you know about Hircine? I want to know more about him."

And maybe find out more about myself in the process, thought Fenras.

J'Darro smiled warmly. "J'Darro shall gladly tell you all he knows. Hircine... as far as Daedric Princes go, He is one of the more complex. As such, many people believe Him to be evil... but they merely misunderstand that complexity.

"Hircine is not merely the embodiment of the Hunt—He is also the embodiment of nature and the wild. Nature can be cruel and unforgiving, yes; but nature can also be generous and kind to those who show it the proper respect. It is both chaotic—always changing, with all living creatures in its realm in an endless and often ruthless competition for survival—and orderly, with the chaos always somehow leading to a certain stability as the vast web of life finds balance through that competition. There is only one element of it that remains constant, whether it is chaotic or orderly, cruel or kind: above all else, it is fair and impartial, for it neither grants aid to those already strong enough to survive—their natural advantage is the only advantage they may have—nor does it preclude the smallest chance for even the lowest and weakest of creatures to find some way to thrive. As all of this pertains to nature, so does it pertain to Hircine who embodies nature. Neither truly good, nor truly evil—but always fair."

Fenras looked down at his hands, then out the open tent at the moons; he still could not entirely wrap his head around so complicated a concept... but he felt that a small part of him understood. And now he had a better idea of what that part was.

He returned his gaze to J'Darro, eager to learn more. "What about werecreatures? Aren't they supposed to be violent and dangerous?"

"This one is not a werecreature, so this one cannot truly explain what it is to be one. But tell me this: J'Darro carries a bow and a sword, just as you do. This one is capable of violence and danger, no? What about you, Ja'Fenras? And yet, neither of us actively desire to be violent toward others without reason; so it is with werecreatures. They are simply men turned to animal form... but even when they lack their reason, they behave no differently than any animal. Whatever violence they carry out is without malice or wicked intent—and rumor has it there are even ways to retain one's mind when transformed, though this one is not exactly willing to test that."

Both chuckled at the last comment as another silence passed.

"...So what happens now? Where do we go from here?"

"Who says anything must change yet, Ja'Fenras? Whatever task or labor Hircine has for you, it will come in its own time. Until then, this one shall continue to watch over and protect you. Now rest while you can—we have more goods to sell, and the earlier we wake the sooner we arrive in Dragon Bridge."


The road between Markarth and Solitude—with Dragon Bridge not far from the latter—was built along what was until recently a very dangerous route; narrow ravines sandwiched between high mountains comprised much of the Southern half, which gradually transitioned into thick forests and rocky hills full of caves as one traveled North. In short, it was terrain perfectly suited for ambushes, and between the Civil war, the Dragon Crisis, the Vampirism Plagues and the Forsworn uprising all happening at roughly the same time there was enough chaos to allow bandits to operate with near-epidemic levels of activity. As such, every merchant in Skyrim thanked whatever gods they prayed to that those crises all ended by the second year, either due to the emergence of a hero or (as was more commonly believed) the sheer grit and determination of Skyrim's citizens to take back their home—Dragons, Vampires and Forsworn be damned. That being said, there was never truly any way to prevent every threat along such a road, even during relative peace with regular patrols; in the end, all agreed that the best way to take the route—assuming no other choice was available, and you didn't have an entire caravan with you—was to simply display your weapons in plain sight, appear as wary and dangerous as possible, and hope that any ambush in waiting decided you were too big a risk to attack.

A Khajiit, a 12-year-old boy, a jittery old nag, and a cart full of furs would hardly have given anyone such an impression.

"Stop right there! Your money or your life!"

Thankfully, most lone highwaymen were stupid.

J'Darro and Fenras turned to look at the rather dirty-looking Redguard stepping out from behind a rocky outcropping, a simple iron dagger of crude make in one hand; a noble Alik'r warrior of Hammerfell this was not.

"This one has little time for humor; we have business in Dragon Bridge and you would be wise to stand aside."

The thug's confused grunt rather reminded Fenras of a particularly slow boar.

"Master J'Darro means you either get out of the way or get an arrow shot up your arse."

"Tch," the Khajiit said with a finger-wag. "children should not use such language!"

"Fine. Up his rump, then."

The highwayman had lost patience at that point, shouting a battle cry and charging with his knife raised to kill; he barely made it a meter before an arrow from J'Darro struck his leg, sending him face-first into the ground, howling in pain as the knife clattered out of his reach.

