[Alkanoonion]

The Inn yard slowly gave way to frozen landscape, as Carl and his pony made their way North towards the Brandywine. The snow on the road by now was waist deep in places and the wind was sapping what strength he and his pony had. After an hour of travelling in the wind and snow, which had abated only slightly, Carl and his pony sought shelter against a larger tree.

Taking out his canteen Carl went to drink but soon discovered that the water had frozen solid in the cold. Remembering a trick that his father had taught him Carl leaned down and grabbed a handful of snow and put it in his mouth letting the warmth from his mouth melt the snow so that he could drink. Looking about Carl studied his surroundings.

To his left was a dense frozen forest, which looked like it had been created out of some madman’s dreams. Carl did not know how to describe what he saw except that it looked like the trees were trying to escape from the wind and snow, flailing there branches madly from side to side only to entangle together leaving themselves trapped, so that now they could only shudder with the torture placed on their limbs.

Not very inviting thought Carl. Looking to his right the trees looked a little better as the trees seemed to invite Carl and his pony to take shelter. Once more mounting his pony the pair left the road seeking the shelter of these trees. The snow was less deep and the frozen trees provided a Modicum of protection from the cutting effect of the wind and ice on his raw face. The wind and snow was also less built up which made travel for his pony easier. Heading north through the day Carl continued to study the landscape taking in all details and looking for signs of and Wargs or wolves.

By now the snow had dissipated and the pair only had to worry about the cold wind which while not a gale was still terribly chilling. With out the gale and snow the pair made good time and by midday they had almost reached the Brandywine.
They were heading into the wind when Carls pony shed to the left and started to tremble. In the distance a wolf’s sorrowful howl could be herd. Getting off his pony, Carl tied her to a tree stump and laying a comforting hand on her nose he slowly made his way upwind.

Slowly drawing his bow from across his back he preceded to nock an arrow, but being mindful of the warning he had received, he made sure that he would not be seen. Carl was an expert at tracking and so it was no effort for him to locate the source of the noise.
It was a sorrowful creature that he found, a female wolf that had been trapped in a snare and abandoned by its pack. She had half chewed her leg off to get out of the snare and would shortly die. Feeling his stomach tighten with pity Carl slowly approached the wolf. She could see him, but she did not struggle.
As Carl approach the trapped animal, he felt himself compelled to seek out the creatures gaze. To stare into a wild creatures eye was to issue a challenge, a way of seeking superiority over it. However, when Carl looked deep into the amber depths of this beauty he only received a weak grow of protest before the creature resigned itself to the mans actions. She returned his look bravely.

He could see her struggle to match his look and keep her eyes open. She was tired. Tired from the cold and the pain, but beneath the fatigue was something else. It was something that touched Carl more than the presence of the blood and crippling injury. Within her eyes was not just the physical pain but also the pain of knowing that her pack has deserted her. Not just her pack, but also her life long mate and the children they had reared and cared for. She knew she was going to die all alone.
As Carl looked into her amber eyes he knew this Knowledge to be true, for Carl was drawing this knowledge not only from the instincts of a compassionate being but from the knowledge all forest creatures drew from, instinct.
Carl was instinctively a creature of the forest. He had to be. It was how he survived. It was what he was brought up to be and how he lived. This was what he was taught by his father and from his fathers father and he hoped that one day he would be able to teach this knowledge to his own children. With these thoughts fixed in his mind Carl knew what he had to do.
She did not fight or resist him, for Carl believed she knew what he was going to do. She looked at him with a silent pleading that was heart breaking for it was not a desperate plea but a dignified one, as to be release from a terrible pain. There was also a grain of hope. To die at the hands of another being was to not die alone. With a tear in his eye Carl took aim with his bow and put the majestic and tragic animal to rest.

Still weeping for the brave animal Carl started the preparation of burring the animal. He wished he could lite a fire to soften the frozen ground but he knew this would betray his presence in the woods. Rather he berried her beneath the ice knowing too well that the body would be scratch out by scavengers, but he could not stop himself. He felt empathy for the poor animal, admired her. She had been a wolf, not the evil Wargs but a forest wolf. They were different for they were the true hunters. Not only had Carls family learned from them, but so had Carl; he had studied them for many a long hour when he had been a boy, to learn the Wild arts. This was way, despite the uselessness of the task Carl continued to burry her. It was his way of paying respect.

Having done all that he could for the she wolf, Carl returned to his pony. He noticed that it had grown late he made for the accommodations in Whitfurrows.

To report no sing of danger from the north except a dead wolf. Racing back to the Whitfurrows Carl did not hear the howls that followed him.