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The forest, though familiar, was yet entirely different in the darkness. Enchanting. Smooth beeches and mighty oaks raised their arms to the sky, together with slender pines, pointing at the stars, the patrons of the night. Of its black voile, the moon weaved the shadows. Here and there owls, the soloists, called out. The echo of these sounds always gave him goose bumps. When he was a cub they accompanied a sense of fear, now it was just lively excitement.

Suddenly, on the road ahead they could hear hooves rumbling and two shadows appeared.

"We've arrived, my lord." Announced one of the scouts halting before column of knights.

"Splendid!" exclaimed the commander and turned to the wolf riding close by his side. "Tancred, ride ahead, order to prepare quarters for us."

The older knight nodded at two other guards and five riders galloped down the road, disappearing amongst the trees after a while. Wenzel and the rest of his guards remained behind and not hasting, slowly advanced towards the village.

In Dormer's army served almost exclusively canines and vulpines, and in the count's guard, with few exceptions, exclusively wolves, so young Wenzel traveled in a company of his brothers of species.

Even in the night the sight of the riders could have been impressing. Soldiers were wearing polished plate armors. Plates, smoothened in a mediterranean fashion, reflected the moonlight as forest ponds.

Wenzel broke out of his escort's line and halted his mount to watch the column moving ahead. Several metres behind it a covered cart was tailing. Canvas tightened on a wooden framing, resembled a sail of a ship scudding through the ocean of trees to its harbor. Indeed, the captain was returning home.

"Ahoy there, mister Daven!" Exclaimed the young noble closing to the merchant's wagon. Its owner, by chance, was a wolf too. His brown and grey fur was encircled by the black coat on his forehead, cheeks and ears, like a painting in frames. A hoar already was nipping at his muzzle, but Daven, by all means was a wolf in his prime. At the sound of Wenzel's voice, he looked at the younger man with respect.

"Yes, my lord?" he asked.

"How long are you on track?"

"Will be over three months, my lord. Though, would be longer if not for your generous help." Having said that, he pointed the forward left wheel of his cart.

"It is my pleasure, Daven," smiled the young knight. "Sparsely a sovereign has any opportunity to remind himself that he's not only destined to rule, but to serve his subjects and care for them as well."

"Upon hearing these words, my lord, my soul is at ease knowing there is bright future before Stimarch under your rule," answered the merchant, bowing his head.

"Yet there are people who'd eagerly debate your words, mister Daven," announced Wenzel, his smile not entirely convincing.

"Aren't we convicted to constantly prove our worth, my lord?" Daven answered him with his own smile, a genuine one. And Wenzel could see something in his eyes too. Acuteness marked with experience. The kind of experience shaped out of time, people and places. And from that acuteness - understanding. He immediately desired this man's company for a couple tankards of beer in the tavern.

"Do you have family, Daven?" He changed the subject.

"I do, my lord," answered the merchant. "My wife, Elin, and three sons - Jorg, Finn and Hogan."

Wenzel could easily pick up the pride and love in older wolf's voice. They emanated from his eyes, gleaming in darkness. The young viscount felt only lump in his throat. But through the years he had grown accustomed. And that armor, as opposed to one made of steel, hardened with every taken blow.

Thankfully at that moment the road started to drop gentilly, and soon before their eyes the village came to view. Sea of fields encompassed the island of homesteads, silvering in the moonlight. Window lights flocked together alongside the track, as glowworms under a cave's vault. A fair amount of them marked the bloated belly of the inn.

"And so we reached our destination." Wenzel gratefully changed the subject. Certainly riding in scorching heat of the day has been exhausting and everyone longed after an opportunity to rest.

"Travels are wonderful, but we always start somewhere." Stated Daven, gazing pensively upon Raygne, his homeland. The same gleam beating from his eyes, his ears standing straight, his silent excitement so apparent. Such attachment was both painfully unfamiliar and fascinating for the young knight.

"My lord, we're reaching our destination!" called on of his guardsmen.

