The Seer and the Tracker: Part 3

Location: South of the Broadstream

Characters: Heskra, Enid, Vitrix(spoof)

The sun is only just peaking the horizon when the ermine tracker prods her soon-to-be chieftain with the butt of her spear. Enid sat vigil over her fire all night, watching as the wings were consumed to ash, and waiting until the very last ember was cold. Then, and only then, can their hunt begin. Despite just now waking the vulpine up, the jill has been busy at work dismantling her tent and stuffing her belonging into a haversack, which now hangs some fifty feet in the air, hoisted into the branches of a great pine for later retrieval. Light and fast is the way to hunt for Enid. Her load has already been significantly lightened with the absence of any sort of back beyond a satchel of supplies, and after giving the fox another prod for good measure, the jill moves back to her firepit to complete her ritual.

Being used to being woken up by his hordebeasts, the first jab of the spearbutt rouses Heskra, the second being caught and shoved away, a clear sign that two shoves is quite excessive. The fox sits up and stretches his limbs, a few crackles coming from his body as he begins to roll up his bedroll, stuffing it back into the satchel that his horde left him before they left. Rather than a tree, it's tossed into the bushes to hide it, and he follows Enid to the firepit, watching the next phase of the ritual with great interest.

The final stage of Enid's ritual involves slowly sifting though the previous night's ashes, her pale eyes searching for the blackened bones of the shrike. When she finds them, the ermine shifts the bones to the sides until she has an unbroken bed of ash, no doubt where most of the bird's remains were consumed. The jill then scoops pawfuls of ash into a pouch, only stopping when she's satisfied that the majority of what's left from the wings is safely within her pouch. Reaching a paw into the pouch she removes a small portion of the ash, which after spreading it evenly between her hands, she proceeds to rub onto her own shoulders. Next, a small amount of ash spread over the image of Sleipnir on her neck, followed by a thumb sized streak covering her closed eyes. The second to last of the ermine's steps is to spread a pawful of ash across the shoulders of her cloak, rubbing it deep into the fox pelt which is adorned there. Through the whole process, Enid never once takes notice of the vulpine, either not caring about or not noticing his presence.

The final stage of the ritual is without a doubt the strangest, reminding Heskra of some of the old incatations that the most ancient vixens of his horde sometimes performed. His eyes remain fixed on the ritual, and he makes no noise to gain Enid's attention, figuring that this is best left as close to a private ritual as possible, not wanting to intrude into her thoughts. He watches her decorate herself, content to remain unseen and unacknowledged.

The final stage of her ritual might appear to be the most peculiar, but for Enid it is perhaps the most important. Pinching a small amount of ash between her thumb and forefinger, the ermine opens her mouth and, reaching back to her ruined tongue, places the ash against the inside of her cheek. As intended, the effect is almost overpowering. She suppresses a small shudder, her eyes screwed tight against the burnt and bitter taste of the past. Enid remains seated like this for a good minute before opening her eyes again, which now come to rest on Heskra's. She quite simply stares at him for a while, but it's not a challenge so much as a search, as if she's trying to find the seer's thoughts in his eyes. The hand holding the ash pouch then rises to his level, almost as if she's offering his participation in her ritual.

Again, Heskra's gaze is drawn to Enid's, and he seems to be searching her eyes as much as she's searching his, looking for something in them that he can detect, some new quality or some kind of indication that some form of magic or mysticism has been undertaken in this place. He finds nothing that he can detect, nothing within his experience. At the offering, he gently, very gently, pushes it back to her, shaking his head. "'is ritual... 't's not fer me, whitestoat. 'is is fer ya an' fer ya alone, an' I'd surely be cursed 'f I tried ta take anythin' from 't."

His refusal was not unexpected, and the stoat concedes with a small nod. It's not her place to decide what rituals or superstitions are right for another beast, and if the fox would feel uncomfortable with an old hunter's blessing then Enid won't be the one to force it on him. Tying the ashes off on her belt, the ermine takes up her spear and rises to her feet. It's a cool, crisp sort of morning... just the sort of weather for tracking a beast for the vulpine to kill. Enid gives him a small jerk of her head to indicate that he should follow before setting off into the north woods at a slight jogging pace.

