[Belin]

Wolf had hoped to take counsel with his brothers as soon as he reached his own hut. He knew it would be difficult- Bear would want to fight, of course, and Knife would roll his eyes and wearily explain the virtues of the south to them once again, and it would take some coaxing to show either of them that there were virtues to strategy and planning. The quick, all-out attack that Bear would want was an idiotic, if vaguely exciting, idea, given the rangers and the possibility that the settlers themselves were warriors of one sort or another. As for the notion of abandoning the land where they’d always lived to wander homeless in the plain sight of those sneering men from Bree, it violated both pride and common sense. Were they not desperate enough as it was? They would attack, but they would attack on their own terms, and he needed his brothers to help him decide what those terms would be.

The hut seemed smaller and darker in the rain, filled with the close air common to places that escaped the wind. Wolf stood in the doorway, rainwater dripping from his beard, and peered into the corners of the room, puzzled by the absence of either of his brothers, and suddenly uncomfortable under the gaze of Kestrel, who was sitting by the stove, stirring the pot with a steady, patient hand that belied the look in her single bright eye. She said nothing.

Wolf cleared his throat. It would be not merely difficult but actually inappropriate to apologize to her, so he smiled wearily and moved nearer the fireplace, making a conspicuous effort not to drip water on the floor. "How is Flint?" he asked quietly.

She looked at him for a moment, measuring the question against her own unease, understanding that it was an offering, and she smiled an answer to it, though her voice was still grave as she explained to him that the child would need careful watching for some time to come, but that she knew he was a strong boy... She trailed off, and Wolf understood that she was terribly worried, not only about her son, but about all of them. He wondered again about the fate of the other child, the one that had not yet been born. It would certainly be in good hands, at any rate. How could Cleft say they were weak when they had such mothers as Kestrel among them? He murmured something polite, heartened.

When he asked after his brothers, though, Kestrel stared into the pot for several moments, struggling for words. "Wolf, I don’t know what you…" she paused, looked at him, and started anew. "I didn’t realize you hadn’t spoken to Bear. He is upset. Were you hoping to fight off the Southmen by yourself?"

It was Wolf’s turn to struggle for words. In the face of her frustration and her concern, his need for time to think seemed strange and difficult to explain, and he could only imagine what Bear might be thinking. He took a deep breath, attempting to clear his head. "I... I would have told him. Do you know where he’s gone?"

Kestrel shook her head.

It required only a moment’s deliberation before Wolf took his leave of her, turned, and headed back out into the storm.