"I can see that, thank you!" Answered him Wenzel, rolling his eyes, while the rest of his unit indulged in expressing the mirth that was suddenly awoken by that exchange. "He is new," the viscount explained to Daven's smirk. "Devoted and serious. Sir Tancred absolutely adores him. Of course he does..." The wolf shook his head, smiling.

Wenzel urged his horse and galloped forward, to the head of the column. There he could see the valley better.

Raygne hadn't changed very much since the last time he had been here, twelve years ago. Everything was smaller though, as he just has grown up.

I hope it will be to his liking. He thought, looking at his future feud.

The hardened road led straight forward among the homesteads. Some of the huts peered at the unit with their yellow eyes. From rider's perspective, most of them seemed to Wenzel to be even smaller than they really were. He couldn't see a single soul. At this hour surely everyone must have been at rest.

With occasional mounts' snorts, hooves treading lightly on a packed soil, the column slowly inched forward. The riders seldom exchanged any words, everyone visibly too worn out to engage in conversations anymore. From behind them, wheels of Daven's cart creaked their lullaby. But to Wenzel these sounds were just an accompaniment. The young wolf, engrossed in an orchestra of the night, could barely keep himself still. Ensembles of crickets chirped their music, making him feel outright hypnotizing isolation. Isolation from the world he knew. That of castles, cities, court and politics. As if it was entirely ANOTHER place in ANOTHER life.

It's a shame this peace soon will be so intensely disturbed, thought the viscount with regret.

Glowing eyes of wild cats pursued them from under the empty stalls as they were passing through the market. Emerging on the crossroads, they could see small village temple to the left. The old structure of wood and stone, outgrowing other buildings, kept watch over the country. And it was there, in the very face of the Patrons, where their ways came to part. Wenzel remembered they had to turn right to reach the inn. He also remembered that further down that way stood a grand, storied cabin that belonged to the village head. The young wolf have been especially looking forward to their meeting. He ordered his guards to carry on and he himself turned back and rode to the rear end of the squad.

"My lord?"

"Where is your home, Daven?" inquired the knight, as he approached the cart.

"From now on only straight ahead, to the east end of Raygne, my lord." The older wolf replied with a smile.

"Ah, then this is the time we go our separate ways."

"Indeed it is. It was an honor to accompany you, my lord. If only for a little while," remarked the merchant, "and I can't say how grateful I am for your help with fixing the cart."

"Would be so noble of me, weren't it in my best interests because of the taxes, right, Daven?"

That observation made both wolves lose some of their courteous demeanor for a good, honest chuckle. And in such a good mood, tails wagging, ears perked, they bid their farewells.

* * *

There never were crowds at that time of the day in summer. Field works were exhausting and villains prefered to spend their families. Osgar didn't mind. He knew that after the harvest, they will be looking for the means to spend their free time, and they will be back again. The bear always could count on the patrons, though. He was grateful that not on the capitalized ones. Most of them were just old men, too weak and cranky to be useful for anything besides guzzling and grumbling. There was a dozen of them sitting at the tables. They drank ale, smoked pipes, filling the room with pungent, herbal fumes, and discussed. Once in a while one of them raised his voice and soon the others quickly leveled up to him, producing a tiresome clamor.

"How they bristle..." muttered Osgar, shaking his head pitifully.

"At least they don't snap at everyone who enters." Muttered back Martha, his corpulent she bear.

Osgar turned to look at her. She wasn't so corpulent thirty years back, when he took her. But then again - neither was he.

"What are you doing here? I've told you I don't like you being down here when those Alan's pricks are here," he said with reproach and immediately glanced toward the dark corner of the inn, worried that he might have been heard. It was there where said Alan, the big wolverine, and his vile companions sat themselves with tankards full of ale and played dice for a couple hours by now.

Alan was never liked in Raygne and the neighborhood. Neither the locals were fond of him, nor the travellers loved him. He returned those feelings with delight whenever he had the chance to do so. In the end he found himself well in the company of people caring for fellow beings' welfare just as much. A tavern whore would sooner pass off as a nun, than Alan would as a genius, but the ram in his fist earned him the informal domination above all the rest of the local ruffians.

