The Highlands was pretty vast with all the hills and forests. Navigating was a challenge, but thanks to her wayfinder's widget she at least wouldn't double back on herself. Shiloh hadn't seen Walter in a while since the war ended. He had left on his own to travel the wilds, following the herds of deer up the Corval Basin. She wasn't worried; he was a tracker and well into his fifties. He could handle himself just fine against the elements and animals. Pinning down his location was a matter of following the motion of the arc of want, stopping and holding the pendulum every ten paces. The chill of Venti was in full swing and the tips of her feet were feeling cold. With Glaciem around the corner, maybe he was heading towards warmer pastures. The smell of the air was different once she was out of the Bohar Plains. Saying goodbye to the caravan that had taken her along up from the south she continued her search on foot. 

Even now she preferred to walk than take a horse. Horses were easily spooked and had to be fed; she'd rather take more time than potentially lose whatever silver it'd take to purchase one. Niall had tucked himself into her pack keeping himself warm. Before they left the Machinarium Shiloh refreshed the ferret's memory on the tracker's scent so he knew what to look for. Days went by as they picked their way through fields and trees hoping to catch up. Walter would go wherever the animals went, being a trapper and hunter on the side. Their first spot of hope came when a small pack of elk were passing by one morning. Finally, they might be close. "It's c-c-cold!" Her familiar whined, poking out his face briefly to voice his complaint. "Stay in the bag Niall, we'll find a town soon. There's some phoenix feathers in the mess I have in my storage box if it's still too much for you." Just a little longer, she told herself. The sign of smoke in the distance caught her attention and she broke into a sprint. It could be a camp, village, town–someplace with people for sure.

There was something about the untamed wilderness that helped wash away the pain and sorrows of war. He himself didn't do much of the fighting back in the jungles of Apoy, but the sight of the fort nearly being taken over was more than he'd ever want to see. When it was all over Shiloh let him go wherever he wanted and said he should take some time away from Antikythera. It was probably the right thing. Venti was the time of year that made people reflect on things. Something about the growing chill and yellowing of leaves that had this sort of melancholy. It made him restless, and he let himself stay in his wolf form as he followed the deer and elk across the plains into the mountains. Greyson followed behind him, always a few paces. They'd gotten to know each other by smell so the fox didn't bolt whenever he shifted. With Glaciem coming, this would be the last time people would need furs and pelts before stocking up for the snows. When the temperatures were colder, he'd have to move to warmer climates. 

Finding food was much easier now with the herds making their yearly migration. He could hunt a full-grown buck once every few days and not have to worry. Most of the meat went to making dried jerky. It was tempting to eat more than his fill but the tracker held himself back. The herds would soon be gone, and smaller animals would be less active. The best they'd have would be waterfowl, but they also migrated. Everybody–man and beast–was making preparations for the long haul. Foraging turned up berries and roots that added more flavor to the cornmeal and venison. Fishing sometimes brought back a handful of fish as big as Greyson's tail. Even as a wolf, Walter could feel the cold creep its way through his thickening winter coat. One time he went to wash up in a stream he noticed his fur having a bit more gray than last year. 

Camping out in a makeshift shelter of a few dormant trees, he felt safe. They were too far out from the closest village and other trappers wouldn't venture this way. As long as no one stumbled across his tent and fire pit, he wouldn't be discovered. It was tiring being in human form all the time. The last thing he wanted was for somebody to stumble in and find himself as a wolf snoring away. Even now the thought of staying in town made him uneasy. There was a lot of bad blood between people and wolves, even when both of them usually tried to stay out of each other's way. And unlike the common expectation, lone wolves without a pack were a rare sight. It was much harder to survive as an individual in the wild. Walter would rather run from a mother bear robbed of her cubs than get himself trapped in a corner with a group of townsfolk.

