FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Reprieve

An Arvian Loresinger Tale

By Isiat Carcer

Tolk was dying.

There was no disguising it any longer. Edelweiss-on-High's Master blacksmith was staring down his final weeks with all the grace and strength he could muster, which at his age, was little.

The little Moonkissed village on the mountain was already feeling his impending loss keenly. His eldest son, who was slated to pick up his father's mantle, and had apprenticed under Tolk since he was old enough to hold a hammer, had become lost on a hunting trip the previous winter and had only been found days later where he had fallen into a hidden crevasse in the snowdrifts.

A sickness of the marrow, the healers had told Tolk, like slow-spreading poison that would, given time, be the blacksmith's demise. It had already spread to several of his vital organs when they discovered the cause of his early exhaustion and lethargy. Before the end, it would sap him of strength and will, but determined not to become a burden, Tolk had pressed on, continuing his trade despite his losses.

For an unchanged, his tenacity and stubbornness were unmatched. When one of the tribe's elders had commented on the speed that it took to make tools necessary for the winter, Tolk had stared the nearly nine-foot Arvian down before inviting him to make the axe heads himself if he could do it better. Or the delicate nails, to hold their homes together. Could the elder forge the spearheads the tribe went through like candy, or the arrowheads their hunters used?

The Elder Arvian had shut up and sulked off after that, suitably humbled by the unchanged, and the Smith had gained a good deal of standing for not backing down.

But now, Tolk was dying, and all of the healers, their dreampals, and the spirits themselves would not be able to prolong his end long enough to train a new smith.

The village would feel his loss keenly. Winter would be harsh, and the loss of one mouth to feed would not make up for what would no doubt be years of hardship as they would have to travel and trade what little they had for all of the basic necessities that the village could not produce itself. Tools, nails, hinges, spears, knives, hooks...

So much had rested upon the wolf for so long. It was for that reason that the elders, when asked, had passed over him to undergo the sacred change of their tribe, to become Arvian. He was too important as he had been, too valued to lose the ability to work his craft, especially after the death of his son.

For all of their strength and size, Arvians could not simply make such delicate crafts without a great deal of difficulty, far more than any unchanged would have. An unchanged sword could be ornamental and wrapped in wire, flexible and light, and made in a relatively short time.

Arvian blades, were almost to a fault, by sheer necessity, appropriately scaled, taking far more steel, and far more tempering and care to forge if they wanted to last more than a single blow.

Even their knives were more comfortably comparable to a Gladius short sword in the hands of an unchanged.

Just as having the Arvians around made the lives of their unchanged village mates easier, so too did having unchanged help the Arvian population. It was mutually beneficial for everyone, and everyone would feel Tolk's absence dearly.

But none more so than Eskil.

Eskil was almost like a second son, or a brother to the old russet fox who now lay in his bed most days. It was strange to think that they were almost the same age, barely a few seasons separating them.

But unlike Tolk, Eskil had undergone the change, some thirty years prior.

He'd been a snow leopard in his prime, and they had often joked at the tavern about which of them would 'go bird' first, as opposed to going bald. When he had undergone the change, his pelt had turned white and grey, like that of a snow owl, complete with a round face and sharp, hooked beak. He'd kept his emerald eyes. Eskil had been a skilful hunter, and an eager learner, often returning with far more than his share of prey to ensure none went hungry, and studying under their tribe's Loresinger and elders as often as free time would allow.

Tolk meanwhile had worked the forge that lay beside his home, providing all of the tools and metalwork that the village needed to function smoothly, from new homes to the gears that turned the mighty windmill for making their flour.

He'd also been on the same hunt when Tolk's son had disappeared and harboured an immense and crushing guilt toward his best friend because of it. For all the gifts and blessings the change bestowed upon him in his new, broader, stronger and sharper Arvian form, it had not been enough to find Edmond against the howling fury of Mother Nature in a freak winter storm.

The rational part of his mind knew it wasn't his fault that Tolk's son had died. It didn't make how he felt any better, nor did the insistences of Tolk. There was no blame to be assigned, but Eskil still felt he had been responsible for watching over the unchanged.

