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- - - Fendros - - -

He could only see the ground. A few stones here and there. Blades of grass scrunched by his tense hands in front of him. He observed everything to try and distract from the sudden nausea. Everything almost went dark as another coughing fit started. He felt as if his bones would fall apart if he so much as moved an inch, so he tried not to cough, but it was futile. Eventually he regained control and stared at the ground again. A cool sensation flowed down his chin and a drop of blood fell away, disappearing into the dirt as it reached it.

In the corner of his vision he could see the unnatural beast that he had barely managed to kill before he could be torn apart by it. A wolf-like creature with long arms that ended in fearsome claws, and a humanoid shaped torso. It was definitely a werewolf, just as the people of Cheydinhal had been whispering about for the past several months. Fendros was out in a recreational hunt on his own, the kind that he liked to take to get away from his suffocating family and their depthless expectations of him. He had been tracking a deer for most of the day when he was set upon by this creature.

It came out of nowhere. A rustle in the bushes and he turned around to behold its gnashing teeth flying straight towards him. He could barely gasp before he was knocked off his horse and sent flying onto the ground. His horse's screaming neigh could be heard, but it faded behind the vile sound of viscera moving. Fendros struggled upright in time to shoot an arrow at the beast while it was tearing into his by then mutilated mount. The werewolf was hit in its right upper arm. It showed more anger in response than any sort of pain. Fendros had to think fast as its attention was turned to him. He threw down his bow and drew his sword. By using a tree as a barrier between him and the werewolf, Fendros was able to fend it off for a time, but was not quick enough. A misjudged thrust at the beast's neck found its mark without him noticing the left claw of creature come down on his shoulder and rend through his leather armour, the cold met his torso as blood began to flow from the both of them. In the shock of the moment, Fendros wrenched his sword free in a cutting motion, severing most of the creature's head from its body. As the pain of his wounds came through and the werewolf slumped dead on the ground with one last pained canine whine, Fendros dropped to his hands and knees and stared at the ground. There was nothing else in his mind but fear and pain. What afflicted him went beyond the flesh-wounds he had sustained.

Another coughing fit began, but was halted midway by an empty retching. Fendros clenched his eyes shut and pressed his forehead on the ground to try and stop it, but his grip was slipping. He felt parts of his body crack and warp out of shape, unseen, but felt in excruciating detail. His hands clenched through the ground until they were fists holding dirt. The warping contortions intensified and he screamed. He could not tell whether it was his own body making sickening sounds or the rivets and stiches of his clothing coming apart. In the last moment of opening his eyes, Fendros could see his fists through blurry tears; a black fur was sprouting from the back of his hands. The pain continued until it was all Fendros could sense. He continued to try and yell in pain. After a while his yells became constricted and eventually silent.

The pain. Dream. See. Open eyes! Forest. Green. Red. Brown. Blood. Blood smell. Brother blood. Dead brother. More blood. Hunger. Horse blood. Dead horse. Fresh meat! Feed. Not enough. Hear. Birds. Footsteps, no, hoofsteps. Horse? Not horse smell. Deer smell. Hunger. Fresh deer. Follow smell. Hunt deer...

Run. See deer. Smell deer. Fearful deer. Chase deer. Chase deer! Catch! Feed! Feast! Smell. Different smell. Brother smell. Sister smell. Smell of pack. Howl. Feed more...

Hunt. Track. Smell. Only small food. Cannot feast. Cannot feed. Cannot chase. Hunt finished. Sleep...
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Meesei walked through the forests outside Cheydinhal alone, following the scent of her quarry, though this time she was not out to kill, but rather for a greater purpose. Her lord had given her a task, instructions to add a new member to her pack. She had followed his directions and had been waiting all night in the forests outside Cheydinhal, and now it seemed her patience had paid off. She caught the scent of a lycan, and not a dead one as she had found a few hours prior. No, this one was very much alive, though the scent of blood in the air called into question its health.