The wolf picked his way through the forest, searching for any remaining edibles the rodents and birds missed. Nose to the ground, his paws silently padded along the ground. His white and gray fox companion was dozing off inside their little half face campsite having burnt himself out chasing down tawny rabbits. A large and tempting cluster of morels stood out against a tree's trunk. Part of him considered taking them, but decided against it. Mushrooms were too dangerous to guess even for an experienced woodsman. There was a thicket near some rodent burrows, and there were fresh tracks outside. With luck, there might be something worth finding. With a leap he dashed into the brush, emerging out the other side. As soon as his feet touched the ground there was a twang–sending him flying up into the air!

Panic took over as Walter was pulled up into a net, dangling from several ropes overhead. He couldn't get out and the net was making it harder for him to move! Frantically he tried chewing through the net but the cords were too tough. Struggling, he attempted to shift back into human form but the space was too tight for him to reach the skinning knife in his pocket. 

"Still warm." Brenna announced to the group, squatting down by a campfire, the embers still glowing dutifully despite the cold. Her hand brushed over the ashes and blackened wood, a waning warmth spreading through her doeskin gloves. Can't have been gone long, she thought, a glance around the camp telling her all she needed to know. Across from her, a tall Highlander in fur and wool rifled through some poor sod's tent, disregarding common decency and their man's -or beast's- privacy in the process. For the last few days or so Brenna had been tracking… something. She wasn't sure exactly what her quarry was; the contract only desired an end to a spree of disappearances that had occurred in the past month. No more.  

It had begun with chattel; a sheep here, an ox there. With peoples' livelihoods at stake, the local village elder had put together a bounty on whatever beast it was attacking the animals. Hunters and trackers had had a field day, turning in wolf pelts and, on the odd occasion, lynx pelts for silver. Most thought that would've been the end of it, only… it wasn't. Not long after, hunters started to disappear too, lost to the very woods they'd called home for decades. Brave men and women had been sent in search of the missing persons, but they had found neither hide nor hair of any of the missing hunters. 

Only blood, and wolf prints that, when followed, morphed into human footprints. 

That set the villagers on edge; the more superstitious among them declared that the Gods were punishing them. What for? Who knows?! That didn't matter to Brenna who, by chance, had been walking through the village of Norre mere days ago, heading home to her family a few mountains over. She had been cornered by the village elder and his mob of crones, housewives and scared peasants. The 'contract of utmost importance', as the Elder had aptly named it, had been shoved in her face, and she hadn't dared refuse. Not when a bunch of angsty farmers with pitchforks and torches were watching her with baleful eyes. 

And here I am, she thought meekly, standing up from the campfire, the hunters she accompanied waiting expectantly. "So?" One of them asked, an arrow already resting across his bowstave. "Wolves or bandits?" "Bandits, obviously!" The one rifling through the tent shouted, reappearing with a handful of smoked foodstuffs and jarred offal. "Wolves, definitely wolves!" The other retorted, pointing at a pair of prints that traipsed directly through the hidden camp. "What do you think?" They both turned to her, eager to settle the debate. Brenna's forehead creased, her thoughts returning to a time not long ago, where she'd witnessed familiars and wolfmen sharing company with humans. Hmm…

She regarded the two men, her jaw set. "Both." She replied, immune to the sudden skeptical stares they gave her. A fourth figure burst into the camp, startling the two hunters, but not her. "WE'VE GOT ONE! A LIVE ONE!" He crowed, eyes wide with excitement, chest heaving from exertion. "Where?" Brenna asked, shouldering past two hunters to stare the fourth -a skinny youth with a wispy beard- in the face. He looked back, barely containing his joy. "A mile that way," he hooked a thumb over his shoulder, "no more. The others are keeping it company. A wolf! Big bugger, he is!" 

"Ha! Told you fools-"

"Shut up." Brenna snapped, cutting him off. She turned back to the youth. "Lead us to them, and quickly."