Perhaps feeling as though he might have insulted a beast when he didn't intend to, Heskra moves to lay his paw on Enid's shoulder and give her a nod to try and show that he appreciates the gesture, even if he can't make use of it. As the ermine takes up her spear, Heskra takes hold of his pole flail, holding it at a slightly awkward angle so he can hold the head and chain to the rest of the weapon, not wanting it to rattle about while they stalk their quarry. He jogs behind her, walking in her footsteps, his footfalls light as he tries to leave as little an imprint on the ground as possible while keeping up with the ermine.

For the ermine scout, the first day and a half of tracking Vitrix, the prior Juskasol chieftan, was shamefully easy. Having lost his position so easily, the ferret had stormed off into the wilderness, leaving behind a trail that a blind shrew would have no trouble following. It seems that until Vitrix stopped the next day for a midday meal, he hadn't realized the trail he left behind him, and thus started traveling through rougher terrain and leaving behind fewer clues to his location. Only then could the ermine put her skills to practice. In three days they've covered as much ground as Vitrix had in five, Enid only halting the pursuit to allow herself a few hours or rest at a time. The trail has led her north and east, across the length of the Northwoods and up through the low mountains on the south side of the Broadstream. Now, in the late morning of the fourth day, Enid senses that the hunt is in its final hour. The Broadstream is perhaps less than a mile to their north, with only trees and a scattered hillocks standing in their way. Vitrix made his camp on the backside of such a hill, sheltered from any eyes looking from the south, and it is also here that Enid allows a brief pause while she looks over the camp.

At first, Heskra couldn't help but be disappointed in the sloppy trail that Vitrix left behind on the first day, and the fox was starting to think that this adventure might have been a waste of the ermine scout's skills. After all, how could Heskra test a prodigy with something that Heskra himself could find even with his rudimentary tracking skills? The second day, on the other hand, is far less disappointing, the combination of a cold trail, rough terrain, and that Vitrix is actually trying allows Heskra to judge his new recruit's skills far better, as, to him, Vitrix seems to essentially vanish. He remains silent during their journey, the only noise he ever makes being made while he's eating or panting during their rest periods. Still, he keeps up relatively well, shadowing the ermine with light steps. Sometimes it seems as much a test of himself as it does a test of Enid, but one that he's prepared to undertake. After all, a leader who can't keep up with his soldiers probably isn't fit to lead them. As the camp comes into view, Heskra can't help but shake his head, surprised that the other Juska would set up a camp so soon after being ousted from his clan. Were Heskra in his position, he would have kept far more mobile and not bothered to set up more than a bedroll every night. He folds his arms and looks at Enid, waiting for some indication of whether or not she wants to come with him, not saying a word until then.

The choice of setting up camp within only a few short days of fleeing the Juskasol camp is also perplexing to Enid, who slowly circles the remains of small dugout firepit, pale eyes seemingly everywhere at once as she looks over the scene. It's a fresh camp. The fire is nearly cold, but by her judgment the ferret hasn't gotten far since setting out this morning. Her gaze travels northward, and for a solid minute the tracker is quite still. If the vulpine travels northward, he will certainly find Vitrix, and with a swing of that pole-fail the Juskasol will be only a memory. For Enid it's a grim reality, one where she finds herself torn between her loyalty to her old clan and her abhorrence for the beast who cut her tongue out. With a slow dip of her head the ermine points the way for the vulpine. If he wishes to pursue the ferret then Heskra will have to travel alone now.

