Chapter 2: Foraging and Gathering

The Branwen tribe had gathered around the central tent to be found at the centre of the Branwen encampment, it was large and gaudy thing, clearly to show the status of those who inhabited that tent. At the front of the tent stood the owner of the said tent, Odin Branwen. Odin was grim, weather-beaten figure. Where Tyr was tall and gaunt, Odin was hulking and broad. Where Tyr was a more sly, cunning individual, Odin was more spontaneous and violent. Their two personalities complemented each other well, and for it the Branwens reap many rewards from their leadership.

Odin wore a mixture of tough leather and brown armour, beaten to fit his large frame. In his hand he clutched a titanic spear, Gungnir, which he stole from a corpse of a Huntsman, a small recompense for the loss of his left eye. Despite his claims of glorious confrontation between Bandit king and Huntsman, it was anything but with the battle only tipping in Odin's favour due to Tyr's intervention.

The battle did teach Odin one thing however, and that was the threat that the Huntsmen and Huntresses were towards the Branwen choice of lifestyle. It appeared that the Kingdoms were becoming more and more aware of how damaging the bandits were to the trade routes between the Kingdoms. Due to this threat Odin had concocted a plan to combat this with the intention of announcing it to the collected tribe.

Fenrir and Isabelline stood on the outskirts of the crowd, watching with an interest as Odin clambered onto a nearby table, to use as a makeshift stage. Odin turned his gaze across his tribe, and a smile came across his cracked lips. Next to him stood Tyr, Raven and Qrow, and while Tyr and Raven seemed thrilled by the attention they had. Meanwhile Qrow looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else.

"I'm proud to see so many powerful warriors among my tribe," Odin bellowed to the baying crowd. "However despite our might the Kingdoms dogs still remain a thorn in our side."

With the mention of the Huntsmen the crowds mood soured, the Huntsmen had become more proactive in thwarting raids recently, depriving many bandits of loot. Fenrir looked up at his mother, taking note of the dismissive scowl on her face. Something about his mother seemed more tense this day, not nervous, but anticipating.

"That is why I, your King, have come up with a solution to our plight," Odin continued, raising a hand for silence. "As you know, both my children are at an age to enter one of the Huntsmen Academies, and as such they shall infiltrate that of Beacon Academy after all our reputation precedes us to well in Mistral. At Beacon they shall study the ways of Huntsmen, and thus easy ways to kill them!"

With that the tribe exploding into bellows of violence and victory, already they felt self-assured that the plan would provide them victory over their Huntsmen foes. Fenrir balefully glared at his cousins as he processed the ramifications of this plan. Freedom, Fenrir thought. Raven and Qrow would effectively become free, allowed to take their own paths at Beacon.

Fenrir's mind was whirlwind of ideas as he thought of the endless possibilities for the pair. No more burden of the tribe, no more constant fighting simply to insure you get fed. A chance to finally be your own. These thoughts turned bitter ash as Fenrir became aware that such a possibility was beyond both his reach and station.

Fenrir's hands coiled into the fists; the unfairness of this entire scheme weighing down on him, how long had wanted to be free of these people, how long had he wanted a chance to control his own fate. But no, he had been denied. Fenrir looked at his cousins, both look satisfied with the nature of this plan, and what it would entail. Their looks of satisfaction burned into Fenrir's mind, as the resentment he held towards them increased tenfold.

"Fenrir honey, your hands!" Isabelline stated in panic, Fenrir glanced down only to notice the blood drawing from his hands. Slowly he unclenched his fists, noticing how he nails cuts his hands. He wiped the bloody hands upon his trousers before looking up with at his mother.

"I'm fine mother, I'm fine," Fenrir assured, though the expression on his mother's face implied she thought he was anything but. She saw the intensity that his golden eyes burned, right now it appear Raven and Qrow were the brunt of his spite. But Isabelline knew her son, she was aware that he despised this entire camp and everyone in it, excluding her.

As the crowd dissipated, Isabelline watched as Tyr approach. Instinctively, she placed an arm round Fenrir, staring at Tyr with fire in her eyes. Tyr Branwen rarely approached his son, no since he got drunk and decided to impress his fellow bandits by pulling on Fenrir's ears, and in turn received a slap from Isabelline for it.

