The Seer and the Tracker: Part 1

Location: North Woods

Characters: Heskra, Enid

Judging by the lull of activity in the Juskasol camp it must be close to midday, but a layer of thick clouds makes such a judgment sketchy at best. Scattered among their tents, the sixteen surviving clanbeasts have sat down to a small meal, the contents of which vary from tent to tent, beast to beast. They're a sorry sight to behold, and one not befitting the once proud clan that they once were. Only five of their numbers are properly armed, and malnourishment seems rampant. If there are two beasts here who lack jutting ribs and sunken stomachs, it's two ermines who judging by the placement of their tent, are held with some manner of disfavor among the Juskas. The pair of ermines, who are unmistakably mother and son, have pitched their tent outside the main circle, and often stand on the receiving end of the bitter glances of their fellows. But the jill seems quite unperturbed by their stares as she kindles a small fire outside their tent. She's used to being the subject of their ire; three and a half seasons of it making her impervious to their sullen looks.

Though activities may be winding down in the Juskasol camp, another clan, the Juskaskor, are very busy, prowling through the woods towards the hidden tents. In the lead is a fox, fully painted and clutching his pole flail, one paw on the shaft and the other paw on the metal head so it doesn't creak or make noise as he moves. The rest of the beasts following him are similarly quiet, their weapons all held carefully to avoid knocking against trees or the ground. Alongside the fox are his three most trusted beasts, a thin, scraggly fox with wild and disturbing eyes, a large stoat bearing a lance and an offset lower jaw, and an old, yet muscular, rat who carries a great battleaxe and sticks by the side of his leader like glue, a perfect second in command. At length, they reach the edge of the treeline and can see the camp, archers taking positions at the flanks as Heskra and his melee beasts take the lead. With the archers still hidden, Heskra steps from the treeline and cups a paw over his mouth, calling out his warcry. "Juskaskoooooooooor! Give 'em better'n ya take!" That seems to be the signal, and the archers let loose a small volley, the arrows intentionally embedding themselves in the tents of the other clan, but hopefully not in any pelts. Every beast that can be captured will be useful. "Heskra Skor wan's ta talk ta 'e leadbeast!"

Gently blowing air onto their little fire, the jill directs her cub to bring over their meal, which currently consists of a fish that's still in need of gutting and cooking. By the wide wound in the trout's side, Enid had just speared it earlier this morning. The cub trots the short distance to his mother, laying the fish down on a flat stone in preparation for gutting, but before the jill can so much as draw her knife something catcher her attention. Her head snaps up quite suddenly, her ears now perked for sounds not belonging to the Juskasol. Surely no beast could be sneaking up their camp, because for two days prior Enid had scoured the surrounding land for other creatures. Her search had turned up nothing. Her assumptions are proved wrong from the moment that the painted fox springs from the tree line. Not waiting to see what comes next, the jill shoves her cub towards the nearest tree and into cover before snatching her spear from its resting place against a tent pole. Amongst the camp similar actions prevail, but only after the fox's archers loose their missiles.

Boldly, the fox strides closer to the camp, letting the heavy head of his pole flail dangle, his forward-arm starting to rotate the shaft so that the heavy metal on the end spins in a circle, the gesture looking more like an idle beast busying his paws than a warlord being ready to crush skulls. It's troublingly casual, as though the fox knows already that there's very few beasts in any condition to fight with him in the camp. The reason for Enid's failure was simple, the Juskaskor had only just covered the remaining ground, having gone through a rather rough forced march to get them where they were going. Heskra calls out again. "I knew 'at yer 'ere, leader af 'e clan! Come out an' face me! Or do I 'ave ta beat 'e clanbeasts to 'e side an' drag ya out?" The fox leader's movements are quite calm and casual, as though he's daring anybeast to step in front of him and challenge him. It provides a stark contrast to the rest of his hordbeasts, all of whom seem to be spoiling for a fight, presumably including the archers hidden in the trees. Heskra raises his paw high into the air. "C'mon out! Or do I let my paw fall an' give ya all ano'er volley? D'ye wan' ta see 'un af yer beasts die wi' an arrow 'rough 'is chest?"