The early morning sun had just begun to cast a faint glow over the land on what would be a warm, clear day. While not as hot or humid as her homeland, the temperate forests of Cyrodiil suited Meesei perfectly fine. She walked through the forest, stopping periodically to look for signs that a werewolf had passed, as well as to reaquire the lycan's scent. As usual, she was unarmed, needing little more than her own mind to keep herself protected. Few hunters chose magic as their preferred method to kill, but she had more than proven its potency. Her attire consisted of a deerskin loincloth with several leather pouches for carrying useful items, as well as two thick leather strips worn in a cross across her chest, draped in bear fur on both the front and back. It held pouches and other ways of carrying things as well, though she rarely had cause to use them. She had a necklace of teeth from all manner of creatures, including bear, deer, mountain lions, and even a few from a minotaur. She also wore rough leather shoes and leather bracers, each adorned with three rows of animal claws from similar creatures as her necklace. Overall, she very much had the appearance of a tribal, which was not far from the truth. Though her pack came from places all over Tamriel, they all considered themselves family.

Eventually, Meesei tracked the scent to its source. Beneath a large oak with fresh claw marks on its trunk was a Dunmer laying bare on the ground, unconscious. He was wounded with blood coating his skin, though from the scent, it was not all his own. He had already been through his first transformation and was in the process of recovering, by the looks of it. The wound on his shoulder was deep and appeared to have cut into major blood vessels. Without treatment, a normal mortal would have certainly perished, but this Dunmer was no average mortal. He was a lycan; their ability to regenerate their wounds far exceeded that of a normal person. This was the one Hircine had sent her to find, though she wondered what use he would be to them. He appeared very young; perhaps not as young as Sabine, but young nonetheless. Regardless, she trusted the judgement of her lord and would take this new blood into her pack without question.

Meesei approached the unconscious Dunmer and picked him up off of the ground, carrying him in her arms. She was no warrior, but the strength granted to her by her beast blood allowed her to carry even a grown man with relative ease. The camp her pack had established was not too far away, so it would be a simple matter to carry him back. As she was walking, she charged restoration energy into his body, enough to keep him stable as she made her way back, but not enough that he would awaken beforehand. New lycans tended to be rather confused, and often in denial, so she felt it best that he awaken in the presence of the rest of the pack.

After about half an hour, Meesei made it back to camp, the Dunmer still unconscious in her arms. She placed him down on a large rock near the campfire, then knelt down beside him and got to work on sealing up the wound on his shoulder. His own regeneration had taken care of most of it, so there was not much left for her to do. Her arrival had of course gathered the attention of the rest of the pack, so they gathered around to observe their new family member. As Meesei had expected, Lorag was the first to comment.

"Hmph, this is the one Hircine sent you after? I know we're not supposed to question our master, but this kid looks even younger than catdog here." Lorag said, motioning towards Ahnasha. She looked back at him, giving a low growl.

"Do you really have to call me that?" She said, slightly agitated.

Lorag chuckled. "Get used to it. I like your new name. Glad I came up with it."

"Silence." Meesei quipped. "The newest member of our pack will likely be waking soon, and I don't want the first thing he hears to be your bickering." She said, returning to her healing.
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Fading in and out of consciousness, Fendros could barely think. He heard voices. Not immediately voices. They all had foreign accents. He started to wake slowly, then opened his eyes suddenly when he realised that he did not know who the voices belonged to. He felt a heavy blanket fall over his lower body made from some kind of fur. Turning his head around he saw several people standing over him. An Argonian that had a faint yellow light emanating from her hands, an Orc man, a Khajiit woman, and a young Human girl who had apparently cast the blanket over him, probably Breton. The fur clothing and the trees surrounding them all gave Fendros an immediate impression that these people were bandits. Kidnappers. Fendros inhaled to try and talk, but winced as a bolt of pain shot through the right side of his chest. Fendros tried to reach for his sword with his right hand, but found that he had apparently been stripped of all belongings and clothing. He didn't realise how cold he felt until the blanket started to warm him.

An Imperial man, also in furs, came into view. "A Dark Elf? I can tell we're going to get along already." The Imperial said. He knelt down, "Those are some nasty cuts. I don't remember having to be lacerated when I was turned." He faced the Argonian, "What happened, Meesei?"

Fendros' eyes looked over each of the people staring at him. "Are... are you bandits?" Fendros croaked, trying not to aggravate his wound.
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Meesei glanced over to Janius. "He is how I found him. It appears he killed a lycan, but was turned himself. I found the body of a werewolf not too far from where I found him." She said just before the Dunmer started to stir. Sabine draped a fur blanket over him, as he would likely feel cold due to the blood loss. Even as a lycan, he would still need some time to fully recover. It seemed that he thought Meesei's pack were bandits, which amused her, though she kept a serious demeanor. "No, quite the contrary, we are, for all intents and purposes, your family now. In your battle with that lycan, you were born into the pack. You are a werewolf, a hound of Hircine, as are all of us."

