The Heart of the Forest ruins are not what you were expecting. You had assumed that the word ruins indicated a state of significant disrepair. The various ruins you had seen on your way to the central complex bore this assumption out. Single pillars or walls standing alone, enormous holes often making them appear to be multiple walls. The central complex was different. A great domed building, all walls intact and a pair of functional doors. It may have had superficial damage to its façade and parts of the roof had fallen in, but your fortress at Himring had looked closer to being a ruin after the dragons were done with it than this does. Naturally, this state of good repair has you on the verge of dancing with joy. There will almost certainly be some evidence of Elvish writing in a building so well preserved. If you are lucky there may even be significant pieces of context to go with it. You and Merrill made camp just inside the door, in the vast entrance hall. Merrill was concerned about the large roots that had thrust their way up through the floor, but personally those made you feel at home. You do acknowledge she has a point about the giant spiders though. Fortunately, between Merrill's magic, the werewolves' ferocity and your own skill they are hardly able to delay you, let alone harm you.
You want to head out to start searching for anything of value in these ruins. On the journey here Merrill has revealed to you that she can read Elvish. Though you are tempted to immediately begin lessons, you are not going to make her go against her keeper's decision not to teach you. You can however have her look over your work for mistakes, and maybe tell you what something says before you try to figure out the writing. It may be borderline teaching you but there is just enough plausible deniability that you can probably talk her out of trouble if anyone finds out. You are on the verge of setting out to study the writings of the elves when you look at your supply situation. You had lost a lot of time dealing with the dwarf caravan and going the wrong direction. You need more supplies, which means more hunting. Worse given you relative lack of valuables you may be depending on your skills as a hunter for some time and they are far less sharp than you would like. If you dedicate extra time to hunting you should be able to train your skill in the area while also increasing your chance of success in the short term. It may also have the side effect of helping you understand how this world differs from your own.
Merrill is disappointed that you will not be investigating the ruins immediately. She is also completely unable to help with hunting or gathering. When you explain that your skills are likely to be the only thing between the two of you and starvation in a week, she is much more understanding of your desire to improve them. She even goes as far as to ask you if she should learn how to hunt or gather herself. That is not a bad idea but doing so will take up the time you would have spent practicing. It also raises the question of how you want to go about practicing your own skill. Your first thought had simply been to go hunting twice as often and practice that way. You now realise that doing so will not significantly challenge you in any way. The best thing to do would be to get someone already skilled at hunting to help you polish your skill. The problem you face is that the only people around who are skilled hunters are the werewolves. However skilled they may be having wolf senses almost certainly changes their hunting practices.
You cannot improve if you do not know what you are doing wrong, the wolves may have different senses to you, but they are better than nothing. With this in mind you decide to search for a teacher. You do not give any other option much serious consideration. You decide to start your search by asking about hunting with the werewolves who have hovered around you since you arrived in the ruins. They prove to be most willing to discuss their hunts over the last few months. They even go so far as to engage in an argument over which of them is the best hunter. A number of them boast of the largest prey they have taken down or the number of successful hunts they have been on. You start to ask about who taught them, which has less success. Most of them learned to hunt based on instinct alone. A few mention teachers but they are uncertain of details, many cannot even recall a name. Still, they are what you have to work with. You will have to try to use your own knowledge of scouting to figure out who might be the best teacher.
You had walked a short way from the argument that you had accidentally caused. You were considering who would be the best choice for teacher when a harsh voice growls behind you.
"Heard you were looking for an instructor."
You whirl around, your sword leaping into your hand before you have fully processed what you are doing. Fortunately, despite your surprise, you manage to prevent yourself actually swinging at the individual who startled you.
"Heh. Those are some nasty reflexes you've got there." The guttural voice that caused you such distress is emerging from a small werewolf.
He has dark grey fur, flecked silver with age in places. His eyes are large and keen. Great scars litter his body, and his grin reveals that he is missing several teeth.
He takes the time in which you are observing him, and sheathing your sword, to speak a third time. "So you looking for a teacher or not?"
Now that you have gathered your wits, you respond, "I am. Are you presenting yourself as a candidate?"
The wolf's grin turns savage. "I'm Ranger. I'm not doing anything like that, I'm generously giving you a chance to be taught by me."
"That is quite the bold claim." You observe.
"It's the truth. I'm the best hunter here, unlike these green youths I've done it all my life and I spend all my time doing it. If you don't want to learn from me then you aren't going to see me again." Ranger says without a hint of falsehood.
After a few moments thought you agree, he sounds like someone who spends most if not all his time with animals. Smells it too, more so than most of the other Werewolves.
True to his word Ranger is an excellent teacher. He reminds you of Turko in all the best ways. He knows the land and the creatures that live in it the same manner you know the best way to insert steel into living creatures, or cool raging tempers. His manner is brusque, and his lessons are designed to make you think rather than provide answers. It is almost comforting in its familiarity. You are learning a great deal under his tutelage, and he says that you are 'not the worst student ever conceived by mortal creatures'. The effusive praise is almost enough to make you boast insufferably, and his clear approval means that he allows you to dictate your lessons somewhat.