The prolonged gaze Northward's purpose is easy enough to guess, and Heskra knows full well that's where her leader is, and that he'd be able to find Vitrix himself at this point. Enid's done quite well guiding him this far, and he does not expect her to go any further with him, knowing that Juska loyalty can run deeply, particularly when the old chieftain is alive. Heskra lets go of the head of the flail, letting it swing and make as much noise as it pleases. At this point, he /wants/ to be found. Before he leaves, he moves to place his paw on Enid's shoulder, pressing a bit of tact into his words as he speaks, "Don' worry, 'm goin' ta make 't as quick an' painless fer 'im as I kin. An' 'e'll be buried too. 'm not goin' ta leave 'im ta rot in 'e sun." And with that, he's off, trotting northwards in pursuit of the Juskasol chief's trail, following the trail so fresh that a cub could follow it.

As the vulpine takes off after the ferret, Enid finds herself more conflicted than ever. On the one hand, she has just led the chief of a rival clan to her own, and chosen to stand idle while the fox slays the Juskasol chief, thereby bringing and end to her clan forever. On the opposite side of this though, Vitrix was the beast who held the searing hot knife that was used to remove her tongue and leave her without a true voice. Torn between the impulse to place her spear into the vulpine's back, saving her old chieftain and her clan, and the burning desire to rend Vitrix with the same punishment which he had condemned her with seasons ago, the ermine finds herself rooted to the spot. With her feet going nowhere, and her eyes and ears fixed northwards, Enid holds her spear close to her chest, resting her still unpainted brow against the flat of the spearhead. Whoever walks out of this forest alive, they will be the unwilling subjects of ermine's wrath or grief.

Perhaps only a half of a mile to the north, the Juskasol chieftain Vitrix stumbles his way through the thick of the trees, trying to push further northward despite the ache in his bones and the gnawing of his gut. As chieftain, crossing long distances over rough terrain was never a necessity, and his lack of experience is a constant reminder in his throbbing muscles. Somewhere in his soul, the warrior begs him to return south and confront the fox who so easily ousted him from his position, but Vitrix knows he's in no condition for that sort of thing. Perhaps after he regains his strength he can return and reclaim his clan, but not yet, not until he's put a satisfying distance between him and the Juskaskor.

Whether from sheer, brazen foolishness, utter confidence in Enid's conversion to the Juskaskor, or some vision which told him that this was not his day to die, Heskra keeps his back to Enid despite her hefty spear. He stalks off, footpaws jogging and tapping over the terrain. Fortunately for Heskra, he's kept himself in far better condition than Vitrix has, the byproduct of joining his hordebeasts in their raids and attacks, and keeping them all moving frequently. And so it's easy enough for Heskra to catch up. For a while he stands some distance from Vitrix as he makes his path northwards, letting himself catch his breath. He's certain that, suffering the loss that he did, Vitrix will likely decide that running isn't nearly as good a response as facing Heskra down. Time to test this theory. Heskra cups a paw to his mouth and calls out. "Juskaskoooooooooor! Heskra Skor wishes ta talk ta ya, ferret!"

Vitrix's troubles are erased at the sound of that challenge, the ferret coming to a dead halt before turning to face the fox. "You!" He yells, voice coming as a ragged hiss laced with undeniable hatred. "'ow did ye find... " The realization dawns upon him before the sentence can be completed. In the blink of an eye the ferret has shield and waraxe at the ready, his attention no longer on the fox but the surrounding woodlands instead. "Where is she, ya blaggard!? I know tha' witch musta led ye 'ere!"

The hatred in Vitrix's voices is not the least bit unexpected, and while Heskra doesn't mind it being directed at him, he'd just as soon leave Enid out of it. She served him well and did something difficult for her to do at his behest, so the least he can do is try to shield her a bit from her old clan chief's wrath should Heskra come out the poorer for this battle. "Don' know what ya mean. Yer trail was so clear a blin' cub wi'out legs could fin' ya. 'm sure ya know why 'm 'ere, ferret. Kin't take 'e 'orde wi' ya still alive, kin I? 'd like ta make 'is as painless as poss'ble, so 'f ya drop yer weapons, 'll do 't quick an' easy!"

