III: The Hunter.
He doesn't usually hunt. It's not his style. He's too big to move stealthy, and he prefers to cut things open with his large sword. But Aela bet five sweetrolls that he wouldn't be able to catch a thing.
'Aela said I wouldn't be able to hunt, even if a slaughterfish jumped out of the river, danced on my lap and slapped me in the face,' he said to Vilkas, remembering Aela's comment word for word.
'Well,' Vilkas snapped. He seemed more irritable than usual. 'What is it Kodlak always told you?'
'Go prove them wrong.'
'Then go prove her wrong.' His twin brother slapped him on the shoulder, and walked away.
So he's swapped his heavy armour for some leather he's borrowing from another Companion, left his sword at home and snagged a bow from Eorlund.
'Prove,' he mutters under his breath, pulls back the string of the bow, and squints. 'Aela,' his hands wobble with concentration as he takes aim on the rabbit sniffing a clump of mushrooms. He grits his teeth, sticks his tongue out the side of his mouth. 'Wrong.'
He's about to let the arrow fly. Then he sees something out of the corner of his eye.
There's a body lying in the undergrowth, next to the mushrooms.
He drops the arrow, slings the bow onto his shoulder, and crashes through the bushes.
The rabbit dashes away.
'Hello?' he says, approaching the body.
Their face is covered by their hair, which is matted with leaves and twigs. Mud flecks their torso, their hands and feet are caked in it. Dewdrops have settled on their naked flesh.
Heat seeps into his face.
'Do you need help?' he asks, and pulls the thick, fur-lined cloak from around his shoulders. Then he bends down and pulls the cloak over the body.
He wonders what's happened to the person, why they're in the woods. Why they're naked. He's heard stories about witches tricking people and stealing their clothes. Usually male Nords. He scratches his nose, ruffles his beard.
Best check they're alive. Could be talking to a dead body.
He leans forwards and pulls strands of tangled hair away from the person's face.
'Harbinger?'
You lie before him. Your eyes are closed.
'Harbinger?'
He drops the bow, kneels by your side and scoops the top part of you to him.
You flop in his arms like one of those straw dolls farmers put in their fields to scare away birds.
'Harbinger, it's Farkas.'
Your blood smeared lips part. Mumbled words tumble from them. It's no language Farkas recognises.
Your eyes shoot open. Your pupils dart around, they don't focus. Then the lids of your eyes snap shut again.
'It's okay,' Farkas soothes. He presses a thumb against your cheek and smudges away the dirt and flakes of blood. 'I've got you. Farkas will take you home.'
The first rays of morning begin to push through a gap between the snow-capped mountains on the horizon.
Farkas climbs the stone steps of Jorrvaskr, with you in his arms.
Your body is bundled in his fur cloak. He's made sure that no part of you sticks out. Determined to keep you warm, he clings to you, pressing you tight to his chest. He knows that you'll benefit from his body heat.
He doesn't speculate what you were doing out in the woods. Particularly what you were doing out in the woods with no clothes on, covered in blood (which after checking, he discovered wasn't your own) and mud. After all, it's nothing to do with him. His main concern is that you are safe.
Aela stands by the large front doors. She yawns loudly so that all her teeth are on display, stretches her arms above her head.
'For once I got a lie in this morning. Someone else doing the hunting.' She gives a wolfish grin. 'Though I have a feeling it's a good job we have food in storage and don't have to rely on what you've caught.'
Her eyes lock onto your covered body.
'Farkas,' she says, as he reaches the top step. 'You didn't. We're not meant to hunt...'
'Didn't,'' he snaps, and barges past, through the doors and into the mead hall.
Aela strides in after him.
'You think I'd hurt the new Kodlak?'
'The new Kodlak? You mean the Harbinger?' She pauses. 'That's the Harbinger?'
'Go get Vilkas,' Farkas says, as he carries you through the empty mead hall.
She snorts. 'I don't know where he is.'
Farkas takes you to one of the empty rooms on the left side of the hall. Still wrapped in his cloak and despite the grimy state your body is in, he lies you in one of the empty beds and folds a fur blanket over your still body.
Your muscles tense. You clutch at the blanket with rigid arms and fingers bent in claw-like shapes. You open your mouth and mutter in the language that Farkas doesn't recognise.
Aela folds her arms across her chest. 'That's Daedric,' she says.
'How do you know?'
'A while back I tracked some cultists,' she shrugs.
Farkas smoothes his hand across your forehead and your muscles relax. Your head lolls to one side.
'Go find Vilkas,' Farkas says. 'He'll know what to do.'