"Have you seen a hunter about yea high with graying hair and a short beard? Trimmed, not fancy. Hairline scar across his face at a slant running towards the right cheek starting from the nose?" So far nobody had seen hide or hair of him. Shiloh was sure he'd stop by the towns at least somewhere for supplies. If not for food, then for other necessities. The old farmer shook his head, and turned to mind his oxen. She kicked the dirt and walked around again. If not even the gossip hens and busybodies knew then Walter might not even have come down this way. Taking out her arc of want, she watched the pendulum sway gently in another direction. One of these days she'd have to make a more efficient locating device than this old-fashioned method. She might as well try shooting fish from a boat.

When she as far enough away from the settlement Niall poked his head out of the knapsack. "Still nothing?" Shiloh shook her head with a frustrated sigh. "That's the third place I've asked so far." Unlike Auron and Sylvain, she didn't have a contract with the tracker. Now she was beginning to regret that. When it came to Walter she was especially nervous. Back when they first met, she had helped him narrowly avoid a lynching on account of somebody's murder. Later she got to know the man better and understood not all lycanthorpes were rabid monsters controlled by mad impulses and the phases of the moon. He only had two forms: man and beast. And as a beast he was just an ordinary wolf. In neither form did he have any outstanding advantages. While Sylvain had enhanced strength and keen senses after becoming a vampire, Walter's capabilities were limited to a normal animal's. If he was cornered, he would try to run first than fight back. In fact, that was what most animals did in the face of danger.

After visiting a few villages she overheard rumors of cattle being killed and something attacking people. The rogue knew it couldn't be Walter. He wouldn't make himself a target after almost being killed by a fearful mob. If he needed food he'd forage, hunt game, or buy from whoever he could if it came to that. Whatever it was it had to be something else, which was why she needed to find him as soon as possible. If push came to shove, she'd be his alibi. "Niall, I'm going to have to ask you to help me out here. I can't do two things at once, so can you hold that pendulum and tell me which way it's moving? I'll stop and stand still every now and then so you can get a better reading." Her ferret familiar poked his head out. "O-ok. Brr…" His teeth chattered. "I'll treat you to some chocolate and milk when we camp tonight, ok?" The little creature perked up at the promise of warm treats, and went to work right away.

"Let's see….it's moving to your left!" Niall shouted from behind. With her wayfinder's widget, she brought up a visual depiction of their general area with a blinking point as their current location. "Got it. Let's move!" Niall ducked back into the warmth of the bag as Shiloh started running. It might've been her paranoia speaking but she felt something bad could have happened. She hoped she'd be wrong.

The 'Youth' set a staggering pace back through the forest, retracing his steps with an ease only a natural-born hunter could manage. Brenna followed hot on his heels, the other two hunters who she'd taken to calling Redbeard and Bowman jogging behind, their warm breath clouding in the cold. They moved at a jog through a forest of tall pines, fallen needles crunching underfoot. It was a dense forest, full of knee-high grass, brush and coarse bracken. It slowed them somewhat, but the youth led them with a keen eye, avoiding the worst of it. Their legs carried them further and further from the camp. Brenna still wasn't sure who or what that camp had belonged to. Their were too many conflicting facts at work, and way too many questions for this… bounty to be solved with the death of one wolf. In fact, it was safe to assume that the camp hadn't belonged to the captured wolf-man they were going to see. 

Something was off about this whole thing, and Brenna felt lost. 

Sidling up the youth as they ran, Brenna decided to voice a question. "So, is it just the one you've caught?" The youth turned to her, a look of surprise on his face, as if he was just meeting her despite the fact they'd been together for the last five minutes. "Yeah. Just the one," he told her, disappointment flecking his voice. "He's a big one though, right mean-looking too." Brenna nodded as they broke from the trees into a clearing of green grass and colorful mountain flowers. "It's odd…" The youth trailed off. "What is?" Brenna asked, keeping pace. "Well," he started, "over the last few days me and the boys have found quite a few tracks. Y'know, rabbits, deer, wildfowl, and the like." He sidestepped as the ground underfoot grew damp and boggy. Brenna narrowly avoided losing her boot to a patch of clawing mud. She kept on running. "Recently though, we found wolf prints; looks like a pack of them are stalking these woods." 