Your lessons with Ranger prove to be a challenge. You decided that the best thing to focus on was the fundamentals of observation. There are endless exercises that test, not your keen Quendi senses, but your understanding of the behaviour of animals. Predicting which branch a bird will land on or trying to discern where a rabbit might flee when startled. It is a challenge unlike anything you have undertaken before, and it thrills you. You push your mind to its limits, straining against the thick fog that has clouded your thoughts since you arrived in Thedas. You call upon all your knowledge of scouting, of movement, of tracking and still it is not enough. You learn so much from Ranger's comments, his 'idle considerations', not just of the facts of hidden movement and animal behaviour, but the mindset and the thoughts behind the success he enjoys.
Most teachers would have been satisfied with your progress. Ranger is not. He continues to test you throughout the week. Often coming to you with a scouting problem that he demands you solve in a short time. When you confront him about disturbing your other activities, you are told that if you want to enjoy true success then the knowledge he is giving you must be instinctive. As reflexive as your sword draw had been on the day you met him. Though you continue to find his interruptions annoying, you are glad that you have a teacher who so thoroughly understands the true heights of possible skill. You try to throw yourself into his impromptu questions with as much fervour as you do his more structured lessons.
Unfortunately, you struggle to summon up much in the way of engagement when it comes to these particular lessons. If you had to guess, it would be the way they interrupt what you are doing and break your focus. The fact that you also find them very annoying does not help matters either. It is, if nothing else, an exercise in trying to understand the worldview of another. You cannot say that you have learned nothing. Though you cannot say that you have learned overly much either, especially in the realm of scouting. Fortunately, you are your father's son, and even without much in the way of content you learn from practice.
After one of your better surprise lessons, Ranger sticks around as you prepare food for Merrill and yourself.
"If you are hoping to join us for dinner, you will be disappointed." You inform him when he does not speak.
"Heh. Not even sure I can eat that garbage." He responds.
He is silent for a moment, and you consider saying something else, but then the speaks. "Never figured I'd take a student."
"I am very hard to refuse." You reply glibly.
Ranger snorts. "Way I recall it, I approached you. 'S not what I meant anyhow. Thing is I've been a hunter my whole life. Even before this thing. 'Least I think so."
"Is this particular anecdote going somewhere? Our relationship thus far has hardly been characterised by deep personal revelations." You tell him, unsure what exactly he wants.
He spends a few minutes looking into your fire before he responds. "I'm old kid. Way too old. Way I figure I'm gonna die soon. Thought it'd be best to pass on what I know. Andraste's…" He trails off and glances at you before continuing. "Ahem anyway, you're the only person here who isn't completely garbage. I guess what I'm trying to say is I'll be around. If you want to talk or anything. Since I'm your teacher and all"
You roll your eyes, mortals honestly. "Your offer of friendship is heard and accepted. I will seek you out should I have the time."
You ignore his spluttered denials that he wishes companionship in the last years of his life. You still do not give him any food though.
It is important to address the supply situation while you still have some to fall back on. Living off the land is always a bit of a risk, especially since many of the things you can gather are perishable. You spend a short time consulting with your hosts about where you should avoid and where you should hunt. You also try to find out where the good places to find edible plants are. Unfortunately, much like the wolves they share shape with, the local werewolves are obligate carnivores; as such they know nothing of edible plants for their own kind, let alone a fragile mortal like Merrill. You will have to search for edible roots, nuts or berries yourself. You set off after this conversation with the locals, armed with your bow and the arrows Auriel gave you. The sun is shining, birds are singing, it is a lovely morning, and you have prey to hunt.
The area around the ruins is devoid of prey. You had been warned of this and it makes sense. The ruins are full of enormous carnivores and that is the sort of thing animals avoid. It does mean that you have to head away from the bright light of the clearing, in which the ruins stand, and into the dark shadows of the forest. Travelling through the forest frustrates you immensely. There are so many creatures twisted by the dark magic within that you must avoid. Sylvans in particular seem to be everywhere. You catch sight of a few werewolf hunting parties and have to leave those areas too; you do not want to provoke anyone and hunting the same prey almost always leads to arguments.
Finally, after several hours of searching you find a small clearing with a small animal in it. The squirrel, if you haven't been misled by the obvious mutations, seems to be injured it is making frequent sudden movements for no apparent reason. Putting it out of its misery is the merciful option and will let today's hunt come to a successful end. As you draw the arrow back to your cheek you feel something is off. Something caught the light in an unusual way. You relax the string for a moment trying to see what it was. You see nothing before your prey violently surges towards the tree line. You bring your arrow back again and send a shaft straight into the fleeing creature. It dies in an instant and you walk forward to retrieve it.