Pale green eyes dart between the painted fox and a ferret seated at the center of the camp. As one might expect of a clan leader, this ferret, who goes by the name Vitrix, is significantly less starved than his compatriots, and substantially better armed with a round shield and a war axe. With some measure of resignation, and a scathing glare at the ostracized ermine, the ferret rises to face the challenge. "I'm leader 'ere, fox! Be-gone or state yer business, lest I need come over there and split yer skull!" Despite the utter hopelessness of his clan's situation, the Juskasol chief remains unflinching.

The Juskasol chief's threat bounces off the fox as though it had come out of the mouth of a dibbun. Heskra is impressively confident, seemingly in his element in this situation, and seems prone to a certain degree of showmanship as a result. He lifts both arms wide, as if addressing the entire Juskasol camp, shouting out to them. "'e future 'as unfolded afore me, fellow Juska! Yer not ta die 'less yer chief condemns ya! But 'ere's 'un beast amongst ya who's special! In my visions, I saw 'is beast as a dark shadow in 'e trees, but wi' a red mouth an' able ta speak only in gibberish like 'e idjit beasts! 'm not leavin' wi'out 'er, but all 'e rest af ya kin join' 'e Juskaskor an' live!" Suddenly he looks back down at the ferret, as though the fox were one hundred feet tall and the ferret only one hundred centimeters. "Except ya. Ya've got ta run! Run an' hide from 'e Juskaskor, chief!"

With the threat of imminent combat, Enid has retreated closer to her cub. Her mind cycles different methods of getting themselves out of this, but Keenan is still far too young to outrun a whole clan of beasts, and the jill couldn't hope to be able to carry him and fend off Juskaskor at the same time. Any formulating ideas of escape are cut off when the fox mentions his search for a particular creature, and for a scarce moment her eyes and those of the ferret chieftain lock. Both of them know quite well who in the Juskasol camp is incapable of speech. "Run away, like some craven woodlander? You must be mad, fox!" The ferret might laugh at the vulpine's ridiculous proposal, but there's nothing humorous about their predicament. If he runs the chieftain looses far more than his life, but if he simply hands the buggered ermine over whose to say the fox won't slaughter them all for sport?

At the denial of what he wishes, the fox attains a dangerous gleam in his eye, though they don't narrow. In all of their open, intense glory they fix on the other Juska chief, staring into his eyes. Calmly, the fox begins to walk into the camp, stepping carefully over the less physically able beasts. He goes into a crouch and reaches down, his hand passing gently over the face of one badly wounded and starved beast, giving his face the gentlest and kindest of touches, though his dangerous eyes are fixed on the Juskasol chief at all times. "'e beasts 'ere 're ruined. Dyin' unner yer comman'. D'ye really think 'ey'd prefer ya o'er me at 'is point? Ye've already failed, ferret. Failed irredeemably." At once the fox stands up and skips backwards a couple of paces, and then, without warning, the pole flail is raised with two arms and brought down with one, the fox letting the weight do the work as he slams the heavy iron end down on the wounded beast's skull, smashing it like an overripe melon, the gore clinging to the pole flail as the fox draws it back up so everybeast can see his handiwork. "Ano'er failure, ferret! I kin give ye fifteen more 'f ya wish!" The loaded demand is clear, crystal clear, and from the expression on the fox's face, that cold determination, it's clear that he'll mash every beast in the Juskasol camp into a mess of blood and bone splinters if he has to.

"Ye... ye buggered plume-tail!" Whatever the Juskasol chieftain had expected the fox to do, it certainly didn't involve murdering one of the wounded creatures in the camp. In the aftermath of this turn of events, the ferret stands rooted to the spot, torn between his honor and the lives of his clan. His eyes moves from fox to dead beast rapidly, and then to the ermine whose mistakes have cost his clan so dearly. "Fine... 'ave take the cursed witch if ye want 'er." The ferret's resolve crumbles as he resigns himself to the worst. "But she'll ruin ye, fox, ruin ye like she did ta us!" His departure from the Juskasol camp is surprisingly swift, taking Enid by surprise as he stalks away from the camp. The manner of his leaving is anything but welcome to the ermine though, as he clearly singled her out as the fox's intended find.