"Don' lie ta me, plume-tail!" Vitrix levels his axe threateningly at the vulpine, his rage temporarily overtaking the soreness of his muscles. "The w'ite stoat led ye 'ere, jus' so ye can kill me fer 'er!" However noble the vulpine's intentions when defending the tracker, Vitrix isn't fooled by his words. He peers wildly about the forest, shield up in the case that her spear comes flying out of the trees at him, but neither spear nor ermine are to be found in the trees. The realization dawns upon the ferret that Heskra wants to personally make this kill, and solidify his hold over the Juskasol. With this in mind, Vitrix finally settles his attention back on the fox, but he makes no move to charge him. "Come an' try it then, fox! After I kill ye, I'll fin' the witch and do the same ta 'er, just like I shouldah seasons ago!"

Heskra can see the glances Vitrix shoots all over the forest, and he makes one last bid to spare Enid some grief should he die. "Yer whitestoat didn' wan' ta come. Don' t'ink she wanted ta see me kill ya. 'll give ya 'un more chance 'ough. Lemme do 'e execution quick an' painless, ferret. Ya'll be glad fer 'e easy release." Heskra takes a firmer stance as he sees that the ferret is in no mood to be reasonable, grinding his footpaws into the ground to steady himself and hoisting his pole flail into a battle-ready stance, weighted head waving in the wind and pointing directly at Vitrix. The fox is waiting patiently for the ferret to charge. "Come on 'en. Come get me 'f yer not goin' ta be reason'ble, ferret!"

But the ferret isn't going anywhere. Vitrix knows that outright charging Heskra would be suicidal with that pole-flail in paw, but should the vulpine charge him and miss his first swing, then the ferret will have the upper hand in this fight. "Why don' ye come o'er 'ere then, if yer so reason'ble? I won' make a quick end o' ye, I c'n promise tha' much!"

A standoff is just as bad as a missed swing, in Heskra's opinion, and he decides to call the ferret on his bluff, "Righ' 'en.  As ya wish!  Juskaskooooooooooor!"  With a war cry that sounds more like a snarl, Heskra throws himself entirely at Vitrix, pole flail already being hoisted up before he's halfway there.  But the blow that comes is not with the head of the shaft, but with the sharpened spike at the base of the weapon, Heskra flipping the spike forwards and aiming it directly at Vitrix's gut, an impalement being just as good as a blow which will turn bones to powder.

Having fully expected to be on the receiving end of the spiked pole, Vitrix is caught by almost complete surprise by the spike, only just dropping his shield in time to catch the spike. Normally, the ferret would deflect such a blow off his shield, but instead the stab is caught flat on the shield, which fails under the force of the blow. A ragged howl escapes the ferret's lips as the spike drives through the wooden shield and into his wrist, and he's forced to yank himself free of shield and spike to avoid a follow-up blow from the spiked end of the flail. Being the first to bleed in any fight is never the preferred outcome, and in an attempt to even the odds Vitrix steps back into the flail's range to bring his axe in a downward hack aimed at the vulpine's neck.

There comes a brief delay from Heskra's end as he has to pull the spike free of the shield, though the howl causes a grim smile to spring to his face, and he knows that by getting the first blood, he's just taken a great stride towards victory. The downward hack at his neck is not entirely unexpected, but Heskra knows it cannot be avoided without a loss of ground. Heskra slips down into a crouch as fast as he can, letting the axe bite into his shoulder, making a gash that will need tending to, but isn't half as awful as a blow to the neck would have been. He retaliates by swinging his flail low, aiming to catch the ferret's legs with the studded metal head.

His target's sudden shift causes Vitrix to loose balance, the momentum behind his swing pulling him too far forward to be able to avoid the flail. The shin of his right leg cracks audibly under the force of the head, pulling an excruciated yell as the ferret falls down onto his side. Desperate to stay in the fight, Vitrix tries to push himself back to his feet, but his broken limb simply cannot take any weight and he crumples, axe slipping from his grip when he hits the forest floor. 'It's over.' Every aching muscle is suddenly magnified thrice, adding to the unbearable pain in his leg and wrist. Within that moment, the ferret knows his death is close at hand.