Fenras looked upon the man; something in him swelled, an urge he did not understand until he caught himself staring at the man's throat. It did not take long for him to interpret the urge:

Wounded prey. Finish it off.

The boy forced himself to look away, though the urge lingered for a moment.

"Master, I... let's just go."

J'Darro looked at him with a tired expression. "Though a bounty would aid us, we have no place in the cart for a prisoner. Nor can we risk him following us only to murder us in our tent while we sleep."

"I know, but..." Fenras could not bring himself to tell J'Darro why he absolutely could not look at the man, whether alive or as a corpse. Fortunately, the Khajiit in question read his body language well enough to guess at the reason.

"...You fear yourself and what you might do," J'Darro said, finishing the unspoken part of Fenras' sentence with a sad look. "Very well. Come, Ja'Fenras, we have wares to sell; this one will be glad to see a town guard. The scoundrel will likely perish, whether from rot, bleeding, or the simple consequences of being alone and wounded in the woods."

Fenras flinched slightly at how quickly his mind focused on the last item on that list; as much as he wished to know more of his own nature, he did not wish to lose himself to it.


By sunset, they had arrived close enough to their destination that the lights from the minor city were easily visible; patrols were frequent enough at this distance from town that not even a stupid bandit would bother attempting anything, so the pair began to make camp in preparation for their arrival in the morning. Over the years, they had quickly learned that Fenras struggled to adjust to staying at an inn; the lack of solid ground beneath him as he slept and the closed walls of the rooms that most inns and taverns offered were enough of a problem that it had been decided long ago that they would make camp just outside the limits of a populated destination rather than risk any difficulties resulting from a lack of sleep. This also had the benefit of allowing Fenras a chance to eat raw meat freshly hunted without having to worry about the eyes of onlookers. It was in this environment that Fenras felt most at home; now he knew why, and in spite of what had happened on the road he found himself feeling more at peace as soon as he spotted a lone goat in the fading light. With J'Darro already having caught his own meal, Fenras was free to take this one for himself; he did his best to ignore the building saliva in his mouth and the growling of his stomach as he nocked an arrow drew back the bowstring, unconsciously baring his teeth as he did so. With a twang, the arrow zipped through the air and caught the goat in its flank just above the right front leg, causing it to topple over; Fenras felt a brief pang of annoyance at his still-imperfect aim, knowing he had been lucky to hit the goat at all. As he moved for his sword to put the thing out of its misery quickly, however, an urge grew.

Why a sword? Teeth can kill it as swiftly, and you plan to eat it right away anyway.

Fenras hesitated, concerned by his thoughts; this wasn't Hircine speaking to him—somehow he knew that—but it was definitely the side of him that connected him to his otherworldly father, something he still wasn't entirely sure he wanted to fully accept. The urge wouldn't go away, however, giving a counterargument to his hesitation.

You never bother skinning anyway unless there's still room in the cart—you always just tear right in as soon as it's dead. Why not start with that?

"B-because... because I'm not an animal." His voice was hushed, speaking to himself and the night alone.

What's wrong with that? They just do what they do to eat. That's all you'd be doing.

As he saw the goat struggle and cry out in pain, the wave of sympathy across him somehow played into the urge.

A sword would be just as painful an end for it, no matter how quick. The more you linger, the longer it suffers, and as hungry as you are you're not cruel enough to allow that.

That thought turned out to be the breaking point as Fenras slowly dropped to all fours, feeling a certain "rightness" as he bared his teeth; before he knew it, he had charged at the goat's neck with inhuman speed and tore it open with his teeth, killing it in seconds. His human reason remained somehow, but at the same time the wilder element seemed to equal it in strength; it was as if a certain balance had been reached within him, something he couldn't help but reflect on as he used his enhanced bite and grip strength to tear open the goat's belly and begin eating.

Was I worried for nothing? After all, this is what the pack-mother would do when she hunted for meat to give me. I'm just doing it myself now.

Once he had eaten his fill, he looked down at the kill and contemplated further.

The urge felt so strong back with that bandit; I'll never go that route. But now it feels like it's backed off, like it just needed me to let it loose on something to keep it from being uncontrollable. I'm already training to be a hunter... All I did was discover how to hunt with new weapons.

A hunter. Like father, like son.

Fenras couldn't help but notice that the thought contained both his voice and Hircine's in perfect unison. In the end, he decided he needed more time to decide whether or not he could truly accept his heritage; he'd know where he belonged someday. Someday, he'd know...