Now his best friend was dying, and despite there being nothing he could do about that either, Eskil felt responsible for that too.

It wasn't fair, though life seldom was. He had gone so far as to consult even the healers from as far away as Cereth's Sight and Oakring on Riverside, as well as countless Loresingers and other village elders to hear if there had been other cases such as Tolk's.

There had been in the past, they all told him. All had ended the same. The condition was one of finality. If there was a cure, it was either unknown to their kind or was beyond even the spirits' capabilities.

He helped the elder vulpine in the forge diligently as often as he could, but both of them knew the time in which Tolk could still swing a hammer was coming to a close. Even the aid of the water-wheel-powered hammer for beating flat ingots wasn't sufficient to keep up with the work required.

Tolk leaned heavily against the edge of his anvil after he finished for the day, clearly exhausted and breathless. Every pant the fox took came with an unhealthy-sounding wheeze that Eskil's sharp ears picked up on, the corners of his beak curling in a wince of sympathy.

Tolk noticed, of course. He'd always been sharp, and over the last months, had grown tired of everyone worrying over him like a newly changed fledgling.

"I'm fine Eskil... The forge needed the air more than I did, you see?" He joked, barely managing a few good chuckles before he doubled over in a fit of coughs. Eskil moved to help support the fox, but he waved him away with his free paw, remaining doubled over until the fit passed.

When he moved his paw away from his muzzle, it came back tinged with blood. Even if Eskil hadn't seen it, the coppery tang of its scent was unmistakable, especially to an Arvian's sense of smell. He didn't even bother trying to hide his look of concern.

"You're unwell." He commented bluntly, clearly disapproving of the smith working himself so hard. The vulpine just managed a sad, yet still playful grin.

"And have been for some time, and will for the rest of my life, it seems!" Tolk managed a wry, amused smile at his own joke, but the gallows humour didn't sit as well with Eskil. The noose of the joke was around his friend's neck.

After a moment longer spent enduring the much taller Arvian's pointy unamused frowning, the fox shook his head and waved his paw in a gesture to help him stand. His every move seemed an effort, but the vulpine would have been retired already, had his son yet lived. The twilight years weighed as heavy on his body as his sickness.

"Help me back to the house then, you humourless grump! There's some Sunfire in one of the cabinets that we should finish off. It'd be a shame if the bottle went to waste."

Perhaps it should have been telling how empty the bottle had become. Like sand slipping through into the bottom of an hourglass, they all knew that soon, like to liquor, he would be gone. Diligently, He poured their drinks anyway, being sure to leave some of the golden liquid in the bottom of the ornately crafted bottle.

"If you had been permitted to make the change when I had, you wouldn't be in this situation." Eskil huffed through his nares as he finished his glass.

"Bah! You've no way to know that. The spirits can fix and cure many ailments with the change, but who can say if I would still not be stricken ill, and unable to lay in my own home and rest! Besides Eskil, don't blame the elders for this. All of us knew my work was needed in this form. The spirits knew it, I knew it. It was a silly hope from a lifetime ago." The russet fox coughed again, before sitting up and finishing his glass of the rich, golden liquor. He was quiet for a very long moment, before he smiled at his friend, as genuine as such a smile could be.

"I am glad you will still be here to remember me, my friend. Holding onto that resentment towards the elders because my skills were needed is like grasping the iron in my forge with the intent to throw it at them. The only one who will hurt from that is you."

"Were your skills needed more than your life?" The arvian snapped his beak with the retort, his own hurt lacing the words. Golden eyes betrayed his fragile state. For all of their strength and might, Arvians, as much as the unchanged, were still very much mortal, with all of the good and bad the condition brought.

Tolk didn't have an answer for his friend. Not one that would satisfy the stricken Arvian, nor ease his turmoil. But Tolk couldn't help but smile sadly at the irony of it. He was the one dying after all, yet all of the pain of his passing was weighed on his friends. The fox reached out, laying a smaller paw atop the hulking Arvian's own. Eskil had to shuffle on his knees to even get inside the unchanged blacksmith's home.