Victory! And victory that only cost one life and increased the ranks of the Juskaskor by a good fifteen beasts! There come laughs of derision that hurl themselves at the back of the retreating Juskasol leader, numerous boos and taunts from the members of the Juskaskor who've been around Heskra for some time, and shocked expressions from those who are new. One can practically see the opinions of the new beasts being rewritten within their heads as they see a strange victory unfolding before them. Heskra, meanwhile, only allows himself a serene smile, savoring the feeling of victory before he spreads his arms once more, still clutching the bloodied pole flail. "Juskasol! Yer Juskasol no longer! Yer now 'e proud new members af 'e Juskaskor! Rejoice, all ya beasts! Yer part af a better 'orde now!" The fox turns to his sea rat second in command, who has already lowered his axe and is leaning on it as though it's an oversized crutch. Heskra says, loud enough for both his own beasts and for most of the conquered horde to hear him. "Starchleg, make sure 'e new Juska learn 'eir new markin's, 'en feed 'em an' tend ta 'e wounded as bes' ya kin. Make stre'chers fer 'e wors' 'uns. Yer leavin' at sunup." There's a grunt and a nod from the aged sea rat, and Heskra walks through the Juskasol camp, occasionally kicking at some remnant or reminder of the old chief's rule, striding directly towards his ermine. In front of her, he stares into her eyes for a moment with his stern gaze, as though he's appraising her, then all of a sudden his paw shoots up, aiming to grab her under the jaw and squeeze at her cheeks til she opens her muzzle. "Open yer mouf, whitestoat!"

The butt of the Enid's spear is set firmly against the ground by the time the fox approaches. The ermine has no intention of menacing the warlord for the time being, fearing that the slightest provocation might lead him using that flail against her cub. Whatever fear she may feel is absent from her cold gaze though, and when the fox reaches for her she jerks her head to the side, leaving the vulpine to grasp at thin air. Her mouth parts as a pronounced sigh escapes her lips, but it's enough of an opening for her lack of a tongue to be quite visible.

If her avoidance of Heskra's grab would normally irritate him or bring on his wrath is impossible to say, for this time he's thoroughly distracted by Enid's lack of a tongue, there comes a feral grin across his face as everything suddenly falls into place, and he lets his hand fall without further offense towards Enid. "So, 'at's why. 'e red was blood from when yer tongue was took, an' 'e babblin', ye kin't speak, kin ye?" For the moment, Heskra seems unaware that Enid has a cub either, and he jabs the butt of his flail into the ground, burying it enough so that it remains upright. Whether foolish, brave, haughty, or overly confident, Heskra seems unafraid to go unarmed amongst those who bear their weapons.

Despite having her spear in paw, Enid displays no hostility in her dealings with the vulpine. She remembers the previous chieftain cutting out her tongue quite clearly, an event that was lacking in blood due to the slow sawing of a red hot knife. Still, the ermine has no means of communicating this inaccuracy to the fox, and so she simply gazes back at him, her face a stony mask. Off to the side of them the ermine cub is still nestled out of sight behind a tree, well aware of the smack he would receive from making his presence known.

The ermine's silence is noted with a nod, the fox having to remind himself that Enid cannot answer him, no matter what he were to ask of her. He takes his pipe from his sporran and fills it with bracken, then takes out a small flint and steel, snapping it between his thumb and forefinger over the pipe, putting spark to bracken and beginning to puff on the pipe, filling the air with the smoke. He seems rather thoughtful all of a sudden, staring into Enid's eyes as he speaks. "So, whitestoat, what makes ya speshul? What makes ya so worth 'avin' a vision o'er?"

So the fox came all this way just for her, and he hasn't a clue about why? The idea would almost be humorous, but Enid isn't in the mood for laughs. She studies the warlord carefully, her pale eyes narrowing slightly as she takes him in. If the vulpine was truly prophetic then there must be a reason for his coming, and as with any proper Juska, Enid is quite familiar with the power of a seer's visions, and for that reason alone she decides to tell the best what he wants to know. Sliding into a crouch, the ermine lays down her spear before drawing the knife at her belt. She brushes pine needles away until a solid patch of earth is exposed, and glance is cast upwards to check if the fox is paying attention.