They often sat at the inn, since Osgar reasonably agreed with them that such a place shouldn't be left unprotected for too long. Nevermind the previous fifty years of running the interest by his grandfather and then father.

"You're exaggerating," Martha waved her hand disparagingly. "I won't be able to sleep, 'till Lamont gets back anyway."

"He was to be absent just for a while," muttered Osgar, "...no one to clean the tankards and he disappears somewhere, dirt chap!"

"I'll do that." Decided the female, reaching for one of the wooden utensils. However, before she managed to grab it, her husband's strong hand grasped her wrist. "Don't you even dare. He'll never see the day his mother will do his work for him." The old bear drawled firmly, not even looking at her. His eyes rested at the door handle, as if he was expecting the returning of their offspring any time soon. And indeed that's exactly what happened.

The inn's doors creaked open and slowly, inside slipped a young bear. His physique resembled the one of the older ursine behind the counter, although the same couldn't have been said about his demeanor. One glance at his father was apparently enough for him to understand he was in trouble. He approached the counter with his ears dropped and eyes downcast, as if cowering under Osgar's irritated scowl on him.

"This is A WHILE?!" Snapped the bear, throwing a rag at him. Lamont simply pulled it off his muzzle and with his head low, shuffled behind the counter.

"You angered your father." Martha wagged her finger at their son.

"I know. I'm sorry..." The young lad answered calmly. There was something on his mind, obviously.

"If you goin' out for longer, then tell you're goin' for goddamn longer." Growled his father, though slightly softer. "You've still got work to do."

Lamont took his place beside his father and reached for the first tankard. He failed to notice his mother regarding him carefully. The concern plastered on his muzzle might have been easily mistaken for fatigue by someone else, but not the mother.

"Lamont, did something happen?"

At first the younger bear seemed taken by surprise. It was but a moment, though, before he composed himself. "No, why?" He asked. "Just a tough day, that's all."

"Martha, love, please, do go back upstairs," requested Osgar, sending her a meaningful glance. She didn't need any more indication and left them alone, trusting her husband to deal with the situation.

"Woman?" Osgar approached his son after a couple of minutes.

"...yeah." The lad sighed, wiping a mug.

"I see." Muttered the bear. He hoped his son will be able to hear understanding in his brief remark. They were two men talking, there was no need for flowers and erudition. "Care to tell who?"

"Father..."

But before his son got to share his thoughts, the doors to the inn opened with impetus, drawing everyone's attention. The buzz died down in a second and inside walked five soldiers, clad from head to toe in fine armors. The first one to get in, immediately took his helmet off, revealing a wolf's muzzle. The muzzle quite familiar for the old innkeeper. The big knight looked around the room, his glance so stern as if he owned the place. Osgar had no doubt that that was about to come true, when the wolf moved on towards the counter. The patrons were giving him way and nodding their heads with unfeigned respect.

"We'll get back to it..." Osgar promised to his son, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly. Lamont only nodded, his expression indistinct for his father. For the younger bear's own luck... or bad luck, the older bear didn't really have the time to wonder whether it was resignation, or relief.

The knight looked impressive in his full plate armor and crimson red cloak. He stood eye to eye with the older bear. Lamont, despite his troubles, couldn't pull his eyes away from him.

"Face as tho familiar," started Osgar, smiling welcomingly "but that glower... so threateningly lupine."

"A wolf can only glower lupine. But worry not, master innkeeper, as I too bring a wolfish appetite." Greeted him the wolf, his face brightening suddenly with a smile. "But in truth, a greater company as well, for the entire village to bear."

"HA! So there it is!" Osgar exclaimed, chuckling, "Sir Tancred wields his tongue even better than his sword! Long time we haven't see you in these parts, sir!"

"Rarely do I travel, recently. At least until very lately." Explained the wolf, leaning on the counter. "But this time, as I said," he added lowering his voice, "I do bring the commotion with me."

"Well... taverns love commotion. That's how we make money!"

"Hmm... I do believe so," the wolf admitted, "but it depends on who are you having, right?"