As you are walking your foot catches on something. You look down to see what it is, tugging at whatever it is. Despite some obvious give you see nothing in the way and your foot does not come away. You hear a faint rustling from the trees as you start to reach down with your right hand. Your hand snags on something that feels like a rope, a sticky rope. A few tugs indicate that it is far more adhesive than you can overcome easily. The rustling of the trees grows louder and faster as you realise that you are trapped in a web. Your left hand darts for your sword when a great weight crashes into the ground. Your right side is driven into a net of web, and you fall to one knee. You hear the sounds of chitin on steel as the great spider on your back tries to bite you, scrabbling for purchase on your cloak. You are not sure what it is about your cloak that prevents the beast from sticking to you, but you thank your mother for it. Your muscles surge as you use what little leverage you have to throw the spider off your back. With surprising agility, it manages to catch itself on the webs, now easily seen from where you kneel. Your foe chitters aggressively, shrinking from the sunlight in the clearing, and begins to rush towards you once again. You cannot straighten up, your entire right side is stuck to the webs you were driven into, your sword is trapped too.
You have little time in which to think. Every second of thought is a second your end draws closer. Your first thought is to drive the creature off with the Light of the Eldar. You decide against doing so for two reasons, those being the difficulties you have had with calling upon your power in this new land and the important fact that such a solution would be a temporary one. You do not want the creature driven off; you want it dead. You need to free your blade and there are no clever tricks you can use to do so; your raw physical might will have to serve.
The spider's chittering approaches closer and closer. You strain and heave against the sticky cords that bind you. Their give works to your advantage, as it allows you to get your feet under you. Now with enough mobility to gain some leverage, you brace against the roots of the trees and heave with your whole body. The clicking sound of the approaching monster lends you the strength of desperation. At first you feel your hand coming away slowly, then faster. None of which matters to you, your focus is on your sword. The hilt is the only part you need free. When your right hand comes away from the web you waste no time wrapping it around your sheath for extra leverage. Your hand immediately becomes stuck to the sheathe but that is a small price to pay to be armed. With the extra force a second hand gives you, you pull the hilt out of its entrapment. With a deadly whisper you pull your most loyal companion from its resting place. The Eldarin blade parts the web lines around your left side, granting you room to swing, as though it had a mind of its own that hungered for battle. You retrieved you weapon not a second too soon, as the owner of this web has reached you and is preparing to strike.
The beast lunges at you. Your blade flashes silver in the light as it rushes to meet the bestial charge. The mass of the dark creature overwhelms you and sends you crashing onto your back, ripping you from the remnants of its web in the process. The world briefly dissolves into whirl of colour, and you focus narrows onto the great weight of the spider upon you. When the chaos resolves once more into the steady view you are accustomed to, the first thing you become aware of is the silence. Then you feel the enormous weight on your blade. You have buried it up to its hilt between the creature's two central eyes. The once malicious orbs now dull and lifeless. The creature's charge has impaled it on your blade. Its momentum had carried it on and caused you to fall, in the ensuing chaos masking its death cry from your senses. With a disgusting cracking and squelching noise, you remove your blade from its resting place. As you clean the foul, greenish yellow ichor from your sword you find yourself commenting aloud.
"If we keep running into these Ungwëlientësen I am going to have to name you Umbarlientí."
If you are talking to yourself, or your sword in this case, perhaps this encounter has shaken you more than you had thought.
You use your sword to cut a path through the nearly invisible web that covers the clearing. Unfortunately, when you try to free the prey you slew from the web, you end up ruining the carcass in the process. A sword is simply not designed for cutting things free of their bonds. You do manage to retrieve your arrow at least. You return from your trip disheartened and tired. However, much you might want to rest, your supply situation has not improved. If you want to eat after this week has passed you will need to head out again.
You got unlucky in the first half of the week, but you are not known for giving up when things are difficult. If anything, you are known for stubborn persistence in the face of impossible odds. You do consider foraging, but ultimately you are unwilling to risk Merrill's safety. So, with Ranger's training still echoing in you ears, you set out to seek new prey. If you are more on guard than before, and less willing to take a risk than you had been before you had blundered into a spider's web, that is your business and no one else's.
You are rewarded for your persistence when you come across a small group of large deer. Without any companions you are only going to be able to get two, if you are lucky. You move yourself carefully downwind of the group and plan your shots with care. Placing several arrows in the ground before you, for faster drawing, you pick your first target, the largest doe. The arrow you loose takes the target down without need for a follow up. As the deer flee in all directions your second arrow flies into your hand and you hit another one, a smaller deer likely not yet full grown. You rush to put an end to its struggles as the rest flee beyond your sight.
Butchering and preserving the deer you have killed takes up the rest of your day. Meat is hard to preserve even for your people. Since you do not have a great deal of salt you can only preserve so much of the deer. You end up sharing most of it with the other wolves. You do end up with enough supplies for a week and a half, and you enjoy the small feast that you put together for your fellow, if unfortunately lupine, ruin dwellers.