To Heskra, the idea of coming all the way from Mossflower Woods simply on the whim of a vision is nothing out of the ordinary or even a ridiculous notion. He's done it many times before, and on more than one occassion, acting on a whim has saved his life or gained him something for nothing. This case is similar. For the life of one beast, he's gained fifteen to his horde, some of which need to be nursed back to health, but who can say how loyal that will make them? As it is, Heskra's not merely paying attention; he mirrors the ermine's crouch and looks down at the ground, his mind already preparing to work out the pictograph riddle she'll no doubt draw for him. The drawn dagger is hardly seen as anything more than a stylus, and Heskra sets his own weapon down, though whether this shows faith in his own visions or faith in Enid is up for debate.

Her eyes follow him down until they are on a level with each other, and for a moment she simply gazes at him. With him so close now, a vengeful beast would find stabbing the fox a simple task, but Enid is no such beast. Heskra took the Juskasol without needless slaughter, a move which will no doubt gain him the loyalty of many in the beleaguered clan. The same could not have been said about their previous chieftain. Perhaps deciding that wasting her new leader's time with unspoken thoughts and stares might not be the best course of action, the ermine lets her mind and gaze drop to the patch of bare earth. For a moment she can't seem to decide what to carve there. What answers would suit the warlord's needs? Enid can't explain dreams or vision, but she can start by depicting her chosen trade. The knife point becomes a furious blur as the ermine begins her pictogram: a series of waved lines that form a crude river, a row of overlapping triangles to represent mountains on one side whilst the rough silhouette of a pine tree is scratched on the other. Above all this she scratches a pair of eyes, whose pupils look downwards onto the landscape. Her eyes flit up to the vulpine a few times during the process, as if to measure his reaction to what he sees.

Heskra's eyes flick upwards after a moment of Enid's activity, and he's well aware that she's staring at him. Completely unalarmed, his head never even moves, and his eyes are soon cast down at the ground in front of them, patiently waiting for Enid to draw out her trade. Once she's started, he states simply and without any surprise or emotion other than a sort of slight amusement, "Knew ya wouldn' run me 'rough wi' 'at knife." The Juskaskor leader's brow furrows as he watches her etching the designs in the ground. What they /are/ is easy enough to see, but what they represent is a little more difficult. The eyes are the crux of this pictograph. At first he thinks they might simply mean "to see", but that can't be the case, and all that he's left with is a far more sensible interpretation, that they're meant to represent "finding" something. Only one trade would lead someone to find something over such varied terrain and such long distances. "'re ya a tracker? 's 'at what makes ya special?" Now his eyes

Trying to explain to the vulpine the nature of what he calls special brings Enid to somewhat of a loss. She looks down upon her crude drawing, head tilting a bit as she contemplates what she else she could include into the depiction. Prior to now, she's never had to explain this sort of thing. The Juskasol knew her of her ability already, and it no doubt prevented more than a few from deserting when the going was rough. Her lips part to release an exasperated hiss of air, and then she realizes what the pictogram is lacking. She sweeps even more pine needles away with a deft swipe of her paw, which increases the size of her earthen canvas by threefold. Then the knife goes to work again, expanding the crude little mountains a ways before dropping the landscape into a series of hills that lead to another river. After this comes a series of trees and a few scattered mountains, until at the very end of the picture she draws a rudimentary little stick figure. She's a good three feet away from the fox now, the pictogram taking far more space and time than she'd originally intended. She points to the eyes with her knife, the tip of which she then touches to her chest as if to say that they represent her, then she motions across the scratched terrain until coming to a stop at the stick figure. She reengages Heskra's gaze to see if he comprehends the meaning of this movement.

That Enid feels the need to further explain her skill in terms of extent surprises Heskra somewhat, his eyebrow lifting high as he watches her get back to work, his eyes roving over the scenery she draws and finally coming to an end at the stick figure. Clearly this is meant to show that she can track over distances far greater than the average beast, an invaluable skill to say the least. The fox holds his peace though, letting Enid finish her drawing, feeling that the explanation is almost more for herself than for him at this point. When it's done, he speaks again. "So ya kin track o'er great distances? Distances mos' other beasts kin't?" He reaches out and points at the stick figure, tapping it with his claw. "Supposin'... supposin' 'is were 'e ol' chief, an 'e 'ad a full tree days 'ead start. Could ya fin' 'im?"