Rising to his feet and flexing his wounded shoulder, and finding that the gash isn't deep enough to cause any serious or lasting damage, Heskra prepares a follow-up to his leg sweep, but when he looks down at the ferret, in agony on the ground with a wounded leg and wrist, and no doubt with all the fatigue of his escape weighing heavily on him, Heskra stops. As though coming out of a trance, the bloodlust in his eyes vanishes, and he simply stares down at the ferret, kicking his axe far out of his grip, then leaning casually on his flail, planting the base to the ground. As if he's echoing Vitrix's own thoughts, Heskra states calmly. "'t's over." He gives the words a moment to sink into Vitrix's skull. "Move yer arms an' give me a clean shot at yer ches'. 'll spike yer 'eart an' en' 'e pain real quick fer ya."

What strength remains in Vitrix's bones is funneled into one last act of defiance, the ferret aiming a punch a the fox's wounded shoulder with his uninjured arm. "Ta 'ell's gates with ye, fox! I 'ope tha' witch puts as much ruin ta yer 'orde as she did mine!" With these final words, the ferret lays back on the rocky soil, eyes locked onto the fox as he awaits the death blow. "Do it!!!" He screams.

The punch hits it's mark, and Heskra struggles not to react and lose face for his moment of weakness in dealing with the ferret. All that passes from his lips is a low hiss of pain, but there's no great reaction, no jumping up or fury-fueled blow to the ferret's muzzle. Calmly, he stands up and pulls his flail high, aiming the spike carefully at the ferret's chest before slamming it down, driving the spike straight through his body, coring his heart like an apple in the process.

Cold green eyes have watched the battle from a vantage within the trees, and when the final blow is delivered Enid raises her eyes skyward, a wave of grief pounding her chest as the Juskasol are no more. The jill waits long enough for Heskra to remove his weapon from the ferret's corpse, and then she silently emerges for her cover. She makes no effort to make her presence known to the fox, yet, perhaps wanting to see the manner in which Heskra treats his fallen Juska. Tradition would hold to bury or burn the corpse, but will the Juskaskor chieftain follow though, or leave Vitrix to freeze solid in the cold?

The spiked end of the flail is wrenched from the Juskasol chief's chest, and Heskra sets his weapon to the side, placing his hand on the chief's face, turning it this way and that, the fox looking into his eyes, searching for some spark of life and finding none. He gives a simple nod, then reaches up and drags his fingertips over Vitrix's eyes, pulling the lids down before taking up the fallen axe. It's a shame to have to abuse the weapon like this, but it's the only remotely spadelike object Heskra can find. He sets to work digging a grave for his fallen enemy, working diligently and seemingly ready to give him more than just a shallow grave that carrion birds will dig up.

So the fox is making good on his word? Enid has to admit to herself that it's somewhat of a surprise. She'd expected the warlord to perhaps cover the fallen ferret in pine needles or rocks, but a true burial comes as a relief. It is within the ferret's rights after all, and it's best not to invite whatever curse may come with leaving a Juska unburied. As Heskra goes about digging this grave, the tracker walks slowly up behind him, her eyes fixed on the dead ferret at their feet. She makes no attempt to make her presence known until she's standing directly behind the vulpine and an audible breath of air rushes through her lips.

Naturally, Heskra thinks the same thing about leaving another Juska, particularly an enemy, unburied. There's no telling what kind of hell such a haunting could cause, particularly in a clan that his own was assimilated into. The hole grows larger as Heskra digs into the ground, and the fox seems so intent on his work that he doesn't realize that Enid is behind him until she draws breath. Without missing a beat, Heskra whirls about with the axe, about a foot away from following through with his swing and aiming a cleaving blow at Enid's face. Fortunately, he stops himself when he sees the white fur, and he grumbles a bit before turning back around. "'s ya 'en... didn' know who was b'hin' me." Periodically, he'll look up to see if she's miming anything to him.

