Things take time, and time moves no faster when pride is involved. Snow piled up over night and had to be shoveled and trodden on to make the small village livable. The livestock had been brought in to the surrounding fields so that a close guard to be kept over them. One never knew what could choose to attack when the blizzards came and those with fangs and claws became hungry. People stuck to the indoors most times, coming out only for what was necessary and not stopping to chat.
Mozenrath felt sorry for the people forced to stay out in the fields, especially at this time. Most of the people in the village were headed to the chieftains lodge, the only structure in the village built in a rectangle as opposed to the circular huts most people lived in. It was the Winter Solstice, and rather than disappear into the woods for their ritual, the Druids took this time of year to bring their celebration in among the people. As he entered the lodge, the air was filled the with smell of roast oxen and pig.
As per custom, the women were doing all of the cooking. This wasn't so much a sexist move, as a practical one. Besides, any time a man would come near the bowls and platters, he would be hit over the head with a wooden spoon and told to go sit back where he belonged. Men were wanted or needed to cook. Besides, the women knew their praises would come when the thick slices of meat hit the table. Their husbands would flaunt their wives talents, bragging and boasting that Cadwallon's wife Saba could cook better than Addanc's woman Bodua.
Mozenrath took a place near the head of the table by Tristan. There was a sudden whooshing of cold air as the door opened and a tall woman wearing a sheep fleece cloak walked in. Her bright hazel eyes landed on him and Mozenrath turned away, recognizing it as Iaine. There was a snort from his left and Mozenrath looked up at Tristan. "What?" he said shortly.
The old druid looked at him appraisingly, but said nothing further. Truly, he had expected this to be done with by now. T didn't take much to figure out what had happened between the two of them. Mozenrath had been too forward, or to forceful, and hurt Iaine's delicate pride. She had reacted and now the rift between them grew larger with every passing moment.
The great hall filled up quickly, people taking up the drums or the flute and bringing music to the gathering. The feast was set at the table, great hunks of meat dripping rich fat and spices, baked fruits covered in cinnamon and sugar, cheeses and breads and drinks and vegetables! It was fit for a king. Kilydd, the bard for the grove, sat by the fire, singing sweet music and telling tales of heroes and adventures of days gone by.
There was a great fire place behind the chieftain's seat, as well as three smaller ones places around for folks to continue cooking and sitting around. The delicious warmth was such a wonderful change from the freezing outside. Another reason this celebration could last all night long, nobody was exactly eager to run back to their homes through a pressing snow fall. As the temperature in the room rose, some people were even deciding to sleep it out there, using their cloaks as a pillow or blanket.
Mozenrath noted that Iaine stayed a fare distance away from him, as well as another member of the male population. Not that Essus seemed to be aware of it. He was sitting happily in a large chair with none other than Savern draped around his shoulders. Mozenrath scowled. That was an old, but still sore wound, one he suspected would never fully heal. Her eyes crossed over his briefly and Savern gave a fond, indulgent smile, then turned her attention back to Essus.
"To hell with it." Mozenrath murmured and stood up, seeking Iaine's figure. He found her, sitting by Kilydd as he strummed a stringed instrument and sang a rather long winded ballad. Mozenrath willed himself to be strong, he didn't know what he was going to say when he got over there, but he couldn't stand the sight of Savern and Essus like that.
A sudden howl cut through the warm air. Everyone froze, looking around to see if it had been their imaginations. There was a moment of silence, and then again, a high, snarling howl that could only mean one thing. The wolves had come to feed. The door was suddenly flung open and the air rushed madly inside, as though the winter longed to defeat the coziness of the indoors. A fierce blizzard had raised in the hours they had all been together and a man came stumbling in, his cloak white not do to the thick sheep's wool but rather the three inches of snow atop it.
"Wolves!' he cried as he fell in the doorway. A man rushed forward and supported him as a young woman ran forward with hot mead. He shoved the cup away, his throat hoarse and swollen from the sudden change of cold and heat. "Wolves! They are on the sheep…" he coughed and swayed, losing strength.
The chief of the clan was on his feet in an instant, grabbing for his short sword and bow. Everything moved like wildfire, the men all taking hold of whatever could be used as a weapon. Man of them were seasoned hunters who knew well how to kill a predator, others were simple farm men, who wished to protect their heard. But none the less, every man took a weapon and headed for the door.
"Mozenrath." Tristan said suddenly. "Go with them." Mozenrath knew what he meant by this order. Wolves, even when attacking the herds, were filled with spirits same as any tree or river. It was his responsibility as a Druid to see those spirits sent well off. Just as he was reaching for his cloak, Mozenrath felt Iaine's hand brush by his. She had grabbed her cape off the wall and was swinging it around her body.
"Your not coming with me." He said firmly.
"No time for argument." Iaine said firmly. "If one of the men is injured you will need an extra set of hands."
"Cigfa is senior healer…"
"Cigfa is in her winter years. The blizzard would be too much for her." Iaine snapped her jaw shut as if this was a waste of time. "Quickly."
Mozenrath didn't bother to turn and ask for Tristan's response. He knew the Chief Druid would agree with Iaine and tell them to get a move on. "Fine." He the open the door and followed after the warrior out into the cold. Iaine was there beside him in a flash, her frame and features covered in the shaggy cloak.
The fields, and the livestock that dwelled in them, belonged to the clan. Though a man could say he possessed an allotted amount of cows or sheep, it did not matter if the dun brown cow he owned was the same dun brown cow his neighbor owned. They were the property of the tribe, and so, when some one, wildlife or bandit, tried to take them, the whole tribe was expected to protect them.