"Without them, how many winters would we have struggled? How many homes would have remained upraised? The learning hall for the children, and the plows, for the fields in spring? Who else but me? No, Eskil... My life is spent, and it has been spent well. I do not regret not undergoing the change. That was always your path, and you must continue on it, and carry my memory with you." Tolk said with some finality. The old fox reached up, laying a small paw on Eskil's shoulder.

The Arvian sighed and rested his forehead against Tolk's own, one arm around the blacksmith's shoulders in a gentle embrace that spoke volumes to his care for the fox. One of his hackle feathers was braided into the fox's hair, a deep sign of their friendship and trust.

"The spirits guide and protect us, Eskil. I have accepted where my path ends. Now you must as well."

---

Those words rang loud in Eskil's mind, even more than the forge hammer's clangs.

He sought peace and solitude on a flat overlook on the edge of the village that opened to views of the plains and swamplands below. The spirits spoke to many of them here, but lately, Eskil's questions had been answered only by the wind.

His own dreampal, having taken the form of a fox itself, sat, curled up on itself, a faint, blue glow emanating from its shimmering fur in the moonlight, whisks of ethereal energy blowing from its pelt like powdery snow before it faded to nothing.

"Dark are thoughts that brood in solitude, Eskil. What troubles you so?"

"What do you think troubles me, Elder Fullspakr?" Eskil replied with a mirthless huff. He tossed another rock over the edge of the mountainside, his owl-like visage focused outward, even if his thoughts were all directed inward.

"Tolk." The golden eagle-like elder Arvian sat himself down nearby, politely far enough to permit the grieving younger his space.

"It has been a long day, Elder-" Eskil started to speak but was quickly cut off before he could get any further.

"And such days should be a blessing, that the time with those we care for stretches on, despite time's persistent march!" The elder spoke with a low trill, attempting to draw Eskil from his melancholy.

"Were it that all days were such, we might all live forever, after all. But that is not what the spirits have in store for us." Fullspakr sighed, his ears folding slightly along his head. His golden hackles raised after a moment as he shook them out.

"Even on his deathbed, he worries for you more than himself. I spoke to him about how he was doing, but... The healers do not expect he has long left, days if that."

"And how is this supposed to make me feel better then?" Eskil snapped, but the elder Arvian simply held up a paw politely, continuing.

"Tolk has made his peace with his mortality, Eskil. The spirits will welcome him to whatever comes next. Finding a way to go on is for us who are left. The finality of life, even for beings as long-lived as us, is what makes it precious. We are blessed with many more long days than many. Be thankful he chose to share his with you as his friend." The elder nodded, standing again, his golden hackles shaking out as he rose.

"Elder Fullspakr?" Eskil called out after he'd made it just a few steps.

"Yes, Eskil?" He paused mid-stride.

"Why did the elders vote against Tolk undergoing the ritual?" Eskil asked, in an even, almost monotone voice of birdsong.

The elder stood silent for a very long moment. Crickets in the distance sang, and Cereth and Esyon rose in tandem on the horizon, the red and blue moons beginning their long ascent into the heavens. Eskil's dreampal seemed to watch them intently like the spirits they so venerated with the moons were speaking to him.

Fullspakr's golden eyes met Eskils, filled with the wisdom of over 150 summers. Like Tolk, he too was entering the twilight of a long and storied life, though he was over twice the blacksmith's age.

"The village could not afford to lose our only blacksmith. Many unchanged specialties are simply not doable to the same degree after the change. For all our strength and gifts, precise and small crafts become far more difficult. The village was expanding. We had hoped that his son or another would come and stay before his passing." He answered, not defensively, or even accusing, like Eskil's undertones had been. It was simply an explanation.

"It was simply better for everyone at the time. Without him, the village would have likely perished many winters past." He added, with what seemed like perhaps a note of sombre understanding.

"And now, Elder?"

The golden Arvian was silent for a long time, before he turned, walking back towards the village.