If the fox had followed through with his strike he'd have two corpses to bury, the ermine making no effort to deflect the blow. Rather than helping with the digging or communicating with the fox, Enid walks around to the side of the fallen ferret. She falls slowly Pose falls to her knees next to her chieftain's corpse, her pale green eyes locked onto the ferret's slack face. This was a beast who she once hunted for, who she had fought alongside and bled for but Vitrix was also the beast that condemned herself and her cub to live on the edges of the camp, to be ostracized and mistrusted for the rest of their lives. At first she considerers denying the ferret to right to this final ritual, but to bury him without his due right would only invite a curse upon herself and Heskra. So, with a steadying breath to calm the shaking in her hand, Enid reaches to her belt, first retrieving the unused feathers of the shrike and then the pouch of ashes. The tracker gently lays both of these onto Vitrix's motionless chest, laying one of his paws across the gifts and covering the gaping wound in his chest. She's just about to let the vulpine resume his burial when an idea, crueler than any she's felt towards the ferret in her life, creeps into her mind. The tracker remains almost frozen over the corpse, half standing and half crouching as she looks down upon Vitrix, her expression almost fearful as she considers what repercussions her actions may hold. Then, as if to complete whatever malice she has in mind whilst she still has the nerve, Enid falls back to her knees and draws her knife with her left paw. She then roughly seizes the ferret's mouth, pinching it open and then reaching inside. A savage jerk of her blade later, and the dead ferret is as empty mouthed as the ermine herself. A burial may be within the ferret's rights to ensure his peaceful passing into the next life, but that doesn't mean he should have the right to converse with whatever gods are waiting there.

For the present, Enid is ignored and allowed to have whatever kind of reconciliation with the ferret that she wishes, the fox trying to get the hole dug as quickly as possible, gradually moving deeper into the ground. The idea of denying Vitrix his burial likely never even crossed Heskra's mind, and no doubt any insistance that he forgo the burial from Enid would result in shouting and orders from Heskra. It's a relief to him, therefore, that Enid doesn't do such a thing, he's already tired enough and his shoulder is starting to hurt, and getting into an argument with someone who can only gesticulate at him hardly sounds appealing. It's not until he hears the familiar rending of flesh that the fox looks up, his eyes snapping immediately down at the corpse, and he glares some exceptionally sharp daggers at Enid. At first his mouth opens as if he's going to shout, but it soon snaps closed again. It's too late. If Enid's invited a curse upon them, all the howling in the world isn't going to unmake it, and he'll just have to bear with it; though this isn't to say that the nature of Enid's revenge is lost on him. Heskra climbs out of the hole he dug and places the axe back into Vitrix's empty paw, then lays the shield atop his chest. Moving to stand at the ferret's shoulders, he leans over and grabs them, nodding towards Enid. "Get 'is footpaws an' 'elp me set 'im in." It's said sternly; this is an order, an order meant to try and compensate for Enid's tongue removal.

The ermine seems beyond the vulpine's reproach, though, and one would be hard pressed to tell if she even heard his stern command. With a hoarse cry, Enid hurls the ferret's tongue into the trees, her previously fearful expression suddenly livid. But the tracker isn't quite finished yet. After watching the appendage until it's far out of sight, Enid turns her attention back to the corpse, this time to find that his shield has somehow gotten in the way. No matter, though, and Enid simply flips it off the ferret's body before snatching up the pouch of ashes which she had so gently laid there only minutes before. This time her fingers move without hesitation, unstringing the pouch and tipping most of the contents into Vitrix's still open mouth. During the ferret's life, Enid could only entertain this wistful idea of visiting the same horrors unto Vitrix that he himself had committed on her. But now, as his spirit crosses over into the next life, Enid can finally settle the injustices, finally force the ferret to be without a voice and to taste the bitter ash of her sorrow. Whatever the fox may think of her actions, there seems to be no stopping her now.