After this mysterious question, the wolf went and stood in the middle of the inn. The patrons were still observing him intently, waiting for what will he do. Only Alan's band occupying its dark corner seemed to not paying any attention to the newcomers. Or they were simply trying to avoid their interest.

"Enough of this rackets!" Firmly announced the commander. "Get back to your homes, peasants, the tavern is closed."

"Well, well," muttered Osgar under his breath.

Faint rumbles of disapproval spread around the big room, but those were not more significant, than grumbling of students charged with particularly heavy tasks. No one would dare to oppose the sworn swords of Dormers on their very own lands. Or so it would seem. Exactly as Osgar was afraid, some of the customers indeed thought themselves above the rest. And just like the bear inkeeper, sir Tancred immediately took notice that his order slipped one menacing group's attention.

"You there! Are you fuckin' deaf?!"

"Easy there, mister knight. We just down our mugs and we're off." Replied the wolverine in an offhand manner.

Osgar and his son went mortified at that. Alan's band maybe pestered traveling merchants and other voyagers, but to interfere with military? That led only to one place. Gallows.

"Oh, yeah?" Asked the knight with mocked interest. "How about you're off before I got you CUT down? Is that an enough straight-forward command for you?"

Piercing silence hanged in the air and paralyzed every one of the ruffians. There were six of them. Besides Alan, the large wolverine, the group formed two foxes, a wolf, a leopardess, and a lanky raccoon. It was pretty obvious what their minds were processing at the moment - two ways out of that situation - the doors outside, or the pit in the ground.

"We apologize, sir," finally the feline spoke with respect. "We meant no insult. We'll leave at once."

"Good." Tancred growled. "The reasonable one. And a female. Why that doesn't surprise me?"

The inn was empty with no more words said. A while later hasty steps could be heard on the stairs and Martha's muzzle appeared from behind the staircase's wall.

"By the Patrons, what is going on here?! Through the windows I've seen everyone leaving..." She cut off in the middle of the sentence when she noticed the reason of the commotion.

"By the... Sir Tancred!"

"Welcome, dear Martha!" A warm smile spread on the wolf's muzzle. It was so different than the cold glare that was seeing the ruffians out just seconds before.

"Long time we didn't see you here, sir." Martha smiled back. "What brings you here at such a late hour? Are you and your people by any chance hungry? I will prepare a supper immediately and..."

"With pleasure, Martha, but let me explain how things are standing," the knight interrupted.

"You did mention some commotion, sir Tancred?" Queried Osgar, embracing his wife with one arm.

"Indeed. I am afraid we will stay in the village for quite some time and there's an absolute necessity of establishing an exceptional order for the duration of our stay."

"And we means?" Asked Martha.

"Everything in its due time. For now let it be known to you, that I'm escorting viscount Wenzel Dormer."

"Damn!" Osgar almost shouted out of impression. "Now that's a person you don't see everyday!"

"By the Patrons..." Martha just whispered under her breath.

"I need your best accommodation for the viscount and lodgings for fifteen men."

"Of course, sir. I will tend to this at once," ensured him the innkeeper and then turned to his son with a serious expression. "Lamont, you heard? Run upstairs, prepare the chamber! And you, sir?" He spoke to Tancred once again.

"I will quarter with my men. And Osgar... I have to close the inn."

The bear was expecting to hear that. Nevertheless, he had to postpone coming to terms with losing a large part of his income, because it was time for work now. He only nodded his head with understanding, his maintaining the indifferently polite expression on his muzzle, the one he skilled throught the years. And then, with the rest of his family he rushed to work under the eye of the wolf commander.

The said knight, on the other hand, turned back and let his people at ease. They immediately sat at one of the tables, taking of their helmets and started talking.

After exchanging a couple words with his men, Tancred outside, noting how Raygne looked exactly the same as the last time he was here, and how Osgar's lad had grown up. How Martha greeted them, warm as ever... The knight stood at the entrance to the inn and leant on the doorframe, marveling at the peaceful village slumbering under the night sky. Then he turned his eyes to the road and watched dark silhouettes of armed riders slowly carrying on towards him.