"Peace woman, I simply need the whelp's aid," Tyr said, his hands raised in an attempt to placate her. "Some of the youngsters are off foraging, getting berries and such like, to keep Qrow and Raven fed on their journey to enroll."

Fenrir's eyes narrowed at his 'father'. Tyr rarely gave Fenrir any form of acknowledgement, as such he found it a curiosity that he'd been given this task to do. Isabelline seemed uncomfortable as well, but given her and Tyr 'relationship' this was to be expected.

Despite his relationship with Tyr, Fenrir found himself curious to that fact that he'd been chosen for this task. Most of Fenrir's duties were mostly picking up and cleaning after the other bandits. Rarely was he ever allowed outside the encampment. A small, childish part found himself excited to explore the forests surrounding it.

"C'mon whelp, you can finally be of help if just go get your cousins some grub," Tyr pressed on, grabbing Fenrir by his arm roughly, dragging him from Isabelline. With that Tyr pushed Fenrir into the small group of youngsters who had been tasked with foraging. Fenrir look back with uncertainty at his mother, Isabelline simply gave Fenrir a small wave, the last piece of assurance Fenrir needed.

Fenrir sighed, fully aware of how the other children would treat but there was no point in attempting to draw this out. With one last wave and smile to his mother, Fenrir set off with the other children to forage food.

Isabelline Lupercal watched her son disappear into with heavy heart. Dread and fear began to form in as she realised just why Fenrir had finally been allowed outside the camp after six years of being denied that.

"You and I are going to have words woman," snarled Tyr at Isabelline, any form of affability lost on his face. Isabelline for her part kept her face serene in the bombardment of Tyr's words and the implications behind them. Tyr marched to his tent, and Isabelline could only follow in tow.

As she walked towards the tent, she could her the Branwens murmuring to themselves, no doubt most had been made aware of her plan. She was so close. So close but she stumbled at the final hurdle and now both her and Fenrir would pay for it. Despite this she had no intention of giving into to them, not now. The only regret on her mind was that she could not be there for her son. Oh Fenrir, my little cub, I'm sorry, Isabelline Lupercal thought as she entered Tyr Branwen's tent.

As expected, the trip was a disaster. Fenrir was used as a test-dummy to insure that any of the berries that the children managed to find were safe for eating. Luckily for him they were. Still it was nice to experience the forest, and to escape to choking reek of the Branwen tribe.

As they return to the encampment Fenrir noticed a tension in the air, a group of adult bandits were waiting for the children at the entrance. Instantly he looked about the camp expecting to see his mother waiting for him. Instead Tyr was stood there, a forlorn expression his face.

Fenrir's stomach fell.

"I have some… unfortunate news, whelp," Tyr said, his tone oddly serene. "While you and the other youngsters were aiding the tribe, a flock of Nevermores attacked and your mother was lost."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Fenrir felt the world close around him, stifling and choking him. He turned around in disarray, an almost drunken stupor. Everything around him seem to blur as he began to process Tyr's words. His mother was dead. He left her and she died. No, she couldn't be gone. It was impossible, she was always there for him even in his darkest times. Always there for her little cub.

Suddenly, a sharp pain burned itself into Fenrir's skull, something that rage around the confounds of his head. It roared inside him wanting to be free. Fenrir clutched his head in pain, as he looked up at the looming figures, no longer people, just shapes. And suspicion began to creep its way into his mind.

Fenrir looked around the encampment trying to gauge if what he father said was true. The camp did look in a start of disarray, however there was no really change there. Instead Fenrir simply look into his eyes, gold meeting red. And that moment Fenrir knew that it was no Grimm who took his mother. Through the blinding of his tears Fenrir stared long and hard at Tyr before finally growling out one damning word.

"Liar."

As soon as the words left his lips, a silence fell as the other bandits and youngsters stared at Tyr to see how he would respond. With sigh Tyr turned to leave, before unexpectedly turning around and punching his son in the face.

Fenrir collapsed into the mud, the world around him spinning. This time aura didn't protect him from the blow and blood began to run down his nose. Tears stung his eyes, not the physical pain, but the ache inside his skull, a roaring and pacing which burned his head.

"Who are you to question me brat?" Tyr bellowed. "Your mother died due to a Grimm incursion and that is that!"

