"Alvar! You are finally back! You have to tell us everything about your hunt. I hope you didn't encounter any problems?" Alvars grandmother spoke in a questioning tone to her grandson. Meanwhile Olaf, Alvar's uncle, walked over to a corner of the room and began putting down the thick furs that he had worn while out in the wild to keep him warm.
Alvar of course ravelled in the warmth of his grandmother's hug while he felt his grandfather's rough and callused fingers ruffle his dark hair in affection. Only reluctantly did Alvar let go of his grandmother who couldn't help but beam down at her ward. After all, Alvar and his uncle had been outside in the wilderness for a whole three months on their own, as was the norm for any Norn male that underwent the first trial on his way to become an adult.
The first ritual of passage was held at the tender age of 10, three months before reaching the age of 11 years. The ritual was held in order to determine if the boy was ready to look after himself when on their own, of course within limits as he was still a young boy. Thus, a guardian accompanied every boy that underwent the trial. Though even then it was a dangerous undertaking to live for three months without being able to call for help or ask for assistance should the need to do so arise. But in the end all of the Norn knew not to question their traditions passed down from ages long gone as Tyria, the Shiverpeak mountain ranges in particular, were a harsh place to live in. This prompted the Norn to begin teaching their children early on how to rely on themselves, as they knew perfectly well how dangerous Tyria truly was, once leaving the safety of their homes behind.
Once a child reached the age of 11 and was deemed mature enough said child would be granted the right to either join the spiritual ranks of the Norn, possibly becoming proficient in the arcane studies, or instead join the military ranks that looked after the warfare issues and mundane threats to their home.
While the Norn now lived in a tight community, with everyone looking after the other, in the past that had been a little bit different. Until the ancient dragons had made their appearance it was in fact common for the Norn to roam the lands on their own, with only rare company on occasion. That, obviously, was not possible from a certain point in time any longer.
After letting go of his grandmother Alvar went over to his small room and peeled all the furs and dirty clothes off himself. Following the hurdle to free himself from the mess he had caused by doing so, Alvar huffed in annoyance at the tenacious furs, and swiftly dressed himself in a new set of clean clothes. Afterwards he went back into the warmly lit main room where his grandparents and uncle were already waiting for him near the firepit in the middle of the room with his stomach growling with desire.
"Come Alvar, have some stew while you tell us all about your hunt." His grandfather spoke in his rough voice while motioning Alvar to come over to them. His uncle Olaf meanwhile was already gulping down the delicious stew made by his grandmother.
Swinging his leg over the bench near the firepit Alvar sat down next to his grandmother who immediately pressed a gigantic bowl of stew, along with five slices of bread, into his chest causing Alvars eyes to widen slightly.
"W-Who's supposed to eat all that? I'm a Norn, not an Ogre!" Alvar said while trying to juggle all the food in his arms, not sure how he was supposed to eat anyways with both arms loaded with bread and stew.
"Young lads need to eat in order to grow and you have clearly lost 15 pounds at the very least since I last saw you! Now eat up!" His grandmother said with one eyebrow raised as if waiting for any protest to come, though Alvar was smart enough to spot a trap laid by her when he saw it. Opposite on the other side of the bonfire his grandfather couldn't contain a muffled grunt of amusement while speaking with food filling his mouth:
"Now now dear, don't torture the lad with all your mothering. You'll suffocate him in the end from all the food you're shoving down his throat!"
"Oh, be quiet you old geezer and eat your food instead!" Alvars grandmother spoke while swinging her wooden spoon right before grandfather's face as if she wanted to challenge him to a duel to the death with it.
Watching their banter Alvar grinned in amusement after which he turned his attention back to his food and began shovelling it down his throat as ordered.
A couple of minutes later, filled with content silence, only the sound of eating and drinking filling the room, Alvar's grandfather turned his attention towards Olaf who seemingly had expected the following questions to come sooner or later, as he took a rather large gulp of his mead and put the bowl filled with stew to the side, bringing his full attention onto his father.
"What do you think? Is he ready?" Alvar's grandfather spoke while brushing some stew out of the corner of his mouth with his hand stroking over his long, braided grey beard afterwards.
Alvar's uncle Olaf hummed in contemplation for a while in response, which caused Alvar to tense at the suspense fully aware of the things he had messed up when outside in the wilderness. His young mind though totally forgot about all the things he had managed to accomplish and thus naturally caused him to sweat in fear of failing such an important event in his life.
Though once Olaf answered Alvar exhaled in relief after which a bright smile illuminated his face in happiness.
"Yes, I think he is. He still has a lot to learn but he isn't bad at reading animal trails and improvising when it comes to building shelters or solving problems he encounters while outdoors. The only negative thing is his shooting. He isn't bad at it but I do not believe him to have much talent at the art, which is a core requirement for everyone that wishes to become a professional huntsman. But yes, I deem him to be ready." His uncle spoke, slightly dampening Alvar's mood, even though he knew he wasn't all that talented at shooting a bow.
Staying in the wilderness you quickly are confronted by what you can and cannot do and it will develop into a rather bad situation real fast if you are unable to accept your lack of talent as Alvar had found out. Thus, he had learned to accept his failings. At least the ones he knew about.
"I'm glad to hear that son. Now Alvar, tell us about your hunt." His grandfather spoke in a content voice, marked by age, after which Alvar began to tell his first own tale with only a little exaggeration. It is, after all, an art learned with experience!