"I cannot speak for the future. None of us could have foreseen this outcome. The village may yet perish still unless a replacement can be found."

---

Eskil thought on the elder's words for a long while. It was two days hence when he made his petition before their village council, a group of five Arvian elders and three unchanged chosen for their leadership and wisdom. The exact methods of election to the post changed from village to village but in Edelweiss-on-High, it had always been as such.

His suggestion had... It caused quite a stir. The deliberations were ongoing, and... Hostile, even if it was a choice that primarily hinged upon the Arvian portion of the council.

"He is too stricken to survive the change."

"The position of the moons is poor to perform it even if he wasn't."

"Such an attempt would be allowing a fool's hope."

"The spirits did not approve of his change when asked the first time. This is their judgement."

"No, Eskil. None of us in good conscience can vote for this action. I shall miss Tolk as well, but to try such a thing at the final hour would be paramount to sacrilege. He has lived a good life. It is enough that he is not in pain." Elder Fullspakr sighed sadly as the Arvian council gave their final judgement.

"Even if it may cost the village?" Eskil snapped, his hackles raised. The two Arvian guardians by the doorway clenched their spear hafts tightly, tensing until the golden-pelted Arvian bid them ease calmly with a gesture of his hand.

"The spirits will preserve us. Have some faith. They do not give us challenges that are insurmountable from all approaches."

Eskil glared at the Elder, before turning with a flick of his long tail. He stormed from the chambers, kicking over a bronze brazier on his way out.

---

"I do not know what I should do, my friend." Eskil sighed, sitting quietly at the foot of Tolk's bed. The blacksmith had taken to fevering. Moments of lucidity were few and far now. It was all Eskil could do to keep a cool cloth over Tolk's vulpine forehead and drip-feed him small portions of reserved honey.

If they were lucky, the fever would break, and he would recover by tomorrow, as he had in past. Either that, or he would turn comatose and die.

It was an anticlimactic ending to it all. Tolk should have been met with honours and surrounded by family. Instead, the village had already begun preparing a ceremonial pyre in the village square and making preparations for his passing to the spirits.

It wasn't fair at all, but what else could they do? None of them were healers who could treat this kind of ailment, and none of them knew anything that would extend the blacksmith's life.

Well, Eskil knew of at least one thing that might have worked, had the elders not already shut down that idea. What else was he supposed to do?! To them, he was just the village blacksmith, and while important, ultimately, the elders had shown they would rather lose him than upset the spirits...

The line between a hero and a villain it seemed, was only drawn by what they were willing to sacrifice for those they loved. A hero would burn their friends to save the world. A villain would burn the world to save their friends.

Eskil looked out the window. It was past the middle of the night, but there on the distant horizon, Cereth and Esyon once more had begun their eternal journey into the fields of stars. A clear night. Both moons were full and trailing one another. At any other time, it would have been perfect conditions for performing the ritual. Eskil wished he had learned more of it from their Lorekeeper while he'd had the chance.

Tolk's fur was matted with sweat, despite the hearth being low, and the wind from the open window where Eskil's dreampal sat curled in a ball, ever watching the moons as if they were speaking to him.

"What am I to do Falk? I can't just sit here until he dies..." Eskil sighed, looking to his dreampal as he addressed the little spirit fox by name. If the spirits had answers, Falk wasn't forthcoming with them. Eskil wiped over Tolk's brow again, adjusting the single hackle feather braided into his fur. It had been a gift, many, many years again. A token of their friendship and trust. Would it burn the same as his remains?

Eskil didn't want to think of it. If he did nothing, his friend would certainly die by morning. But what could he do? The council had refused his request. Their village Loresinger wouldn't go against their will, nor would the Council. The Shamans who would normally perform the ritual certainly wouldn't help. But Eskil knew that Tolk was strong, if not in body, then in spirit and mind... Could he just...

Just what? Eskil was desperate, and the conflicting emotions drew a distressed cry from his beak, his tangled emotions written upon his owl-like face as he curled his fingers into fists.