The mercenary nodded again, silently joining the youth as he led them back into the forest, the canopy of dark pines closing above them. "Yet, we've only caught the one. What happened to his pack? Where're the ones we've been tracking? Surely this lone wolf isn't responsible for what happened to our kinsmen? All alone and dumb as he is." The youth grinned, then his grin faded to solemnity. "I agree." Brenna said. "It is strange. Very strange…" They grew quiet as they ran, each and every one of them lost in their thoughts. Besides maybe Redbeard, who was huffing and puffing, the foodstuffs still cradled in his arms. 

Brenna's companions had had a similar discovery in the last few days. Wolf prints, more than one set, leading them a merry chase through the woods. Brenna suspected the prints were left by their culprits, and ever since she had slept with one eye open and a fire roaring through the cold nights. It was by chance they had discovered the camp and, it seemed, by chance one of them had been caught up in a hunter's trap. She blinked away her jumbled thoughts as they burst from the trees once again to find a group of armed men waiting for them. The youth turned to her.

"Here we are." He smiled brightly, pointing up at the king of wolves. My, he is a big bugger…

Walter was trying not to panic, to not break down in fear. He should've tread more carefully following those rabbit tracks, now the worst had happened. There were many different types of traps hunters used to catch animals, from metal jaws that sprung shut to concealed pits. But one of the most difficult to get out of was a net. He tried to push the skinning knife out so he could reach, but even in his human form he could barely move without the net getting tighter. He was trapped in a bad position too so he wasn't able to use his limbs to prevent the ropes from constricting more. Thoughts were racing as the lycanthorpe tried to find another way out. If the trap was sprung someone would come check on it later, but when that happened which form would be the safest to be in? As a wolf he could be killed, skinned. As a man he might be able to give an excuse of carelessness. Unfortunately he had no time to shift back out of his beast form again when human voices shouted in the distance. If they caught him in the act of shifting they'd kill him for sure.

Greyson was still back at the half-face camp, and the fox wouldn't be able to find him now. He would be able to stay safe if he was hidden, and he had more than enough food for days. The large grey wolf scratched at the ropes with eyes wide in terror as footsteps came closer. There was no way he could call for help. Armed men, old and young surrounded him one by one. Looking up they were talking among themselves and tightening their grip on their weapons. The lycanthorpe's body froze up as his eyes darted back and forth. He could see the looks on their faces and overheard a few words that made his skin crawl. Gods, someone–anyone help him! All of his beast's instincts were screaming to run but didn't dare move. If he knew that help was potentially closer than he thought, maybe he would have had the boldness to howl.

To the hunters, mercenaries, and other Highlanders gathered around they only saw one of the largest wolves they'd ever seen. Those with a sharp eye would notice a metal necklace with some sort of pendant in a strange wheel-like shape in the fur around the wolf's neck. It was a token from the Steward of Antikythera that was given to all who were not her formal employees but had a connection with the deity. That was the only article of clothing that remained as it was in both of his forms. The forest was quiet as the cries of water birds passed in their flight overhead. 

"I told you he was big." The youth said, pride swelling his chest as he looked up at the wolf, the net constricting it's movement to the bare minimum. Brenna had to agree; he was a good size larger than most of his kind. The net swayed from side to side due to the wind and the wolf's vain attempts to free itself. It stilled as it realized all hope was lost. The mercenary felt a pang of pity, which was weird, all things considered. The fear in its eyes reminded her of Apoy, and Endapano. The fruitless struggling reminded her of all the bounties she'd carried out before this one- mostly ones where the mark was required dead rather than alive. She looked up at the beast, her face impassive despite the sudden surge of empathy. If she had been in the wolf's shoes -not that it wore shoes- she would've been feeling the same fear, the same shame at having been caught. 