If they are losing their heads now, then what happens when HE arrives? He thought with a sting of concern.

* * *

The cart slowly rolled onward on the road 'twin the huts while Daven lost himself in his thoughts. He glanced on the repaired wheel of his cart. If they haven't happen to ride there...

Leaving the cart would have definitely ended with lost of the cargo. Admittedly, most of his takings he left in the capital, divided among a couple of investments. That, of course, was an action not to be expected from an ordinary village farmer. But Daven wasn't one. Still though, he brought some gifts for his dear family from Dalarenz. And those alone were extraordinary enough for a certain kind of people to take other one's life.

Growing excitement however, soon made him abandon his brooding. Every single time he was living through this moment with the same spontaneous joy. In just a moment he was about to see his homestead and those, for whom he, year after year, set off into that dangerous and tiresome journey without a moment of hesitation. Horses, as if encouraged by his growing spirit, quickened their pace, remembering home, sensing that the last stable was near.

And there it was! His homestead emerged from behind a small shed. It stood a little bit distanced from the rest of huts and farm buildings. Quite a sumptuous cottage rose from the ground at the very front of the yard, whispering a testimony about the diligence and wealth of the master of the house. Windows were inviting inside, calling with a friendly, yellow light. Daven however, resisted the temptation of running straight inside and stopped the cart in front of the wide, beam gate.

The packed soil of this yard was so much more hospitable than any faraway carpets of green grass, or firm and sturdy cobblestones of city markets. It was amazing to be able to straighten his back in his own thresholds and calmly breathing this air after so many days. After so many miles.

The driveway led between the buildings, straight onto the backyard. In the center cowered a stony well. Everything was well kept and in order, just as in the day he was leaving Raygne.

Daven left the team with the cart and having the gate closed, he moved on towards the door. With his heart thumping and the joy in his tail he silently ran up the stairs. But when he placed his paw on the door handle, he stopped for a moment in his joyful rush. He closed his eyes for a moment and leaned forward, touching his forehead to the dark and old wooden beams of the door. Damn, put yourself together, old man! He exhaled heavily and slowly, willing his tears back. Elin will give me a hard time for crying, Daven thought with a smile.

And just at this very moment the door opened, revealing her beautiful visage. The blackness on the edges of her ears and temples descended down, turning into many varieties of grey and brown on the forehead and around eyes. Her cheeks and the underside of her supple muzzle were covered with a light cream coat that descended down her throat and entire front of the body. It stood out from her darker fur like a jewel stood out from its socket.

Her eyes lightened up with a watery joy of her own. They wasted no time, but just fell into each other's arms. Despite the fatigue, he lifted her and carried inside, where the time hid before the whole world in the warmness and scents of home.

Fire swayed peacefully in the hearth, and in its light, the family rejoiced its reunion. As soon as they entered, two other wolves assaulted him with embraces and warm welcomes, both of them so similar to their parents.

And then, after all that racket subsided down a little, Daven could see through the happy bunch to the last of his wolves, his white silhouette slowly walking down the stairs like a good ghost of their house. Their middle son of age was also middle in most other things. Moderate, quiet, sometimes to the point of being demure. But as much as Finn stood out with his fur and character, it was just as much reinvigorating to embrace the tall lad, who greeted him with a warm hearted smile.

"I missed you, father," the lad almost whispered into his ear. The poorly hidden trembling of his voice betrayed his emotions much more than he probably wanted. Always restrained, concluded Daven, hugging his son.

Daven thought the young, white wolf looked troubled, but even if that was the case, it wasn't the best time for asking.

And soon enough any questions that might have troubled him were pushed back, as the whole family rejoiced its reunion. They were together again, under one roof, sharing the heat of the kitchen's hearth. Everyone was curious about the rumours from the big world.

The second son of Daven was thankful for such a distraction. Finn was gazing at the flames prancing on the dance floor of firewood thrown into the hearth. Above hanged a large boiler filled with water and cascades of small bubbles were already floating up and bursting on the surface.

In midst of bites of salted beef and bread, father was talking about the course of this year's travel. Triangle ears of the whole wolfish pack stood straight at attention, listening intently and taking every word.

