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[i]Location: On the outskirts of the Clan Gathering
Interacting with: A rather obstinate axe
Mood: As irritated as one can get at an inanimate object[/i][/center] 

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The normally serenely quiet forest just outside of Hollafoth was being disturbed by a particular vagabond. A loud, rhythmic “clacking” noise emanated   from the man’s small clearing, as rock pounded mercilessly against rock. Repairing his axe had become routine to Feir, but for whatever reason the new axe head he was chipping away at simply refused to take the shape he wanted. 

For the past few hours, axe maintenance had been the raven haired man’s excuse to avoid joining the Clan Gathering, but now it was starting to get under his skin. Quite literally now, as his hand slipped and a rather jagged part of the stone he had been using as a chisel embedded itself into the palm of his hand.

With a small curse, Feir tossed the stone aside, returning it back to the ground from which he had found it. The cut was purely superficial, but the sight of his own blood was enough to convince the man that he was quite done stalling. With a quick movement, the small cut was wrapped in a small bit of torn cloth, as he didn’t care for the idea of leaving a trail of blood in his wake, and the man got up from his perch against the old oak tree.  [color=3CB371]”Maybe it’s just this place in general,”[/color] Feir muttered to himself, remembering other times that bad luck had befallen him while near Hollafoth. 

Between his run in with bandits that had cost him the prey he had been tracking and the time that he had stumbled upon a bear’s den that almost cost him his life, the place didn’t hold too many fond memories for him. But nevertheless, it had been too long since he had been away from his clan, so here he was, standing just outside of the great gathering. 

As he approached the edge of the forest, he could see the great many tents sprawling across the valley, which was a sight that honestly made him a bit sick to his stomach when he thought about just how crowded it would be down there. A loud racket cut through Feir’s misgivings, as it was a sound that could only belong to the mongrels of his clan.

A strange feeling of guilt passed through him, as it seemed even stranger that he still considered himself a member of the Wolfrahg tribe, despite how long he had spent away from them. While Feir had set out without much disturbance, he could not help but wonder if he was still considered family to them. The wolf pelt that served as his hood was one of the few things that connected him to his people, but it felt like a life time ago that he had ever truly been a part of them. 

A stinging sensation came from his wounded hand, and it was only then did he realize that he had been clenching his fist ever tightly. It wasn’t like him to let such things worry him like this. Besides, the only way he would know for sure if he was still welcome was to put a brave face on and join them. And with his people coming into view, now was as good a time as any.

The small trek from his spot at the edge of the woods was short and uneventful, but the transition from the peaceful cover of the woods to the open expanse of civilization was abrupt and left him feeling rather exposed and vulnerable. The sentiment was quickly ignored as he grew closer, but it still took more willpower than he was proud of to remove his hood and face mask. 

Few noticed him slip among the Wolfrahg ranks as he searched for his family, a talent that had blessed Feir since he was young, but every now and then he noticed an expression of surprise here or a look of disdain there as a few people recognized him. The wanderer paid them little heed as he drew closer to the center of the caravan, but there was an odd buzzing of activity that seemed suspiciously different from the excitement of finally reaching their destination.

It wasn’t until he heard Relmir’s impossibly powerful voice barking orders at various clansmen that he realized what was happening. Rimguage’s betrothed had gone missing and a party was being organized to search for her. Feir generally could not care less about the troubles of those so much higher than him, but that simply wasn’t the case when it came to Narcissa, the one person in his life that had managed to carve out a foothold in his heart.

For the first time in months, Feir felt a wound that he had assumed had long since healed. While conflicted, he didn’t hesitate for a moment as he strode up right to the chieftain. [color=3CB371]”Chief, how can I help?”[/color] he asked the old bear of a man, head slightly bowed in respect.  

There was something oddly relieving about no longer worrying about having to worry about whether or not he would be welcomed anymore, but there was little Feir would not have given for the circumstances of his relief to be different.

[center][Hider=Skillset] [list][*][color=3CB371]Lay of the land: Years of wandering has left Feir with an intimate understanding of the various terrains surrounding the tribes[/color][*][color=DAA520]Strong Memory: From never forgetting a face to memorizing which plants are certain to ruin your day, there are few things he trusts as absolutely as his memory [/color][*][color=3CB371]Keenly Observant: One doesn’t survive on their own in such a unforgiven landscape without being able to notice the subtlest of changes in their surroundings [/color][/list]
[list][*][color=DAA520]Wilderness Expert: When it comes to surviving away from any semblance of society, few compare to the wealth of knowledge Feir has cultivated over the years [/color][*][color=3CB371]Archery: One of the most reliable ways to secure food in the wild is to have a steady hand with a bow, so it comes as little surprise that he is a decent shot [/color][*][color=DAA520]Axe Fighting: Feir has had more run ins than he cares to admit with deadly creatures that got past his bow, so learning how to make use of his axe to solve problems seemed prudent [/color][/list]
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