"We understand if you are confused, but trust me that you have been given a great gift. You now have capabilities far beyond those of lesser mortals. You are a true hunter." Ahnasha added, giving a reassuring nod as she looked down on him.
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"No..." Fendros started with a shivering voice, "No. That can't be true." Fendros cast his mind back to before he woke up. He was hunting, tracking a deer, then a great wolf beast knocked him off his horse, tore the horse apart and attacked him. He only just killed the beast, but it had torn him with its claws.

With all the different races here denying they were bandits, and not an elf among them, Fendros had a hard time convincing himself that he was a werewolf. That was just a dream I had, he thought, these have to be swindlers. Take nobles and convince them to give you all their money with fanciful tales of power.

"That beast I killed. It was a werewolf?" Fendros asked. The wound he sustained probably would have killed him, it would make sense if he was given the strength of a werewolf if he was to survive, or these people found him and saved his life. How could he be sure? Fendros shook his head, "I don't believe you," he said flatly. Fendros tried to get up, but only managed to sit up "I have to get back to Cheydinhal. Where are we? And where are my belongings?" Fendros' voice remained shakey from the cold and from nervousness, as much as he would hate to admit it. Most of these people were armed, but he still tried to sound somewhat authoritative.
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Meesei remained unfazed by the Dunmer's outright denial of his situation, as she had expected it. The others remained silent to allow Meesei to explain; even Lorag was uncharacteristically quiet. He was staring at the Dunmer quizzically, his face scrunched up as if he was deep in thought. For the moment, Meesei did not notice, as she was focused on persuading the Dunmer not to go and get himself killed.

"Yes, you could go back to Cheydinhal, I wouldn't stop you. It would be a fatal error, but you could do it. You see, as a new werewolf, you would be able to stay in the city for a short time, go back to your friends and family. But, no fresh lycan has enough control over their urges to remain in civilization for long. You would lose control and kill those closest to you. Your friends, family, those you spend your time around, they would die by your hand. Perhaps you would even get to feast on their corpses before the city guard found and killed you. Of course, there is a better option. It is the will of Hircine for you to join my pack. We will teach you how to control the blessing that has been given to you, how to fight and kill like a true hunter of the wilds. Afterwards, there would be nothing stopping you from leaving, though I suspect that would not be your desire " Meesei explained, leaning in closer to him. "And if you don't believe me, well, ask yourself, could you always smell someone's heartbeat?"
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Fendros hadn't noticed until the Argonian mentioned it. He had retained much of his sensory perception from his dream. He could hear birds chirping that were so loud that he thought they were close, when they were nowhere to be seen. He could smell... textures... indescribable smells... things he couldn't smell before. That was something he couldn't explain. He sat and thought for a moment, still feeling cross about his situation.

"Okay Argonian. I will humour you for now." Fendros said with quick words, "Hircine. He is the Lord of the Hunt, isn't he? A Daedric lord? An unfriendly one, as I recall. Why does he want me?"

At this point, the Imperial decided to speak up, "None of us really know what exactly Hircine wants to keep us individually. He's just our patron as werewolves." The imperial crossed his arms and bobbed his head. "But if you managed to kill a werewolf before you turned, you might have impressed him some."

Fendros faced the Imperial as he talked, then addressed the rest of the group. "And what if I don't want to 'kill like a true hunter of the wilds'?" Fendros jabbed a finger in the direction of the Argonian, "You say you wouldn't stop me if I went home, but what choice to I truly have in this matter? Was this truly something I desire?!" Fendros' voice raised as his anger escalated, "It seems to me that I have been cursed, not bestowed some great power! Hircine be damned in his pelts and antlers! Remove this curse from me, now!" Fendros flinched and clutched at his shoulder, taking in the silence.

"There is no cure." A small voice chimed in.

The Breton girl's words seemed to cause the others to look to one another. The Imperial looked to the ground and scratched the back of his neck. The silence was sustained. Fendros tried to breathe regularly, but his wound kept him from doing so. His anger simmered to a defeated look as he lay his elbows on his knees and stared into the blanket that covered his lower half. In his mind, there was a mix of outrage, fear, sadness, confusion, almost every negative feeling he could have. He couldn't begin to fathom what this meant.