It wanted to escape. The humans, those around her, wanted to kill it. 

"Shall I?" One of the Highlanders asked, raising his spear to prod the beast; a humiliating gesture that made the others laugh. "No," an older Highlander said, taking a firm hold the man's arm, "the kid has that honor. It's his net the beast is strung up in." The collective turned as one to look at the Youth who, in turn, looked at each of them. "What? Me?!" He pointed to himself. "But I-…but it-" The kid stared at the beast, a gleeful expression lighting his features. "Thanks, lads." He said, forgetting Brenna completely as he angled his own spear so that it would skewer the wolf. "Wait!" Brenna cried, dragging the spear aside as the youth made to lunge. The group sighed, their fun spoiled, and the youth turned on her angrily. "What?" He asked, trying to intimidate the mercenary with gruff tones. It didn't work. She tore the spear from his hands, and the glint in her pale blue eyes made sure he didn't protest.

The spear rose once more, this time angled differently so that it was aimed at the one thing that had captured Brenna's attention. A pendant. It came free, though, she couldn't avoid gouging a shallow cut in the beast's thick neck. She returned the spear having got what she wanted. She held the pendant up for all to see, and they all stared, some bewildered, others hungry. "Ever known a wolf to wear jewelry?"  She asked them. Nobody answered; it was a rhetorical question. "Oh, what does it matter?" The youth interrupted, making a grab for the necklace and failing. Brenna tucked it down the front of her leather cuirass, and the youth didn't press the issue. Instead he pointed his spear at the animal ensnared above their heads. "This here's a wolf, see it? Wolves kill our livestock, hunt the same game we do. Generally make life a misery for all good folk," he gestured about himself, some of the group nodding their agreement. "There's no room in this world for the two o' us. So, you know what we do abou' it?" The youth asked sardonically, staring at Brenna as if she were a child.

She smiled maliciously, which put a dampener on the youth's mockery. He took a step back, and continued. "We kill 'em!" 

"Just so you know, this beast isn't the culprit." Brenna interrupted, halting yet another of the youth's attempts at taking himself a trophy. "I doubt it's even been near your village before, let alone attacked your folk and slaughtered your lambs." The youth looked at her, exasperated. He put a hand on his hip, leaning on his spear like a crutch. "Everything we've found so far doesn't add up." She continued, gazing about herself at the gathered men. "The human footprints that belong to none of us, not even t'other village folk. Multiple tracks belonging to wolves, not just this one. The camp we discovered, the attacks!" She spread her arms wide; a confused gesture. 

"Have you ever known wolves to attack men unless hungry and desperate? Neither have I, and never in large o' numbers as this." In the last month, nearly a dozen men and women, experienced woodsmen all, had gone missing. All signs pointed to the wolf pack. Or bandits. Not a loner. "There's plenty of easier prey in these woods than us. The land teems with game, hells, I thought it was migration season?" 

"It is!" The old graybeard added helpfully. "Thank you." Brenna said equably. "Anyways, there's something at foot that goes way beyond this poor beast." She gazed up at the wolf. "And your village won't be safe until we figure out what."

"Oh, to hell's with this." The youth said, spinning to send his spear flashing upwards. Right at the wolf's belly.   

Frantically she kept running as Niall gave her directions holding her breath. Where was he? They had been going for miles and still nothing. Her worry was growing by the minute. "Ok make and turn to the right!" Shiloh looked back at her familiar. "That's straight into the wood!" Nevertheless she went ducking through the birch trees. Her pace slowed in the forest. Walking noiselessly the rogue began using the dowsing pendant in her hand. The ferret had his head out smelling the air for the lycanthorpe's scent. Both searched high and low, and they were ready to give up when she stumbled on a well-hidden camp for one. A whimper from below revealed Greyson, Walter's fox. The gray and white fox was nervous and fidgety, anxious. But Walter wasn't here.