As befitted the man of interest, Daven had known long before setting off that a great event in celebration of the prince's twentieth birthday was approaching. He told them about the crowds of merchants, minor mongers, troupes of jugglers and orgulous retinues of noble lords drawing to Dalarenz. Carnivalesque atmosphere always went in pair with dispendiousness and masses of customers. The wolf, of course, couldn't miss such an opportunity. Neither could his partners. And there was no opportunity like a knight's tournament.

The young Hogan's excitement about it in every aspect matched the one, his father remembered from the colorful metropoly back then. It seemed that the whole city took the colours of the princely house.

Inns were bursting from the crowds of the patrons and transients and such a great traffic fostered the business. Daven however knew very well that he shouldn't be talking about his profits. That was the subject to be discussed with his wife later. What really was important was to ensure that entire family will have a fair amount of sound sleep, and that could have been achieved only through a copious rehearsal of the tournament's final duel for the young Hogan.

Therefore, tired or not, Daven engaged himself in not so brief relation about the encounter of youthful fervor and strength of his very recent travel companion, viscount Wenzel Dormer and the experience and finesse of the viscount's own sister's champion, chevalier Lowell.

Sir Lowell, as fame had it, was living his second youth and the duel was very promising. But as per Daven's words, devastating blows coming from the viscount quickly robbed the public of any delusions about the final outcome, and sir Lowell of his second youth.

"You think I could take him on in arm wrestling?" Jorg mused out loud, looking on his strong palms and forearms.

Daven just snickered.

"Well, you will have the opportunity to check it out for yourself."

"HE'S HERE?!" Hogan exclaimed, excited.

"He's staying over in the inn," announced Daven to even greater exaltment of the young wolf.

"I have to see him!"

"What would he be doing here? Is it a stop on his way back to Carrosh? If so, they are taking a strange route." Noticed Finn.

"I don't think it is," said their father. "Yesterday the road gave up under my cart and I found myself in a ditch. I was lucky it didn't flipped over and horses weren't hurt. But one of the wheels hit some big boulder and broke."

Here he paused to tear a huge slice of salted beef, which then he bit with a chunk of bread and washed down with some wine.

"I, of course, stayed on the spot, hoping to meet other travellers passing by. After a few hours I, at least, heard a noise. Imagine that in the middle of the woods, all at once a group of armed riders appears, escorting none other, than Wenzel Dormer himself."

"Oh, dear, I'm so jealous right now!" Declared Hogan, as if his eyes weren't wide enough to prove that.

"Oh, yes, I admit I was really surprised. Just as they. And at the beginning, even somewhat suspicious. But the riders helped me repair the cart and the viscount offered riding to the village together.

"Have you found out what they might be doing here?" Asked Ellin, silent up till now.

"For sure I was in no position to ask its owner what is he doing on his property, my dear," smiled Daven. "I only know they will be staying for a couple days at least."

The momentary silence that followed father's answer, mother put to use with slyness only appropriate for her.

"Alright then," she started with a grin, "your father is tired from his journey and any decent people are asleep at this time anyway. Time for us to rest, we can all bother father tomorrow."

"And what about the gifts?" Hogan protested.

Righteous indignation ranged in his voice like a bell, inducing the burst of laughter of the remaining family members. The poor, young lad's ears dropped down with embarrassment, as he casted venomous glance towards his older brothers.

"I believe," chuckled Daven, getting up from the table, "there's no other way of escaping this trap, other than bribing the little hunter."

"Father!" Hogan bristled even more. But Daven only tousled his headfur on his way outside. Jorg immediately followed him and moments later both wolves returned, carrying a sizeable chest that they settled by the wall. The dimness slumbering in the corners of the room enveloped it, casting an aura of mystery over the gifts that travelled to them from afar. The merchant opened the lid and removed a layer of hay, protecting the contents from damage.

"Ellin?" He turned to his wife.

The wolfess got up and approached him with a smile. He, with outright excessive delicacy unwrapped the first package. Their children were craning their necks to get a look at what was hiding in the linen bundle. After their mother's sigh of admiration, the brothers could see a beautiful necklace in Daven's hands.