Fendros' shoulders started to shiver. All he could do to keep from breaking down into tears was to stare down, as he had done hours beforehand. "You're..." Fendros struggled to form the words "... you're telling the truth, aren't you."
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Meesei nooded. "It would be unwise for the Alpha to lie to her pack members, lest they lose faith in me. You are being given a generous offer here. That werewolf that attacked you, it was feral, a lycan that had become little more than a feral beast. Many of the inexperienced fall down that path, losing the ability to separate the beast from themselves. You were right to kill it. We are different, we hunt with purpose. We hunt for our lord and live for each other. We are a family, a pack with a bond tighter than any simple blood relation. We are a pack that is offering to accept you into our fold, to take you under our care, with no cost other than that you listen to my word."

At this point, Lorag took a few steps forward, his mind made up on what he had observed. "Yeah, yeah, I see it now. I think I remember you. You're one of the kids in the Avarul family. What was it, Fendor, Feindro, Fendros, Fendrul...somethin' like that? I was born in Cheydinhal, lived there before I ended up in the Legion. I got to say, your parents were some of my favorite people in town. Never met 'em in person, of course, but they made some of the best wine in town at that vineyard. Ah, what I wouldn't give for a bottle..." He said, his voice trailing off at the end as his mind retreated into the memories of the fine wines and ales he used to have. It was about the only part of civilized life he missed.
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While the Argonian spoke, Fendros sat and listened, still looking down and hiding his face. He was able to retain his composure for a while, but as the orc described his family, a tear left Fendros' eye and dropped onto the blanket. He covered his face with his hands and sniffed back liquid gathering in his nose. It was too much to be reminded of everything he had just been taken away from in the space of several hours. This wasn't something that was supposed to happen. He might not see his family ever again.

He sat for another half a minute, trying not to sob loudly. He raised his head from his hands and faced the orc, tears had streamed down his face and his eyes were puffed up. "Fendros. My name is Fendros Avarul." Fendros said, wiping away the tears and trying to compose himself, "Forgive me. I didn't hear your names."

"You can call me Janius." The Imperial said, "I understand what you're going through."

The Breton remained silent, her cloak of furs over the lower half of her face and her beady eyes continuing to stare.
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Meesei remained silent to allow the Dunmer, Fendros, to deal with his grief. She had never personally experienced what Fendros was dealing with, but it made sense to her why he would be less than ecstatic about his gift. Lorag seemed too distracted with his own thoughts to care about Fendros' breakdown. The others were similarly silent until Fendros spoke up again. Janius answered with his name, then Lorag decided to chime in himself.

"Name's Lorag." The Orc said as he glanced over to the small Breton girl. "You can call her Runt. Don't worry, she's a good sport about it. The Imperial here already gave you his name, and you can call the Khajiit here catdog..."

Ahnasha hissed sharply. "He can call me Ahnasha, thank you."

"Catdog." Lorag added quickly.

Meesei shook her head slightly, then returned his attention to Fendros. "My name is Meesei, I am the Alpha of this pack."
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Janius grinned at the exchanged between Lorag and Ahnasha. "You two are made for each other, did I ever mention that?" He turned around and went about his business, "Heheh, catdog.."

Fendros nodded at each of the names. He had assumed that the biggest one, Lorag, would be the alpha, but there had to be a reason for the Argonian Meesei to be in that position, so he accepted it for the moment. "If I may. I don't know if my clothes survived me turning, or if my weapons and other belongings were found?" Fendros indirectly asked, "Also. Would you happen to have any spare... garments? I am quite cold... and I would like to... be modest, if I may." Fendros tried to remain reserved and undemanding in his tone. He was done fighting with these people, the least he could do to try and get what he wanted was to be polite.
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One by one, the others returned to what they were doing before to allow Meesei to deal with Fendros. As the Alpha, it was her responsibility to keep the pack together. As a result, she was the one who would be teaching the new blood most of the basic skills. "I do not know where your belongings are, I did not see them directly next to the lycan body I found. It could be you tried moving a bit before turning. If your equipment is still carrying your scent, it may yet be possible to track it down. I may use that as a lesson in using your senses. As for clothing, we do have enough leather to make something simple. I can teach you to make it if you do not know how. I will say, however, that you will need to get over that sense of modesty the Imperials instilled in you. As werewolves, we cannot carry all of our belongings with us when we turn. As a result, you will end up seeing a lot of us, and we will end up seeing a lot of you. That is simply the way it is. That is how I carried you here, after all, or did you think you've had that blanket this entire time?"
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Fendros looked up at Meesei with his forehead forward and blinked. I cannot tell whether to call them savages if it's logical an unavoidable for them to be lacking in clothing, he thought. "I'm sure I will eventually get used to it." Fendros muttered. It would not be too difficult for you, now, wouldn't it, miss lizard savage? Fendros looked forward and corner of his mouth that was facing away from Meesei twitched upwards for a moment. A small internal quip, however inappropriate, was relief from the grief that had exhausted him.