"Hey, where's your owner? He hasn't come back?" She couldn't understand the animal's cries but the poor thing was scared. "He was still there with him before he fell asleep. That was…this morning." Shiloh began counting the hours. Hours had already passed so something was definitely wrong. Picking up the fox she put him in the knapsack with Niall. Then she heard it–a scream. Mixed with a howl it sounded almost…human. The next moment she was tumbling through scrub and brush, branches hitting her face and burrs sticking to her clothes. All her senses were on fire, her body moving faster than her mind. Several life signatures appeared in her field of vision with shouts and the sharp scent of blood. 

Bursting out from a brier patch Shiloh braced her fall with both hands before scrambling to her feet. It was a bad sight to see. Her entire being went numb when she saw the blood and a large wolf strung up surrounded by men with weapons. There was a fresh wound gaping from its belly. As soon as Greyson smelled the wolf's scent, he began to cry. Shiloh snapped. Drawing her sword she pointed it at the Highlanders. "…What did you do to him?? I SAID WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!!" She was livid and screaming, sucking air in ragged breaths. Her eyes fell on a young man holding a bloody spear. That was Walter's blood. It was taking every last bit of restraint in her body to not strangle the sallow-faced sod in front of the others as an example. 

She was grinding her teeth and had a wild look in her eye. Adrenaline and rage were running through her veins. If any of them made another move on the wolf again she'd bury them up to their necks. "Answer me, or it's going to be an eye for an eye."

The wolf howled pitifully as the spear pierced it's belly, doing all it could do to avoid the well-honed point. A strong gust of wind and the wolf's frantic struggling set the net a-swaying, and the youth, expecting a clean kill, huffed as the spear blade pulled free. The wolf still lived. He made ready for another attempt, and Brenna considered stepping in, but decided against it. It wasn't her place to intervene. After all, it was a beast; a killer, just like them. The hunters had all made up their minds regardless of the words they'd shared prior. The wolf must die…and the search must continue. 

A noise sounded behind them, and Brenna turned quickly, a hand drawing her bastard sword halfway free before she checked herself. 

Shiloh Kyrie? Oh shit! 

Brenna recognized the deity almost instantly, even though she'd only laid eyes on her the once. It had been on Apoy Island, a day or so before she'd left to make the journey home. The battlefield had been cleared up, the bugs scattered or killed, and reconstruction had begun. Brenna, her talents no longer needed, had been boarding a ship to take her back to the continent. She had been on deck, and picked the deity out of a crowd onshore. She stands out, the mercenary remembered thinking, watching as the deity drew her sword. Brenna's eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. What the f-…  "…What did you do to him?? I SAID WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!!" Brenna took an involuntary step back. So to did the others. Confusion spread like wildfire through their ranks, and the youth, singled out by the deities' blade, paled visibly. The brown-haired Highlander looked on, baffled by the turn of events. 

"We…we was jus' takin' care of business." One of them said, unaware of who they were speaking to. As far as they were concerned, she was an armed stranger, crazed and dangerous. Not someone worthy of their respect…or perhaps, their admiration. "Yeah!" Redbeard piped up, dropping the food in his arms. "We was just killin' this wolf, y'see? He been causin' trouble for us. Killin' our folk." No, he hasn't. Brenna thought, remaining silent. "Besides, what concern is it o' yours, ey?" Oh gods! Brenna took another step back, a rushed glance over her shoulder revealing where the net was anchored to a tree. 