The ermine's eyes remain locked onto Heskra's, never breaking even when the question of hunting her old chieftain arrives. She admirably conceals the inner turmoil at this concept. On the one paw, the ferret had personally been the one holding the knife that left her in this state, but she never argued that it was an undeserved punishment. At last breaking her gaze away, Enid looks upwards to the cloudy sky, but whether she's gauging the weather or adding some dramatic effect is impossible to tell. After a few seconds of this her eyes return to the earth and the fox's answer comes in the form of another picture. By any account it appears to be the sun sitting low on the horizon, a curved arrow arcing over the top of it. She adds three hash marks next to the sun, glances up at the fox, and then adds two additional marks to the tally.

Heskra's eyes show a short gleam to them, though his expression remains neutral. If one should be looking into his eyes, they could see that he's not only impressed with Enid's claim, but also already starting to consider just how big a boon such skills would be to his horde. A tracker with those kinds of talents could obviously work both ways, whether looking for quarry or helping to hide the entire horde from pursuers. To a low-key horde, this is nothing short of heavensent. The turmoil that she must be facing about having to talk about hunting her former clan leader is not acknowledged, and to Heskra, it's not going to be a factor. He clearly expects her to help him murder her leader regardless of her feelings. "Well well. Ya kin track 'im after five days? Not bad. 'ere's what we're goin' ta do. 'e res' af 'e 'orde's goin' ta return ta Mossflower. 'e two af us're goin' ta stay 'ere fer five days, 'en go after yer chief. 'm sure ya know I kin't jus' let 'im go, aye? I was goin' ta wait a day 'en fin' 'im again myself, but wi' ya, 'e gets five days ta live."

Enid shakes her head slowly in response to his final comment, and the knife yet again goes to work. At the end of the five hash marks she draws an arrow that point in the general direction of the stick figure, a prominent line in the ground is slashed to separate the line and the five hash marks. Giving the vulpine the sort of look that clearly suggests he should pay attention, Enid taps each of the hash marks individually before moving over the larger hash and onto the arrow. She appears to be putting some sort of emphasis on the fact that the hash marks and arrow are two different things.

Now Heskra's lost. Suddenly his jaw sets, and he fights to bite back an annoyed comment about the ermine not being clear enough, and he has to once again remind himself that this is probably the best she can do. He doesn't want to snap at another beast who legitimately can't make herself any clearer than she already is. He looks at the hashmarks and the arrow, combing over them with his eyes before he takes a guess, hoping that he's right, or this might become a lot more frustrating than he'd intended. "'re ya sayin' ya don' wan' ta see 'im die? 's 'at 't?" Heskra shakes his head, continuing along this line of thought. "Fine enough. Ya get me 'ere, 'll kill 'im alone. I intended ta kill 'im out af sight af 'is clan an' spare 'im 'at indignity."

The shake of the ermine's head is more pronounced this time around, and clearly the fox's interpretation wasn't what Enid was trying to get across. She raps the tip of her knife against the ground a few times, clearly just as, if not possibly more, frustrated than the vulpine. Her old clan leader may have scorned her, but at least he could make sense of her pictograms. Unfortunately, he's soon to be meeting his end soon, which leaves only one remaining creature to clearly interpret the meaning of the hash marks and arrow: Keenan. The jill had been averse to pulling him into this, preferring that he stayed out of sight until the vulpine moved onto something else, but that doesn't appear to be viable any longer. With her free paw she pulls her spear closer and gives the blade two sharp taps with her knife, her eyes now watching the tree where she'd hidden her cub. No response comes from the young ermine, and a clearly frustrated breath emanates from the jill. Enid gives the spearhead two more solid taps, and finally the cub peers out from around his tree. Not wanting to waste anymore of the fox's time with this, she waves the cub over to her, and indicates the pictogram in question. As impudent as her cub can be at times, he shrinks away from the vulpine and closer to his mother. An extended silence follows as he studies the entire drawing, until at last the cub finds his tongue. "I 'fink... I 'fink she wan's ta say tha' it gonna take more un five days ta fin' 'im." He looks to his mother for confirmation, and receives a nod.

