The streets were near-deserted with the odd child returning from gatherings eggs having found the night restless or found themselves unable to sleep with the promise of a sunny day. The summer was shorter in the North and the children delighted in being able to go about and explore before the snow cloistered them within the walls. As Gwendylon moved the small hut she shared with her father oddly early, the old man moved about on his cot. The rustle of furs marking the man's reluctance to wake to the dawn. It had been twelve days since Lutter had stumbled into the mead hall cursing about some strange beast and bearing wounds that could have cost the man his life if he had not been so quick to get away or the creature so lacking the care to kill him. Sitting up he watched the daughter he had adopted gather the bandages made of rough cloth from the wool of sheep. Stew was already cooking and the hut was swept. "You are oddly eager this morning, and to tend wounds without being called upon?" The wiseman of the village was growing older and he was happy for these brief days of summer even as the chill was a warning that harvest would soon be upon them. Was his daughter perhaps interested in a man? It would be good for the woman to take a husband and teach her children the craft of healing. But of all the men in the village, he had little idea as to who could use bandages aside from Lutter, and he hoped he was mistaken. The hunter was a decent enough man, but older and foolish. Gwendolyn could do far better. Perhaps he had best speak upon it? 

He thought as she hurried to the door seemingly unaware of his presence or the early hour. "If you do rush off, daughter, perhaps bring this man you are so interested to dine?" Or would she be home at all, she had made the stew ridiculously early. By the time they would have sat down to a hearty dinner it would be well cooked! "And, perhaps this is not my place to say, but you could do well to find a man well worth your talents and with as quick of a mind." He hoped the little barb would aid his obviously smitten daughter against her apparent infatuation of Lutter. The man was old enough to have been a young hunter when Gwendolyn had been found lost and wandering the forests. Sighing slightly, the wiseman shrugged. He had problems aplenty it seemed. A strange beast roaming the forests and now a daughter smitten with a fool. He sincerely hoped it was an old man's wants for his daughter to find happiness.

The street outside the village was slow to rise. The odd hunter slipping from their home to walk along the road or wander amongst the houses towards the slowly lightening forest. Children either gathering eggs or seeing older brothers off on their hunt and sisters off to collect the herbs and berries that were growing in these happy months. It was picturesque just about, thought the headman. Who continued whittling before a blackbird crooned about his head in the most terrifying way. Was it a bad omen? Was some malicious spirit within his hearth? Looking up sharply and with a matching intake of breath at that shadowy apparition before him. Was this a woman of death come to whisk him away? But no, as the woman lowered her hood to show a face of great age the headman relaxed. A stout fellow, he was given to worry and the lines on his face shouted such for all to see. His beard was a tangle of grey and red hairs as much as from stress as from age. Studying the strange Mira, he grimaced slightly. How had a stranger gotten within Norn without being challenged by the sentries?! But he could see her countenance and found himself agreeing. It would be unwise to stand in the way of such a crone. For with the dim light, Mira looked far older than she appeared. 

"Tavern, inn." He replied foolishly and found himself frowning. "You look from the North but speak as though you were from the Southern Kingdoms. The [i]mead hall[/i]," He put emphasis on the words, belying his dislike of the Southern term. "Is right over yonder." He gestured with the hand not holding the knife, for to gesture with the knife would have been rude and perhaps invite a threat towards the woman when he meant none. If his gesture was followed the large building was indeed just a stone throw from the headman's own home. It's walls carved with curious stories from the mythology of the village. The gods in their ceaseless battles as was told throughout the North. Lutter could be seen past out under the eaves of the roof, his injuries healing well and would be better if he didn't try to regale the whole town every night. The stories were growing more fearsome and far-fetched by the night and the headsman was growing more curious if such a creature truly existed at all. Something had been raiding their flocks, but Lutter could have gotten in a fight he well knew was foolish. The steady roar of fire from the smithy interrupted the conversation as the smith blew the coals into life once more. "Does your son come for the market? You are but two days early if such is the case." He offered, curious as to why the older woman was indeed there.

Across the village, however, the headsman was not wrong as to why Mira was allowed to pass unchallenged. The sentries had seen the woman and found themselves valuing their lives. For while a witch would not cost them their lives, she could well cause other horrid things to happen. Bauld was a fearsome looking young man who would have rather been hunting than watching the road and treelines in hopes the game would come to him. The only reason he had agreed to such a duty was the fact his father's sheep had been one of the groups preyed upon and with a bad lambing year in the spring they could ill afford to lose more of the prized animals. His mother, Drega, spun their wool and wove it into cloth they traded with their neighbors and even donated cloth to Garin, the wiseman and healer of the village. Garin, the stubborn fool had paid for the gift despite himself, not wanting to take charity. Sighing, Bauld leaned on his spear then stood up straighter as a lumbering giant bear came from the forest and down the road. Only it was not a bear. After taking a second harder look he relaxed only slightly. The massive man dressed in a way that matched the folk who lived far to the North in their small tribes with their spirit and animal totems. 

"You are back with a good catch it seems! The market is in two days, and there is a Southern trader. He would pay well for good hides." The young man noted as the giant of a man paused in they dying torchlight as Bauldr remembered it and snuffed the useless object. The light was enough as it was to see and there was little reason to waste the torch. "Been attacks in the woods and on our herds by some strange spirit." While the strange bear, literally, of a man had not been about the villages in a while he had come often enough for Bauld to feel easy letting him pass without challenge. For a large as the man was, he was known to the village and Bauld remembered his mother taking pity on the giant. Often buying his furs rather than paying any attention to the ones Bauld brought home. It had stung his pride, but his mother had pointed out sternly that he had everything he needed. The strange traveller only stopped by so often and was nearly mute by his own will. Drega had far too large a heart, she couldn't even let a runt die as would be useful but a small flock of motherless, small, or abandoned sheep kept a solemn company about their hut. His father had tried to butcher one only once, his mother had dumped their supper in with the pigs' and had decreed that she would rather sleep with the sheep than the man she had married. She had too, and his father had never brought up the topic again.