It did not take long to run from the Chiefs home in the middle of the village to the pastures and fields. The Chief lodge stood towards to back of the village, up along the side of the forest, just beyond which stood a great mountain range. The two druids kept a quick pace with the warriors an within minuets they had entered the snow covered fields.
As if on cue, a savage growl rang through the air, sharp and angry. One of the men hollered, he had found blood where the snow had been kicked and shuffled about.
"A sheep? Is that all they took?" Fergus said, leaning against his spear. A sheep was of some importance, especially in the long, cruel months of winter when not only it's meat, but fleece was needed.
"No…a boy…" The warrior held up a pendant, made of simple twine and rocks. It was the kind children usually made to mimic the bronze and gold jewelry of their parents. There was a collective growl and shuffle from the men gathered and they turned to the druids for answers.
The Druids, as the speakers of the otherworld and servants to the Earth, were expected to know how to proceed in such matters. Mayhap the village had angered the spirits, and the child had been taken as retribution. Or it could be a test of their courage as men to protect their homes against the unforeseen.
Or…it was just chance.
Mozenrath moved forward before Iaine could, taking the little toy necklace in his hands. Pain pushed through the tips of his fingers, but not the pain of death. No, the boy was alive when the necklace had fallen, grievously injured, but alive. That meant there was still hope. He looked at Iaine and she nodded. "He may still live." Mozenrath pronounced.
"Right." Said one of the senior warriors, a big lad with shoulders like rock named Miach. "Separate into groups of three. First one to find the wolves or the boy send up on your horn. Don't go farther than the forest edge in this storm or we'll not be able to find yea." He practically had to yell over the wind and snow, looking out to see men quickly separating into threes and heading off.
"Let them do what they know." Iaine said, taking Mozenrath's arm as he started off with the warriors. "They are of the physical, and action is in their blood. We are of the spiritual, we must find the boy through other means if we can." She looked to the necklace in Mozenrath's hands. "Give to me."
Mozenrath handed it over willingly. After all, Iaine was better trained than he, perhaps she would feel more accurately. His pride ached a little, but there was something more precious than pride at stake here.
Iaine hummed as she turned the simple jewelry over in her hands, the dull ache pushing against her skin. She pushed inward, past the blinding white lance of pain, past the tearing of teeth and claw that seemed to mark her own skin. "He defended himself…" she whispered, her knife arm suddenly feeling strong and hurried. "But there were too many…" she felt a tearing at her leg, arm and something pounce on her back. "He was dragged off…" she groaned…it was difficult to tell. There should have been a path in the snow, showing the direction the child had been taken, but nothing could be seen to indicate his path.
Iaine began to slowly turn in circles, seeking some sign or sense of direction. "There!" she said suddenly, pointing towards the mountains.
"The mountains…" Mozenrath said doubtfully. "That's impossible, they would have had to…drag him through the village." Of course. Most of the village had been in the lodge celebrating Yule. All that noise would have covered the sound of anything! And with all the foot prints, cart marks, and slush in the streets nobody would have notice one more drag mark.
Briefly, Mozenrath admired the strategy of the wolf pack.
"We must hurry." Mozenrath said and began running. There was a sudden cry from behind him and when he looked back, a falcon took off from the ground, cutting through the wind. She circled once, then headed off in the direction of the mountain, the necklace clutched in her claws. Brilliant. Mozenrath said to himself. With Iaine in the sky they'd have a much better chance of spotting the wolves in this storm. He hurried after her, keeping his cloak wound tightly about him.
Iaine, in the mean time, was already regretting her decision to fly. The wind resistance was barely allowing her to make any headway, and even with her raptor eyes the ground was nearly invisible. Still, it was the best hope they had to finding the child. And she was not so stupid as to rely strictly on her own eyes. Necklace clutched tightly, she was following the feelings of pain.
Don't die little one. She whispered to the boys spirit. Endure the pain, it will let us find you. She flapped furiously, soaring higher and higher and gave a screech into the air, making sure Mozenrath could still find her. An unintelligible holler answered her, but it meant he could hear where she called from.
Bellow, Mozenrath had begun to climb the mountain. No easy task while weighed down with cloak and robe. He should have thought enough to grab a staff. Too late now. He set his feet and hands to the mountain, climbing as fast as he could and praying to the spirits of the storm that they would not blow him from the side.
A sudden screech ripped from the wall of snow ten feet up. Mozenrath began to run up the path, trying not to slip on ice and dunes. He pulled himself up over the wall just in time to see Iaine drop beneath the trees, presumably to change. No! He willed suddenly and saw the falcon form balk. We need more people. Show the others where we are!
Perhaps, if shed had the lips to do so, she would have argued. But Iaine tipped her feathers and began soaring back to the village to find help.
It did not occur to her until later, that Mozenrath had communicated his needs without use of mouth or gestures.
Mozenrath steadied himself and began to search. Iaine had to have seen something up here to make her screech. He laid his hand on a tree and suddenly jerked back, feeling a warm wetness on his fingers. He looked down at the thick red liquid congealed on his hand and gulped. No, still alive… his senses told him. The blood remained warm, he could not be far off.
A savage, hungry snarl caught his attention and Mozenrath broke into a run. It was hard to actually run in the knee deep snow, what he succeeded in was more leaps and bounds across the drifts. He cut through the line of trees and skid to a stop, his eyes widening at the sight there.
The child couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen, yet he lay there, one leg badly torn into, blood pouring from several deep gashes in his body. He clutched weakly to a blade and a look of determination, one wolf dead on the ground in front of him. The seven others were not deterred, their white fangs gleamed and they circled, muscles tense and waiting.