Arn stopped just in front of the sentry.  The wild looking man just barely discernable from beneath his layer of furs.  He straightened up to his full height trying to loosen and stretch the sore muscles that had been employed in dragging his goods for days.  He groaned as his knotted muscles relieved their tension.  It had been a few days since he had started his journey.  It was a good thing he knew how to smoke and salt the meat or it would have spoiled.  The villagers preferred the  meat fresh but the last buck he had taken down would have been much too heavy to pull in just a few days time.  

He knew the young man that was in front of him. The lad must be his junior by about eight or so years.  He grunted at the young fellow’s appraisal of the contents of his makeshift sled.  The lad had a good eye.  He made a decent hunter. Unfortunately, he had an idiot of a father who was more for drinking than for the skill of tracking and hunting.  There had even been a time when the oaf had claimed that Arn had been stealing from the traps he and his boy…Bauld must be the name…had set.  Out of spite, Arn had delivered many a hare and fowl to the very door of the man’s hut with the useless traps properly arranged and baited as if to say [i]“this is how you do it you fool”[/i]. 

The lad’s mom however, was a kind soul.  Reminded Arn of his own. A stern and heavy handed woman but whose eyes could not hide the goodness and gentleness of her heart.  He had always reserved the best furs for her.  Even though she paid what she could and he could have gotten more somewhere else, he never objected. He had even let some go for a bowl of stew or some cooked fowl.  The taste reminded him of home. Perhaps, in some way it was Arn’s only way to feel he was still human, still part of a family. 

The mention of the strange spirit brought his mind back to the present.  His eyes fell on the young lad, appraising and taking in what had been said.  Bushy eyebrows furrowed in thought and consternation.  There was no reason for the villager to lie.  Indeed, even the mention of a spirit was to invite it into being.  No sane person would willingly bring that sort of evil into their fold.  That being said, the wild man had felt some sort of darkness in the wilds.  He could not completely place it but there was small clues.  The animals felt uneasy around certain kills.  They had been mangled and butchered.  No natural animal would eat like that.  No natural animal did.  The carcass would be left to rot when it would have normally fed scavengers and such.  

Involuntarily Arn touched the lucky rabbit’s foot around his neck.  He sported other various totems but that had always been extra special to him. The gnarled hands found some sort of comfort in it.  He turned his gaze away from the villager breaking the few moments silent pause.  There was no reason to worry about this until the time came.  That was one of the secrets of animals. They cared about the hear and now.  Live day by day. 

The news about the southerner was good news. He had dealt with them only once or twice so he knew that they paid more and bartered better than the locals.  It was either because they could appreciate the goods better or because they were not as knowledgeable. Either way, it meant that he would not have to do the odd job until spring came if his funds ran out. 

He nodded to the sentry as if to request passage and at the same time as an acknowledgement. Even animals provided greetings to their own kinds. Arn would make his way towards the market square after being allowed to enter. He would deliver his meat first.  The furs and other goods would be left until the market, two days hence.