As if reacting to his feelings, his dreampal stood and padded over to where the stricken Blacksmith lay. Like a curious dog, the spirit fox reared up, placing his forepaws by Tolk's shoulders as he shivered from fever. For a long moment, the dreampal sniffed over the blacksmith, turning his head back to look at the moons beyond the window.

Eskil watched, confused. His dreampals ears twitched as if listening to somebody speak, his head cocking to one side. He kept that pose for a long moment, and when it was over, hopped back down, giving a quiet yip before he did as spirits did, and simply walked through the door, beckoning as if for him to follow with a flick of his bushy dreampal tail.

"Falk, wai... Hold on." Eskil huffed through his nares, rising to a crouch as he hobbled across the room to the single doorway, and with a quick glance back to Tolk, reassured himself that he'd still be there in a few moments. He stepped outside.

He was not prepared for what greeted him.

With a screech, a glittering blue ethereal figure of an Owl alighted on the ground before him. The dreampal was by no means the small critter that most were, and it stared at him with intensely fierce eyes, the similarly blue glowing form of Eskil's fox dreampal sitting by the owl's side.

Except... the owl wasn't his dreampal.

The owl was Varkner. This was Elder Fullspakr's bonded spirit. Had they somehow intruded upon his thoughts, or had the spirit been sent as a warning, or-

As if sensing his thoughts, the owl dreampal spirit screeched again, flapping twice before it lifted off, soaring off to the east, where it landed upon the wooden arch that marked the edge of the village, and the path towards their ritual site just down the mountain on the moonward facing side.

Eskil was confused. What was going on?

Falk looked at him with typical vulpine mischief in his eyes, giving a quiet yip, and gesturing with his nose back towards the blacksmith's home, and then to the waiting Varkner.

"You-... But I can't Vark! I don't know how to do anything, or the words, the motions-" The dreampal interrupted Eskil's stammering with another yip, and bounded past him, vanishing back through the blacksmith's door.

Their dreampals were Arvian's connection to the spirits, and similarly, the Arvians were the spirits' connection to the physical world. If they were telling him what they thought...

Was there really a hope?

He frowned, looking back towards Valkner. The owl's gaze was sage, stoic. The spirit was clearly waiting for him to follow. It gave a single, low hoot into the otherwise silence of the nighttime.

He would no doubt be expelled from their village for this, if not killed outright... What he hoped was at the least, absolute sacrilege, and violating the trust and rules of their society as a whole... But if the spirits were guiding him?

Was this how the first had felt, he wondered? Was he being led down a path, the outcome of which was shrouded with a cloak of darkness too thick and premating to even begin to contemplate the consequences? Would he damn himself and Tolk both to death or exile?

But if he didn't, his friend would certainly die by sunrise. He was damned either way, and that thought was the final straw that broke whatever doubts he had. This path at least had hope, no matter how slim it was. Eskil buried that hope down in his heart, guarding it like a precious treasure, and begged the spirits for their forgiveness for what he was about to do.

It was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

He marched back into the house, and bundling Tolk in the warmth of the blankets, lifted him into his arms. He felt thin, underweight and frail against the hulking Arvian, his breathing shallow and panting. Feably, the blacksmith put a once strong and muscled, now limp and fragile arm around the Arvian's neck to support him.

"E-Eskil? What are you... Please, I can't travel..." He gasped between a fit of coughs, his fingers closing around Eskil's hackles.

"Hold on brother... The spirits are not done with you yet, and neither am I. They will have to wait to take you." Eskil huffed, and carrying his friend, set out towards the waiting form of Varkner. Seeing them approach, the owl turned, and took flight down the trail, before once again, alighting upon a branch overhanging the worn path, waiting patiently.

Beside them, Falk bounded along, the dreampal vulpine's bushy tail flicking as he trotted along with them.

If this was not some sign from the spirits, it was certainly an elaborate prank.

But as he carried the wheezing blacksmith down the path towards their sacred sights, what doubts he had slowly evaporated like mist to the morning light. Cereth and Esyon shone brightly down upon his way as if they guided him with the spirits' light itself.

