[piosenniel]

Belin’s Character:

NAME: Wolf

AGE: 39. The lives of the Hillmen are neither luxurious nor lengthy, and this is on the old side for a chieftain, as they are expected to be strong and vigorous. He is both of those, so far, and anticipates five or six more years of leadership before he slowly and quietly relinquishes actual power to his successor, though he will keep his title until the end of his life.

RACE: Hillman

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: Spear and axe. He can also use a bow at a pinch.

APPEARANCE: Wolf is short, stocky, and dark. To the Gondorians he no doubt seems very ugly, but in the eyes of his own people, his great beard and his thick dark hair make him an impressive figure, despite the fact that his height is unremarkable even by Hillman standards. Behind this thicket of hair, his eyes are dark and penetrating in his serious and nearly unreadable face. Though thick and well muscled, he is still agile and quick, and his spear is renowned among the people of his tribe. Gray is beginning to creep into his hair, and his massive hands are no longer as flexible as they once were, but he is still a good warrior, and, as they say, a wise one.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Wolf is an experienced and cautious leader whose main concern is holding everyone together. He’s seen a great deal of upheaval, and one thing he has learned is that squabbling and indecision, so common when people are frightened, usually lead to disaster. He is therefore strict and demanding, tolerating little or no backtalk, though he will, on rare occasions, listen to a very forceful argument made to him in private by someone he respects. He is seen as stiff and inflexible, and though he is not short tempered when he does not need to be, he considers his words to be final.

Less obvious to his people is his careful and constantly changing assessment of the abilities and worth of each of them; if his decisions are unassailable they are at least not arbitrary. He takes no unnecessary risks, he does not panic, and he does nothing without a good idea of what could happen. Unfortunately, he does little to communicate this to the others, so many of his people dislike him thoroughly, though there are few who do not acknowledge the value of his leadership. As might be expected, he has few advisors and fewer friends.

He does everything properly according to the rules of his people, and even his greatest detractors know that they can trust him, but he is rather different with respect to foreign people, and his battle tactics tend to the devious.

HISTORY: Wolf has lived in this region for his entire life, never roaming farther to the north or east than that North Downs or to the west farther than Lake Evendim, though difficulties in finding food have sometimes brought him almost as far south as Bree. He was born in a small, nameless village near the lake, though in truth it barely deserved even the name of “village.” Wolf’s childhood, like that of many others, was spent largely in the pursuit of food, and of other comforts where he could find them. He was always a hunter of beasts and of eggs and edible plants, and, as for such luxuries as warm clothes and blankets, he was not above the large-party quarry of wealthy travelers, though his spoils in such cases went first to his mother and younger brothers, who did not accompany him in such raids.

In the early years of his adolescence, certain village youths organized a concentrated effort to drive away their ancient enemy, the Dúnedain, who had become increasingly troublesome in recent years. It was not that there were more of them, exactly, but they had taken to watching such villages closely, as if they were anxious about something, as if they were planning for a war. With grim determination and a good deal of death, the Hillmen managed to discourage them straying too close to any of these villages; after all, the Hillmen, though few, were far more numerous than the Rangers. Wolf distinguished himself in these efforts by his determination and cool-headed leadership, as well as his remarkable skill with a spear, and soon afterward he found himself spending a great deal of time with the chief of his town, learning a great deal and eventually, much to his surprise, making important and difficult decisions about town matters. When the old man died, Wolf took his place, as is the custom with Hillmen. According to the customs of the Hillmen, the leader has remained unmarried.

His time of leadership saw the remarkable year when all the Dúnedain disappeared entirely (only to return, disappointingly, the next summer) and handfuls of Dunlendings began to come north with stories of old men and mighty wars. Wolf himself put little trust in such wild rumors, which were so prolific and contradictory that no Hillman could tell what they meant, but many of his people were gravely disturbed, and he focused on keeping them calm, occasionally leading a hunt personally in order to reassure them of their strength. They hunted beasts, mostly, as travelers had been fewer and fewer.

Now, five years after that remarkable time, rumors continue to flow thick, and now, much to Wolf’s dismay, some of them at least seem more accurate than they once did. A group of foreigners has settled on the shore of the lake, along a trail they had often used for hunting.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Belin’s post

Unseen in the dim light, Wolf stared down from the side of the hill at the path along the lake where he had been so often of late. He hoped that none of the younger hunters had been foolish enough to leave traces of their presence, not that this weary group of travelers with their formerly fine clothing seemed very likely to be capable of any decent tracking. They moved along carelessly, many of them on horses as travelers so often were, talking and laughing among themselves as if they were alone in the wilderness and free from unfriendly eyes. A murmur went up as they descended the hill, and they stared at the lake as if they had never seen one before.

Wolf was aware that, unobtrusive as he was in his drab garb and earth-colored skin, any of them could have seen him if they looked carefully up at the hill, but moving was more dangerous still, and besides, they were fools and spent all their attention on the lake and the meadow before them, and on each other. It was principally the children that looked around, and he did not think that any of their eyes had lighted on him. Do they train all the sense out of them on purpose? he wondered irritably.

The presence of the children was not a surprise to him. He had received news of this group from several of his more reliable trackers, and had come to see for himself. As they had promised, it was a larger group of travelers than any he had ever seen, whole families and many of them, and with even more gear than he might have expected them to carry. In fact, they were unlike any travelers he had ever seen, more tattered and slow-moving certainly, and they looked at the lake differently. He was nearly certain he did not like the way they looked at the lake. He wondered for a moment how far they had come, and what business they possibly have out here. There were those who speculated that they were staying, and listening to the relief in the voices that floated toward him, Wolf had begun to believe it. He watched them for a few moments longer, sick children, tired women, and a crippled man who bore himself with surprising authority. As darkness fell, he moved off slowly and silently around the hills, never showing himself on their crests and never quite descending to their feet either. Around him, he could hear the wolves barking softly to each other as they assembled, and as the howling started he was nearly home.

The village was quiet. Except for the priests among them, the Hillmen seldom emerged at night, knowing its dangers well. Maybe the night would be enough to drive off these travelers, but he doubted it. There were so many of them. Wolf went straight home. He needed time to think.

His brother Knife was staring into the fire, as he often did at night for reasons Wolf had never fully understood. “Did you see them?” he asked.

“I saw them. You were right. There are more of them than I’ve ever seen, and they have come from far away, there’s no doubt of that.”

“And…?” Knife watched him carefully. The way to deal with Wolf, he’d found, was not to ask more questions than were needed to give him space to say what he wanted to say.

“And they look like the Rangers. And if I didn’t think they were staying I would leave them alone; there are too many of them, far too many.” Wolf frowned.

“Why would they want to stay here?” cried Knife. “What is there? Nothing! There’s nothing here even for us! Why would they leave their own country where they have whatever they need for our stones and what’s left of our hunting? Are they insane?”

“I don’t advise you talking like that,” answered Wolf sharply. “We still have to live here, you know.” Knife glowered but was silent. “I think I will watch them for another day or two. I don’t want to fight them if I don’t have to. But if they stay… they’re in the watering spot. So much of what we’ve been eating comes from there, and I won’t be starved. Or invaded. But I think the Rangers will side with them. I’d like you to gather some hunters and some spies for my in the morning.”

Knife nodded. “That’s always been a good hunting spot, and now… well, now it is a good hunting spot again, I guess.”