Taking a breath, Fendros pondered for a few seconds. "I have never learned to make clothing, let alone work leather," Fendros said "Now is as good a time as any I think."
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"In that case, follow me and I will give you your first lesson." Meesei said, walking over to the collection of leather bags next to the campfire. She spent a few minutes finding the necessary materials, including a steel knife, some leather strips, and of course the leather itself. "Fortunately for you, we already have some tanned leather. Fur and skins can also work for this particular purpose, but leather is more durable. I will teach you that process in time. For now, we can start with something simple, perhaps a loincloth with a few pouches to carry things. You could probably do that on your own, but I will teach you to bind it in such a way that it will fall apart, instead of being destroyed, if you turn while wearing it. From there, if you want to know how to make more, I can teach you, or we can go search for your belongings. Either way, we will not do much in the way of strenuous work today, but tomorrow we will start your first lessons on how to control your beast blood." Meesei explained. She found a clear spot in camp, sat down on the ground and laid out the tools in front of her, then waited for Fendros to join her.
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My first lesson. Hopefully this is less futile than magic. Fendros thought. He got up, holding the blanket and taking it with him. He had to press one hand to his head and stay still for a moment after he got up. His blood loss had given him a splitting headache.

Remaining sullen and quiet, Fendros sat down, complied with Meesei and tried to work the leather into a loincloth under her instruction, keeping the blanket wrapped around him. Thankfully, the pattern was not particularly difficult to follow, but putting holes in the leather caused him to slip and cut himself accidentally on a couple of occasions, and some holes were difficult to place without cutting too close to the edge or so far into the hide that the hole would be torn to the edge. About halfway through the lesson, he noticed the eyes of some other pack members checking on him, he could hear some sniggering when he cut himself for the umpteenth time. Perhaps he wasn't made for needlework after all.

It took Fendros a couple of hours to make something serviceable, and it caused him no end of frustration, but it took his mind off home for a while. With some adjustments, Fendros finally finished something that fit him somewhat comfortably. He had a feeling that the days of wearing finely made silks and cottons afforded by his parents' business were all but over.

"Hmm, now I see why tailors get paid so much." Fendros said, looking between his new covering and his hands, which look like they had been ravaged by a housecat. He looked up at his mentor, "I think I would like to see if I can find my belongings now."

Part of Fendros was starting to accept his fate, but he mostly felt like a prisoner. There was a big part of him that wanted to fins his possessions so that he might get his bearings in the forest. To have a glimpse of escape. Rationally, he knew he could not simply run home without repercussions, but his hope didn't agree with that sentiment.
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It took much longer than Meesei expected for Fendros to finish the loincloth and pouches, and even then he kept cutting himself with his knife. She wondered if he had actually ever handled a knife before. How he managed to kill a werewolf was beyond her; perhaps his skill with larger blades was greater, but she would not be entirely convinced until she saw him fighting herself. Regardless, even if he was capable of it, he wouldn't have the strength to fight today, so she stood up and motioned for him to follow her.