From the silver chainlet hanged with grace carefully faceted ambers, with their sharp edges and conical shape, imitating the jewelry of the nobility. They descended down from both sides to the center, every next one hanging a little lower than the former. Also a little bit bigger. To begin from the outermost ones, they were yellow as canaries, golden and orange like setting sun, to the one in the middle, the biggest one, which was rusty-red, intense like a beating heart.

"I would like to say now, that I choose ambers, because they are stones bearing the force to make this and that come true," Daven whispered to her ear, walking around her, "or that they symbolize this and that... but to be honest... I don't give a damn," he admitted, while the thin chain coldly kissed her breast, and the back of her neck. "When I've seen it, I just thought: Damn, this will look great on you."

His last words perfectly matched with a click of the clasp and Ellin chuckled.

"I see that the city and the road have led my man astray," she sent him a playful look. "We will have to straighten you, my sir."

"What a fortunate choice of words."

"Children, husband. Children," she reminded him. "And the necklace is beautiful. I feel overdressed now," she said, placing a sweet kiss on his cheek. Daven surely had an idea how to make that feeling go away, but that of course he kept to himself for the time being.

"You done?" Jorg's question came with a sly grin and actually caught his father by surprise.

"Now look at him!" Exclaimed Daven feigning astonishment only partially. "Seems my sons got spoilt. Maybe I should keep for myself what I brought for you. Just in case... now come here!" He waved his hand at his oldest son, who approached him with smugness on his muzzle.

Not wasting time for celebration, Daven took from the chest a lengthy, narrow object. Jorg's expression went from silly to serious in a heartbeat. Without a word he took his gift into his hands. Glent the impregnated leather that the belt and the scabbard were made of. Of course the most important was, what was hiding inside of it.

The foot long, iron dagger with a whisper slipped from its scabbard. The weapon bore a mark of smith's guild and it could be seen that the new owner was heavily impressed.

Through the blade went a very narrow fuller, and behind the fat crossguard a well adjusted hilt was tightly wrapped up by dark, brown leather straps.

Daven knew exactly what to give his oldest son to spare him embarrassment. Jorg never liked to owe anything to anyone, but there and then a really manly gift beat the really manly pride and the broad shouldered lad exchanged with his father, how else, a really manly hug.

Just as the rest of the family, Finn always found some amusement in Jorg's determination to prove his dominance and manhood. It often bordered with outright aggression, but it was indeed something that he shared with their father, and at some of their first-born's outbursts mother said that he had Daven's fantasy and passion, but used them in the wrong way. And it was no mystery to everyone in the room that Ellin would sooner or later express her uncertainty about giving such a weapon to Jorg for his own use. But for that, Daven had yet to prepare.

When the eldest son sat at the table, with his eyes fixed on his sharp dagger, the merchant called for the youngest one and handed him a small, square, wooden box with a tessellated pattern on the cover. The entire family yet again stood still in amazement as Hogan with his eyes gaping, exclaimed what was obvious.

"A CHESSBOARD!" The cub almost yanked it from his father's hands and would trample down everything else on the table if not for the rest of the family. At once, though, Hogan was back beside Daven, throwing his hands around the father's neck.

"Thank you, dad!" The cub almost yelled, touched to the core. "I didn't even dream..."

"I promise I will order the pieces next year."

"...oh." The chagrin look the little wolf gave him then, made Daven lose his composure and burst with laughter.

"You should see your face!" Exclaimed the merchant and ruffled his headfur. "Come on, let's open it!"

The cub didn't need to be told that twice. Every piece, though small, was crafted with care, naturally, proper to its price. Which must have been high enough to arise suspicious glances from Ellin.