With that Tyr marched away, muttering curses under his breath. Fenrir simply laid there in mud, blood running his nose. He watched as the other youngsters from the foraging party simply walked around, and those few bandits waiting for them left him there in the mud.

Fenrir clenched his fist again, uncaring to the pain that followed as his nails pierced his hands. If the Branwens, if his father, were so desperate for a mighty warrior then they would gain one. And Fenrir Branwen swore to himself, covered in blood and dirt, that one day he would force the truth from his father's lip. This sin against him would not go unpunished.

Fenrir sat in front of his tent, his storybook clutched to his chest. From a distance he could see the celebration to Odin's plan happening, as the Branwens danced and drank to their heart's content. Qrow and Raven had already left to enroll at Beacon as it was a long journey ahead. They didn't even thank him for the food. Ungrateful brats.

Fenrir had no such desires to attend such an event. He was alone, trapped in a sea of monsters, drift less and afraid. He shouldn't of left her, he could of protected her. Couldn't he? A billion scenarios blazed through Fenrir's skull as he thought on what he could have to protect his mother. He never even got to say goodbye, the Branwens had even robbed him of that.

And the ache in his skull hadn't subsided, no matter how hard he tried. It was like something was calling to him, a need or a hunger. Whatever it was, Fenrir wanted it gone. He'd lost too much this day to spend the rest his life plagued by a headache that refused to leave him alone.

"Well, well, well not joining the party Fenrir," Ash crowed, the brute was currently surrounded by a group of his flunkies. "Still wollering in tears".

Fenrir stared up at the group, Ash had no doubt taken note of Fenrir's lack of appearance and clearly took it upon himself to find and torment him. But Fenrir's patience was at an end, all he could feel was rage and hatred. And today was not the day to push him.

"Shut. Up."

"Why so sad about it, Fenrir?" Ash continued, a smirk coming about his lips at Fenrir's response. "Least it wasn't anyone important that got eaten, only your useless mother!"

The world turned red the moment as those words left Ash's lips. At first, pain burned through Fenrir's skull, he clutched his head as everything felt like it was on fire. His entire body felt like it was being torn about and put together, a state of pulling and pushing, action and reaction. It was a glorious contradiction; a mingling of both pain and pleasure.

He fell to his knees, as the ache in his skull continued to burn, gnawing at him. Howling. Fenrir looked up at the bullies, their faces paled as they watched Fenrir's aura begin to burn about him. His body seem to tense, his eyes narrowing and drool began to pool from his lips.

A guttural laugh left Fenrir's throat - to deep for a child of his age to make. As while the pain was still present it also filled him with strength, his gaze settled on Ash. Or at least what he assumed to be Ash. The world has become a formless thing, of shadows and noises. And in truth it didn't matter. All of them had to pay.

It took three grown men to drag Fenrir off Ash. The Faunus seem to have full intention in tearing the boy's throat, and in truth if the bandits hadn't responded to the screams quicker he may have done just that. Tyr stared at the unconscious Faunus, he had simply slip that state the moment he was restrained, like a fire burning itself out. As for Ash he would live, though the strange burns Fenrir marked him with would be with him till the end of his days.

"Seems the whelp can finally be usefully," Odin said, staring down at the child.

"What happened to him?" Tyr grunted.

"Unlocked his semblance I reckon, a nasty one at that if I do say so myself," his brother responded.

Tyr processed this information, the Branwens were not strangers to dangerous semblances. Though this seemed dangerous indeed, from what the boys told him, Tyr theorized that it Fenrir's semblance allowed him to weaponize his aura somehow. They would have to be carefully around him indeed, if they played this right he could become a great asset for the tribe in the coming days.

Odin and Tyr glanced at one and other as they began to plan the best way to keep the Faunus subdued. If they made him a glutton for combat, sent him on raids and such it could reap mighty benefits indeed. And if he were to fall in one such battle, well then he was truly weak after all. Though the collar had to be kept tight, as if Fenrir slipped the leash it could mean ruin for them all.

Tyr and Odin looked down upon Fenrir and found themselves perturbed, as like a satisfied wolf after a successful hunt, the boy was grinning in his sleep.

Author's Note: For those curious I dubbed Fenrir's semblance 'Berserkergang'. Anyhow hope you've all enjoyed chapter 2, don't forget the reviews and enjoy the rest of your day!