Jergen was out practicing in the training yard at Jorrvaskr. He was about to go inside and clean up for the evening before eating dinner. He had just gotten back yesterday from completing a few tasks for the Companions. His pockets were full, and he felt an itch to spend some of it on the boys and Ylwa. His plan was to head out at dawn the next morning. He washed up and then decided to go out for dinner, since he was sitting pretty well as far as money went at the moment. After throwing on a clean outfit, he walked down the steps of Jorrvaskr, past the Gildergreen, and into the main square. He first stopped at one of the food vendor stalls to purchase a few honey nut treats to slip to the boys when Ylwa wasn't looking. He then meandered into the general store and took a look at what they had there. He really wanted to purchase them wooden swords, but he knew that Ylwa would NEVER allow that yet. He would just have to wait until they were a little older. There wasn't much that he could buy for them at this age, so he wandered back out of the general store and over to the jewelry stand.
As he approached the jewelry stand, a stunning silver amethyst necklace caught his eye. Upon enquiring how much it was, he discovered that it was a little more than he really wanted to spend on Ylwa, who spurned his very existence. He thought it might work nicely as a piece of bribery, though, should the opportunity arise. So he bought it and tucked it away in his pocket to pull out only if he thought he could use it to his benefit. He then wandered into the inn for dinner and some mead.
Jergen returned home later than he had intended that night. Oh, well. He could just sleep a little later in the morning. It wasn't like he was expected or anyone was looking forward to seeing him again. He quietly tucked most of his gold under his mattress and laid the honey nut treats he had purchased on his night stand so that he could quickly grab them the next morning, and then drifted off to a peaceful, satisfied sleep.
The next morning, Jergen awoke early, packed up a few things for the road, and then left. His journey southwest was fairly uneventful. It was nearly dusk as he approached what was the outskirts of the "living area". Although the pack kept their tents tightly-bunched together in what they would call their living area, in all reality there was a fairly large circle around the outside of that area where they spent a good portion of their time. The only time of year that he had seen grass in this outer circle of dwelling was early spring, when it was just popping up, with determination written in all of its vibrant green blades. Jergen found it odd that he had yet to catch sight, sound, or smell of any of their sentinels. Usually he was followed back to the camp from several miles away. He also could not hear any of the usual noises of everyone just beginning to rise for the evening that one would usually be hearing at this time of day.
Jergen hesitated cautiously and began sniffing the air. He didn't smell any danger. In fact, it didn't smell like anyone had been here in weeks. Something was very wrong. Maybe they had moved. He approached their old campsite cautiously. Abandoned. And it looked like it had been abandoned in a hurry, too. Many of the tents had been left behind, along with a wide variety of personal effects that were strewn about. It was then that he smelled something that he hoped was not the case. Death. The ground, though quickly regenerating itself – new grass, new plants, dirt washed clean by rainshowers, smelled as though many had bled out into this patch of earth. He was quickly able to locate the site of most of the permeating smell. A clearing on the eastern edge of the camp. The struggle had apparently happened several weeks before, so he was able to determine very little, besides that much blood had been spilled here – both wolf and human. He wandered aimlessly through the campsite for the next 30 minutes or so, seeking some indicator of what might have happened and where the survivors had gone (IF there were any survivors, he tried to not think). Everything was a jumbled mess, as if this attack had come by surprise, and people just left things where they were and joined the battle… or fled, he hoped.
Following a gut instinct, Jergen began traveling in the direction opposite of the side of the camp where the slaughter had happened. Despite his calm nature, Jergen was all nerves as he thought over everything that could have happened in that camp, and wondered whether Ylwa and the pups were alive and safe. He traveled slowly for a couple of days in this manner, frequently stopping to look for any sign of a group passing by that way and occasionally doubling back to make sure that he hadn't missed anything or taken a wrong trail. If they had passed this way (and he grew more and more doubtful as time went on), they must have almost floated over the ground, because he could not find anything at all to prove that they had been there. Something within him prodded him to continue on, though.
A couple of evenings later, Jergen hit the edge of a mountain range. He almost turned around and went back and searched the direction the attack had likely come from. It would only take him one night to make it back to their camp if he was swift. But just as he was about to head back, he caught a whiff of something that piqued his interest. He sniffed to determine where it was originating. Up ahead in the mountains, maybe? He traveled up into the edge of the mountains, but there was nothing there. It seemed to be a dead end. He traveled back down, and then turned north.
As he went north, he eventually caught another whiff. A werewolf. Definitely a werewolf. As he drew closer to the scent, it seemed to be moving further away from him. It continued to move north, parallel to the mountain range. He followed this other wolf's scent until it suddenly veered away from the mountains, as if wishing to pull him off in the other direction. Jergen decided to duck behind a boulder and continue parallel to the edge of the mountains, rather than pursuing the other in this new direction. He continued to creep along the edge of the mountain range, hoping to throw off the other wolf that undoubtedly knew he was there. Before long, he discovered why this other wolf was trying to lead him in a different direction. Upon climbing up onto a ledge and looking down, he found part of Ylwa's pack, directly below him, hidden away underneath the ledge, and more undoubtedly in the cave to the back of the area underneath of him. Jergen crouched low to the edge of the rock that he was hanging onto and studied those whom he could see, and sniffed for those whom he couldn't. No sign of Ylwa or Farkas or Vilkas. This was the correct pack, though.
The few pack members that Jergen could smell seemed very on edge. He was turning over strategies in his head on how to best approach them when he was pulled from his planning by a voice commanding him to get up. He turned and looked, and two of the males from the pack were standing with spears pointed right at his chest.