No sooner had Heskra positioned himself at Vitrix's shoulders than Enid flipped the ferret's shield out of his paws, and he's about to open his mouth and shout at her for making the burial more difficult, but it's clear that Enid isn't listening to him at this point, and Heskra can do little more than gape at her for a while. He sputters and bites at his tongue as he tries to find words appropriate for this travesty when Enid commits a bigger one. While the ashes for herself might have been a respectful ritual, plainly dumping them in Vitrix's muzzle is not. At this point, Heskra's ears have pinned back and he's actively snarling, his fists balling as he watches Enid profane a burial and possibly curse every last one of the horde in the process. He lashes out, aiming a firm slap at her cheek, as much to cause some pain as to snap her from this rage-filled trance.

The guttural curse that would follow this desecration is well known to Enid; rising in her chest but only audible as a broken mumble thanks to her lacking tongue. This only adds to the fury building behind her eyes, but before she can do anything to further despoil the ferret Heskra's strike hits home, missing her cheek but landing squarely on her nose. The tracker suddenly reels backwards, partly due to the unexpectedness of the blow but also through the force that the fox puts behind it. She lands hard on her elbows, a pained cry and an accompanying trickle of blood escaping her snout. Enid scrambles quickly to her feet, taking up a defensive form with her knife clutched in her left paw. She glares daggers at the warlord for a second... and then her gaze falls back to Vitrix's body, and it's as if she's clearly seeing him for the first time since her outburst. Vitrix isn't trying to form words without a tongue, not sputtering and choking on the mouthful of ash, he's dead. The ermine's hateful expression slips at the sight.

For a while, Heskra stands over Enid, watching her, wondering if he'll be required to knock some additional sense into his new hordebeast. However promising Enid is, she's not only profaned the dead and invited a curse upon at least them both, but also ignored his wishes as the leader of the clan. Striking one of his hordebeasts is nothing new to Heskra, and he seems prepared to do it again should he have to, but he lets his paw fall, folding his arms and looking over Enid appraisingly, seeing the hateful expression slip. /It's over now/ he thinks. /She's realized what she did and it's over./ He turns back to Vitrix's body, heaving a sigh as he tries to figure out a way to dampen the curse somewhat. In the end, all he can do is try to bring as much order to the body as he can, slipping the shield back onto his chest after refolding his arms, then closing his muzzle tight once more. As an afterthought, he flips open his sporran and takes out a bag of bracken for his pipe, placing it on Vitrix's chest as a sort of "apology", hoping that it'll soothe his wounded spirit enough that the curse won't be so horrible. Without saying a word to Enid, he takes his position at the dead ferret's shoulders, starting to lift him and haul him towards the grave. At this point, Enid can help or she could not help; he's not going to order her around in the state she's in, finding her quite unreliable for the present.

If her failing hate wasn't enough to confirm the vulpine's instinct, then the knife slipping out of Enid's grip certainly does. She looks down on the corpse as if seeing it for the very first time, her face suddenly a hollow mask as a mountain of emotions slamming her in the chest all at once. See feels regret towards her actions certainly, but she cannot help but feel that this final curse was deserved. There's still a measure of hatred there as well, though. A hatred that says she, not the fox, should have taken Vitrix's life. Enid's feet carry her backwards slowly, taking her further from the burial. By the look of her quivering shoulders and hands she'd be useless for helping carry the dead beast, and she can't seem to tear her eyes away from his ash strewn muzzle.

Heskra allows Enid to go without a single word, giving her the time alone she seems to need as he works to bury the ferret's body. He'd already intended to do this by himself, so the physical component of the labor doesn't bother him so much as the desecration does. He hoists the body into the grave and sets it so that the paws and weapons are all on his chest and settled in properly, then climbs out and starts to bury him, slinging the dirt back into the hole by his hands, vulpine paws fortunately being quite adept at reburying things. At length, the work is done and Heskra looks up from his task, starting to walk back in the direction Enid took off in.

