The large man made his way slowly through the village. His make shift sled bumping and clipping against the stones that made up the road.  Here was a clear symbol of civilization.  A mark that wilderness ended here.  His feet were used to walking on the wild places of the earth and even to his booted feet, which he already hated wearing compared to being barefoot most of the summer, the texture of coble stone felt alien.  He shambled on, his eyes beneath shaggy eyebrows and tick hair moved side to side identifying and remembering that not much had changed in the village.  He had been in Norn on and off through his years and had actually seen many of today’s adults grow up.  Many knew him or of him but few ever dealt with him.  He noticed the smith at work and made a mental inventory to see if perhaps he would need a few more arrow tips or upgraded knives.  His own had been used almost to the point of getting too thin.  Depending on the return for the sale of his wares a few days time from now, he might upgrade.  

His eyes stayed fixed on the smith who toiled about the fire.  If the big man offered him a greeting the wild man would return it.  Arn wondered if the smith, Hod, knew that he was the very definition of civilization.  His fire crafted wares that allowed humans to be the reigning species.  That his furnace created items that allowed creatures without tooth or claw to rule over much better predators.  Heck, even prey was better suited to survival than humans were.  The young of deer or bunny possessed better instincts that a man youth ten or more winters old.

As if to make his proverbial point, his eyes settled on a group that would have been carrion for wolves.  Arn had not quarrel with anybody.  It was true he did not trust anybody, but he did not go out of his way to make life hard for them either.  The same could not be said of the young thug that tried to stare him down.  He had known the offspring of the mead hall’s owner’s daughter, Wersk, since they had returned to the mead hall.  The lad had often directed insult and perhaps some sort of blame(?) towards Arn.  Children were often trying to prove their superiority, strength, and courage.  The bearish man was perhaps an easy target.  This time however, the malice of youth was starting to shift to the cruelty of adulthood.  Some instinct inside Arn made him turn to face the lad when normally he would just ignore him.  The wild man’s eyes rested on the other’s.  The lad would find caution and warning written on Arn’s eyes.  

He did not look away from a perceived threat despite the other lad’s attempt at assistance and apology.  He knew Oskar, the lad had a sensible head on his head and would sometimes approach Arn with a greeting or question.  As a young boy, he had asked about Arn’s wares, or totems or even his tattoos.  It was perhaps of this small familiarity that he felt a pang of annoyance at Skal teasing Oskar.  Arn started to rise to his full height, easily beginning to tower over the boys.  He was surprised that the older delinquent came to Oskar’s defense.  Perhaps there was some hope for the leader yet.  Oskar may yet change the ways of the group.  Only the heavens knew how many times the boy’s sensible head had spared them death or injury.  In an unforgiving world as theirs, the consequences for dangerous situations were often final. 

He still kept his eyes on them and watched the group pass.  He then spit on the boy’s spit and stepped over it, his sled eventually erasing their exchange.  This would also erase it from his memory.  As a survivor of the wild, Arn had no space in his brain for situations such as these.  As he made his way to the spot where the group had been, his eyes fell on the sight that they had been spying.  Despite having faced danger and sometimes very real chance of death, Arn still felt a shudder as his eyes fell on the dark robed figure talking to the village had man.  He did not know why, like many of his race and region, he was wary and perhaps even to a fault, of magic and the arcane.  Unlike his peers, Arn did not think that magic was unnatural.  It was actually some innate instinct that made him be wary of a deeper respect for the essence that seemed to inhabit every life force. 

His unease was reduced a bit as he saw the crow allow itself to be fed.  Crows were actually very crafty and intelligent birds.  He often viewed them as harbingers of change and understanding.  It perplexed him why the people of the village were so of put by them.  Even now, he could see that Vosker had apprehensions.  He felt drawn to the scene but he knew that in civilized company, one had roles and rules that had to be followed. 

Instead he, made his way to the back/side door of the mead hall.  He really needed to sell of his meat as soon as he could so that the buyer could profit before it was spoiled and so that he could get paid for it too.  He had been making business with Frenn and his eldest son for years.  He knocked in what had turned into an identification knock.  There was a tap, a rap and a triple tap.  It was loud enough so that the anybody in the back room would hear.  While he waited for the door to be attended, his eyes stayed on the visitor.  Her figure stood out amongst the villagers.  The big man adopted the behavior of a bunny or other small scurry creature as he saw the pair across from him.  It was painfully obvious the man was looking at them.