"Very well. Something of yours may still be salvageable, especially weapons. We do not have any spare weapons at the moment, other than a few daggers, so finding whatever you had would be preferable." She said, walking in the direction she had found the dead werewolf after he had readied himself. "Speaking of which, what skills do you have? Inside and outside of combat."
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Fendros rose and followed Meesei. "I've been taught to fight with a sword and shield, as well as shoot a bow. My family never really trusted the Cheydinhal guard to protect our vineyard, so we all had some way of defending ourselves and our property. I don't fight like those patrolling legionnaires however, all in heavy armour and formation. I move around a lot, light armour." Fendros touched his thumb to his chest at the end of his sentence, "Hunting was a... hobby of mine. But rarely did I hunt dangerous game." Fendros paused to think, "For what it's worth, I was also being educated to eventually manage my parent's winery, so I have been taught to negotiate pricing and sales, and vintage. That sort of thing." Fendros looked at Meesei properly, "Are we going to be expecting a fight?" He asked.
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"When one lives in the wilds, they should always be prepared for a fight." Meesei said as they left the camp, heading toward the body of the lycan. "But, if you asking me if I think it is more likely than not that we will get into a fight at this very moment, then no, it is not. You will end up in a fight eventually, however, and it is my responsibility to ensure your safety, and to train you in ways of contributing to the pack. Your individual skills will be trained by the others, Janius for your sword and shield technique, Ahnasha for archery, and so on. If it turns out that you are a lot more skilled than your youth would suggest, that may not be necessary, but in any case, I will handle the training of your most important skill: your beast blood. Starting tomorrow, I will be training you in how to maintain control, and how to move and fight in your werewolf form. You turned very recently, so the beast is resting within you right now, but it will eventually grow restless once more. When that happens, it will start influencing you, gnawing at your mind to hunt and kill until it eventually takes over and unleashes itself once more. If this were to happen inside a city, you would undoubtedly perish. No matter how strong your wolf form is, if you do not know how to fight in it effectively, even simple guards could slaughter you."

Meesei stopped, sniffing the air for a moment. She had Fendros' scent, so she would just need to find it again on his belongings. Given how badly he was wounded, he probably bled the entire time until he transformed, so it would not be difficult to follow that trail once they found it. "For me, I am a mage, and an experienced one. I was the Shaman for my village in Black Marsh before I gave myself to Hircine. I have studied magic from the day I hatched, and those skills were sufficient to attract the attention of a Daedric Lord. Still, even the strongest of us cannot delay forever in taking on our wolf forms. We must sate the hunger of our beast spirits from time to time. Not that any of us are reluctant to do so, of course." She said, continuing on.
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Glad to hear that you're satisfied with the whole affair, Fendros thought bitterly. Up ahead, Fendros spotted a tree with four parallel scars scraped across its trunk. Judging by the amount of sap that had leaked out, it looked recent. "Over there," Fendros proclaimed, walking with a briskness toward the tree. When he reached it, he ran his fingers over the gashes. "This tree is familiar." He said. It definitely wasn't a dream.

Fendros looked at different areas of the ground around them. "I think I can smell my blood. Some kind of blood anyway." After a small amount of wandering, Fendros walked in a particular direction and brushed away a tree branch. Suddenly, a retched smell filled his nostrils on the wind. He scrunched up his nose and covered his nose and mouth with one hand. After swallowing back some bile and after the breeze slowed, Fendros removed his hand from his mouth. "I think something rotten is upwind." Past about one hundred metres of forest was a black shape in the grass, Fendros could just see the movement of flies around it. "There," Fendros pointed to the shape through the trees, "The creature that infected me."
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Meesei was completely unmoved by the rotten smell ahead, as she had experienced much worse before. It was good that Fendros seemed to be growing accustomed to his new senses, though his reaction to the smell left something to be desired. Lycans were all completely immune to disease, so they had little to fear from what lesser mortals would consider filthy. Personally, Meesei preferred the taste of raw meat to anything cooked, and all in the pack except Janius seemed to share that opinion, though she was not sure about Sabine. That girl never seemed to talk about her own preferences and would simply eat whatever they had on hand, in whatever state it was in.

As Fendros rushed ahead to the lycan's body, Meesei simply followed behind at a walking pace, observing her surroundings closely. She doubted Fendros would be able to pick out any more subtle scents with the smell of rot and decay overpowering his senses, so she scanned the area to pick up on the trail of where he may have ran on the previous night. Certainly, there was a lot of dried blood in the area, and the scents of both Fendros and the lycan covered the area, but in the end she did not need to find his scent, as she caught a glimpse of dried blood smeared against a tree a short distance away. She approached the tree and, surely enough, saw traced of dried blood on the ground nearby, leading off to the north. Kneeling down next to it, she picked up a bloodied blade of grass, taking in its scent to confirm that it was indeed from Fendros.

"I believe I have found where you ran off to. There is a trail of blood leading off to the north, and it seems to be your own. If you wish to collect a trophy from your kill, do so now. Whether you recognize it or not, you will come to see that kill as a significant moment for you." Meesei commented.
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