Daven knew he was in for some explanations, as never before had he returned home with gifts that surpassed their social status THIS far. That, as other things, had to wait though, because Hogan engaged the whole family in his first play. He picked his victim carefully. Jorg neither ever bothered to pay attention to any board games, nor was the one to refuse a challenge, never mind the former. Of course any hopes for any other outcome of this duel than his crushing defeat were just a delusion, especially considering that every one of his moves had to be preceded by instructions coming directly from his opponent. The game popular amongst lords and knights, for regular peasants was nothing less, than a real extravagance. Hogan now owned probably the only set of chess in many miles round.

When young lad's black troops were sweeping white remains of Jorg's army, Finn felt a strong paw on his arm. His father smiled at him and nodded towards the chest. They moved away from the table.

"And now hold the lid." The white wolf did as he was asked.

Having the biggest of the four bundles put out of the chest, his father now ordered him to shut the chest close, and laid the package down on it. Both wolves leant over the mysterious gift.

"If the truth be told...," the father lowered his voice, stealing a glance at the others, busy with Hogan's gift, "I'm not exactly sure... what I've brought you."

"This means...?" asked Finn, unable to keep the uncertainty in his voice. He could see the things became much more serious than with even Jorg's dagger.

"You see... I had a couple of ideas in my head for some time now. Since you are at the threshold of your adult life, I wanted it to be something really unique, but... how to explain this best..."

The struggle his father had with approaching the subject told Finn better than any parental warning ever could, that what he was about to hear was meant for his and his ears only.

"Something strange happened in Dalarenz...," began his father at least, "something I decided not to tell anyone else about, and.... Anyway, I've noticed it only just before my departure, I don't know why, probably some lumper made a mistake, it's as simple as that. At first I wanted to give it back to the port warden, but he would probably sell it to someone at best." He explained. "And anyway, I've already had opened it and I got the impression... ah, better see for yourself."

When finally his father's hand unfolded the flaps of the linen, it came into Finn's view in all its glory.

Leather black as night itself glistened like a pitch, and yet the book looked very old. Ancient, that was the appropriate word. Silver fittings on the corners blackened long ago, and in the ornamentations embossed in the binding gathered the grime of many ages and places it had seen. It was almost screaming at him to be opened.

Even the slightest thought of the value of this thing was too much for him to process right now, so Finn paid attention to the simplest details.

"There is no title... nor the author," noticed the lad, touching the book. White wolfish paw contrasted unnaturally strongly with the pitch black cover. The leather under the pawpads on his fingers was smooth, pleasant to touch. The great tome spread an aura of mystery around itself. Finn thought he could literally feel the tingling in his finger tips, but he put it down on his excitement.

"Open it," encouraged him his father.

Finn had heard about the paper before, but never had an occasion to see it, not mentioning touching. The difference from parchment was palpable, especially in texture. It was also whiter and took the ink visibly better.

A fair amount of pages displayed pictures described with some ancient, completely unfamiliar writing. The others contained only text, and there was so many lines, he wasn't able to focus his eyes for to long on those strange characters.

And to think that once I thought our language was hard to write and read, thought the white wolf.

"I can't understand a single word..." He admitted. But he heard no irritation, or disappointment in his own voice. Only curiosity.

Carefully flicking through the pages he could recognize some of the pictures, parts of the body belonging to people of different species, illustrations of different trees, herbs and flowers. After a decade of apprenticeship by Slaine's side, a brilliant mentor, he could identify maybe a tenth part of them!

"It's... strange," stated Finn, caressing the aged paper. "And those pages... so thick," he noticed, measuring one of them between his fingers.

"You think it will be useful in your tutelage?" Daven's voice roused him from his reverie.

"Definitely! I have to show it to Slaine. If someone will be able to found his way through it, it will be him. And he won't lack determination. This book is enormous, I doubt if even the old stag possesses a quarter of the knowledge here! The value of this thing..."

"Exactly..."

Finn raised his eyes to mit a serious look from his father.

"For all you know it, I've won it in dice. Speak about it to no one, but Slaine. Show it to no one, but Slaine. I will handle the explanations for the family, the rest, you keep to yourself. People on this world kill for much less."

Finn just nodded, unable to make any sound. He managed an earnest "Thank you, father," when they finally embraced each other. He could feel his excitement mixing with worry in a rather uncomfortable way somewhere around his stomach.