"Y-yeah." The youth chimed in, finally finding an extra reserve of willpower somewhere deep down. "We have permission from th' Elder of Norre to hunt these woods. Beasts have been attacking our people, and this is one of 'em 'ere!" He raised his bloody spear, the wolf in the net still struggling, still bleeding. You fool! Brenna thought, having silently reached the anchor, a drawn dagger drifting up to the rope. She had come to the conclusion that Shiloh knew the wolf in the net. No, not a wolf. A lycanthrope… Brenna tried to catch Shiloh's eye; she waited for the signal that would free the man-beast if it's hempen bonds. 

"So, now that ye know we're 'ere on official business like, you'd best be on your way traveler." Jeez, the stupidity of some people.   

They'd cut off the necklace Shiloh gave him after the first time they met. Still trapped in the ropes, he saw them look it over without much reaction. For a moment the lycanthorpe hoped that one of them would recognize the symbol and maybe let him go. But when the armed woman simply kept it herself that hope crumbled apart. He saw the one who had set up the trap, just a boy–come closer with a spear. The look in all their eyes brought back terrible memories of watching ordinary wolves being cut down when animals died and crops failed. People blamed them for disease, death, anything they couldn't explain. When he himself was a boy he remembered there being a particularly bad year and a few of the rougher town folk had dragged in a red she-wolf. It was scrawny, its fur shaggy with gangly long legs. His father and mother watched silently as it was dragged to Oak Hill by a rope with an injured foreleg. His mother couldn't watch and she turned him around so he wouldn't see. From then on his parents both made him promise to never shapeshift in front of others, no matter what. 

No matter how he braced for the pain, the jab from the spear caused him to yelp. Sharp iron was in his gut and the pain doubled when it was yanked out. Dark blood began matting his fur around the wound and he desperately tried anything to slow the bleeding. In between shallow breaths Walter heard the disappointment  when it wasn't a killing blow, then the high-pitched wail of a fox. His heart pounded in fear—Greyson! Leaving the camp put himself in danger! Then another familiar voice shocked him more than when he sprung the trap…Shiloh. Her voice was wild, screaming. There was terrifying look in her eyes, a look that no man or beast wanted to see because that would be the last time they'd be alive. It was the same look when a mother bear was robbed of her cubs, the same look from a tiger when another male tried to claim its territory, the same look when another beast tried to take an alpha's mate. A rage-induced bloodlust. This was the first time Walter had ever seen Shiloh this angry. Everything about her posture said she was a hair's breadth from being ready to spill blood. It was enough to form a deep-seated fear in the old tracker, stronger than being hunted and skinned like a dog. 

The Highlanders questioned her interrupting their 'hunt', brushing her off like a madwoman. Walter knew this wouldn't go over well and hackles were rising on the back of his neck. With stone-cold eyes she stared them down, slowly taking steps towards them. An intense pressure filled the atmosphere as she radiated killing intent; an oppressive intimidation that made it hard to breathe. "The moment you thought about killing that wolf, you made it my business." With her free hand, the lycanthorpe saw her pull out a huntsman's axe. The way she hefted the weapon meant she was intending to use it. A paralyzing fear overcame everyone present and the tracker felt his body go rigid. The eyes of the men standing around him were wide with terror as they found themselves completely unable to move. The pressure was intensifying and the tension was rising. Unblinking, she suddenly slashed at the air. A sharp wind tore a horizontal gash in the trees, slicing the rope securing the anchor to the net in the process. One part of the slash gouged a portion of the bark just hairs away from a man's neck. The paralysis holding their bodies eased up just enough to let that man turn his head to see just how close he was to losing it.

Walter hit the ground, clenching his teeth to hold back showing his pain. He saw all the color drain from that man's face. Shiloh's voice lowered, but still with the wild light in her eyes. "So that Elder of yours is responsible, is he? Now you all listen up and listen well. You go tell him to get over here before sundown–or else he'll be digging a new grave for every hour he comes late!" One of the Highlanders, the portly one called Redbeard was released from the paralysis. Baring her teeth Shiloh hissed at him, "Now get out of my sight!" The rest were trapped by the deity until the Elder of Norre came to take responsibility.