The headshake makes the vulpine horde leader's eyes narrow in concentration, and he studies the pictograph a bit more, looking intently at it as he tries to puzzle out its mystery. He stares at it until the tapping of the spear draws his attention back to the ermine, following Enid's eyes to the tree, wondering just what's there that'll help them with this little problem. The cub is a bit of a surprise; he hadn't expected Enid to be a mother, but ultimately this makes little difference. There were already a few horde mothers and cubs in the Juskaskor already, after all. Heskra nods towards the cub, asking Enid. "Yers?" The cub's shying away isn't something that alien to Heskra either, and he reaches out and tries to ruffle the cub's headfur. "'s cute." That's all that he has to say about the cub for the present, as he nods to his interpretation and looks at the picture again, seeing the mistake he made. "'s fine. As long as she kin fin' 'im, 'en 've no problem. I kin be patient." He looks into Enid's eyes. "'e offer still stan's. I don' 'spect ya ta stay 'roun' an' watch me kill 'im. Jus' know 'at I don' intend ta make 't 'urt 'im too badly."

The cub proves to have inherited at least some of his mother's reflexes, dodging the ruffle in the same manner in which Enid dodged his grasp for her jaw. For the time being the warlord is practically forgotten as the jill and cub lock eyes. "'ungry. Can I gut tha' fisch!?" A wild excitement suddenly takes to the cub's eyes. A nod from his mother is all it takes to send the youngster scurrying over to the place where the jill had previously set aside their trout for preparation. Only after this does Enid return her attention to Heskra, a dip of her head expressing her gratitude to his offer. She'll be able to lead the fox to her old chieftain easily enough, and once they're close all she'll have to do is point the vulpine in the right direction.

There's a small snort of mirth from Heskra as his ruffle is dodged, and instead he simply drops his hand, knowing that the cub outmatched him. He gives a small shrug and then addresses Enid, stating some /very/ clear expectations. "When 'e's ol' 'nough, 'e'll make a good 'ordebeast wi' 'ose reflexes. Pr'aps somethin' a lil' less static 'n a spearbeast." The cub is allowed to go, and then Heskra thinks of something else. "D'ye intend ta take 'im along wi' us, or let 'im go back wi' 'e 'orde. 'e'll be safe wi' 'em."

Juska tradition of raising cubs to be warriors is nothing unexpected to Enid, who nods her understanding. At his question the ermine stretches he neck to peer behind Heskra, her eyes observing the actions of Juskaskor in the main camp. Strangely enough, the jill feels better about leaving her cub with Heskra's lot instead of the members of the Juskasol, whom often passed their spite for her onto Keenan. Her attempt to make this clear comes with pointed finger and accompanying nod at Heskra's facial markings.

A serene smile passes over Heskra's face as he sees the pointed finger move between his horde's markings and the actual beasts of his horde. The entire meaning may not be completely clear, but he certainly understands that there's a degree of trust being given to the new horde. The Juskaskor have taken their orders to heart, the older members occassionally cuffing the younger ones who try to skimp on their care for their new clanmates. No doubt they'll be forced to understand that a new clan joining the Juskaskor is not a rival clan any longer, and that they'll be expected to treat them as friends and comrades. The older members, meanwhile, are tending to the wounded and hungry, painting the faces of those who are still able enough to not need assistance, and burying the hordebeast that Heskra was forced to kill. They seem to take care of the body fairly well, no doubt owing to superstition; mistreating the dead is a sure way to obtain a cursed fate. "'e goes wi' 'e res' af 'e 'orde, 'en. 'm sure 'e'll like 'e Juskaskor camp. 'ere's coupla beasts 'is age fer 'im ta play wi'."

The level of care shown towards the new Juskaskor hadn't gone unnoticed by the ermine. That particular level of care hasn't been seen in the camp for many, many months. It's almost a relief to see her clanbeasts receiving some sort of care, especially considering the level of responsibility she carries in their troubles, but her sentiments don't extend as far as her expression, which retains its stonier qualities. Letting herself sit back into a cross legged position, she watches the vulpine closely, perhaps waiting for more questions or simply staring at him for the sake of it.

The stony quality to the ermine's face is nodded at, Heskra silently acknowledging that he has no idea how to read it, and so will not say a thing about it. He hardly expected thanks from a conquered clanbeast, and he stands up, walking over to Starchleg and muttering new orders into the sea rat's ear before clapping the other beast on the shoulder. He goes back to sit near Enid, puffing on his pipe quietly beneath a tree. If he's to wait the five days it'll take to give the Juska chief a head start, so be it. As he smokes, he watches his own horde mill about and set up camp for the night, the first truly good rest they'll have had for the entire journey north.