Her slow backing away turns into a hasty retreat as the vulpine lowers the body into the earth. Enid's feet carry her east rather than south, her spear and pouch forgotten under the weight of her thoughts. Did she do wrong by cursing the ferret? Should she have left his tongue unsullied or was removing it just? Should she have killed him? Should she have never led Heskra here? The whys and the hows, the mixed feelings of right and wrong, it's enough to make a tortured soul scream... and scream she does. Although she's far out of the fox's sight, Enid's scream will have no trouble reaching his ears in this forest. It's a harsh and blood curdling sound, laced with fury and grief, every pent up emotion and every unspoken word from the last three and a half seasons forcing itself past her cut tongue in a single, animalistic note. By the time her lungs are emptied Enid is on her knees, head buried in her palms.

The tortured sound Enid makes does indeed carry to Heskra's ears, and he hears it soon after he finishes the first few steps of his journey towards Enid's position. He stops in his tracks, his ears pinning back to his head as he hears the pain lacing through every moment of the yell, ears pinning back and trying to block out the sound. He's heard sounds like that before, mostly from beasts who were being tortured to death, and it's not a noise that he particularly savors. To clear his head, he gives it a firm shake, heading back towards the grave site. He'll leave Enid to her misery and release for the present, sitting down and sorely wishing that he hadn't had to give his bracken to a dead ferret. Instead, he chews on a finger, figuring that Enid will return when she's done, since she likely does not know the way to Mossflower.

Nearly half an hour passes until Enid reappears through the trees, her face still haunted and her gait broken and unsteady. At the burial site she slumps into a sitting position next to her spear, the head of which she pulls into her lap so that she can feel the runes etched into the blade. For a while the tracker can't bring herself to look at Heskra, afraid that her loss of control will have landed her into the same ostracized position that he found her in. With words she might try to explain her reasons for sulling the ferret's corpse in such a manner, but without a tongue the most she can ever do with her voice is scream, and she's had her fill of that already.

At first, Heskra doesn't look at Enid either. He's still upset about the profaning of the burial, though he can certainly understand the reasoning behind Enid's loss of control. Eventually, though, he does remember that Enid is one of his beasts now, and he softens a bit. With a sigh, he stands up, walking towards her and laying his paw down on her shoulder, pressing it down firmly so she can feel the weight. He looks down at her in case she should look up, wanting to meet her eyes. "'t'll be okay," he says. He knows it's a lie, and that this will likely stick with Enid for a while, not to mention the curse that will likely stick to the both of them, but he's a fox, and as such isn't half bad at lying through his teeth.

As genuine as Heskra's words may sound, Enid knows deep inside that things will not be okay. Curses aside, she desiccated the body of a beast that held her absolute loyalty, and did it before the eyes of her new chieftain as well. Acting like a terrified little cub who's just disappointed their parent won't help her case, though, so before she stands to look the vulpine in the eye, Enid settles her mind, lightly kissing the emerald studded seal tooth and pushing herself up with the aid of her spear. When she does finally meet Heskra's gaze, a portion of her cold stony visage had returned. She dips her head slowly towards his wounded shoulder, as if to inquire about the extent of the damage.

The return of her typical, stony visage is a good sign, and at the very least Heskra knows that she'll be able to function. He removes his paw from her shoulder, his eyes searching her face for weakness, looking to see if she's truly regained her senses before they head back down to Mossflower. In all the excitement, Heskra seems to have forgotten about his wound, and he looks over at it, giving a shrug. "'t's not too bad. Doesn' 'urt yet, 'at'll 'appen once 'e wound dries out. Goin' ta leave a nice scar 'ough." Another shrug. "Ready ta go back ta Mossflower?”

A short nod follows the warlord's question, and without giving the grave a second glance Enid turns to the south. It will be a somber march for the tracker; her thoughts heavy with the emotions that overtook her since tracking the deceased Juskasol chieftain and running him to ground. The vulpine may have struck the final death blow, but in the recesses of her mind, Enid feels that it is she who holds the blame for the disappearance of the Juskasol. Her fingers idly trace the painted lines on her face, recalling the past glory of her clan. This was the glory she lost for them; the glory which lies buried with Vitrix.