"Please, Eskil, brother... Let me die peacefully, don't risk your own standing..." Tolk barely whispered, ever more concerned for his friend's wellbeing than his own, even so close to death's doorway.

"No, look, Tolk! Open your eyes and see! They're all here..." Eskil breathed heavily as he came upon the great slab of quartz, used to perform their village's ritual of change. It was the first, and most sacred right of the Arvians, that which changed them from what they were, into the forms they would take as willed by the spirits.

And even just a glance around the site told him that this was their will, even if the Elders disagreed. Tolk blinked feverishly, looking around at the lights surrounding him. The old blacksmith must have thought he had died already, and the spirits had come to shepherd him to the next life.

Dreampals had gathered all around, both ones that had taken form, and wild, dancing formless spirits, casting their faint glow upon the sacred stones in the small clearing. There were even a handful of brilliant golden ones that Eskil instantly recognised as those of the Suntouched, a fawn and a chittering ferret, adding their bright glow to the scene. Why were they here? The that end, why were they all here? Was this all for Tolk?

There must have been dozens if not a hundred or more!

And resting upon one of the rune-inscribed obelisks, as if gazing and preceding over the gathering, was Varkner, the wise Elder's owl dreampal. It bowed its avian head towards the altar as if to instruct Eskil, and silently, he laid his fading friend upon the stone, unwrapping the shivering blacksmith from the blankets. He was barely conscious, twitching as if locked in a bad dream.

Maybe it all was. Eskil could barely believe what he was doing, let alone what he was about to do.

"Please... If it is their will-" He pointed towards the rising moons that shone down on the trembling form of Tolk.

"Please... Save him. Save my friend. I beg you." Eskil pleaded, kneeling before the spirits, his head bowing to Varkner. He placed Tolk's fate into their paws.

"Please..."

The owl watched him impassively, like a judge determining the fate of the accused before him, or some king of old, rending judgment onto the peasants who knelt before their throne.

Then, stretching its wings broadly, it screeched towards the rising twin moons.

The area around the sacred stones became suddenly charged, motes of ethereal light filling the space like flecks of snow drifting on the air in winter. The runes carved into the standing stones filled with a pale, green light, the charged energy he recalled from his ritual of change a lifetime ago.

Shifting its wings like a conductor, Valkner guided the gathered spirits in the task set before them. It was all Eskil could do to step back, his beak opening and closing with nervous trepidation. Energy flowed from the glowing runes towards the altar in their centre, like motes from a thousand candles, as each of the gathered spirits lent their own power to the ritual, bowing their heads towards the offered unchanged.

The gathered power swept across the blacksmith's frail, prone form, the purest moonlight from Cereth and Esyon gathering around the fox's figure until the intensity was such that Eskil had to shield his eyes. Even changed as he was, it was as if staring into the brightness of the sun itself at midday, or the very heart of the blacksmith's forge.

The was a crack like thunder, a rolling boom that shook the trees, sending a visible wave of dust and leaves into the woods and away from the stone where it had emanated. The glow that had gathered quickly faded, and one by one, the dreampals and spirits faded, slipping back between the realms and vanishing to wherever they had been before they had been called to their sacred duty.

Valkner was the last to go, fierce, ancient eyes on the own fixing Eskil with a gaze, before the Owl screeched one final time, and took flight back towards the village. A huddled form was left upon the altar, tangled in the blankets that he had been laid on.

"Tolk?" Eskil asked hesitantly, stepping forward and slowly peeling the blankets back.

Gone was the blacksmith he had known before. The curled body before him was Arvian, of that there was no doubt. His pelt was a deep vivid russet, much like it had been in the former vulpine's prime, with hackles that extended from his crest to his back cast in golds and amber hues like the flames of the forge he had worked.

But one hackle, apart from the rest, stood out. It was the same as Eskil's own, a shimmering silver and white that seemed to glow as if it still held the spirits' lingering radiance. Say what one would, regardless of their outcome, their bond was permanently marked upon the blacksmith's crest.

"Tolk? Can you hear me?" Eskil asked, laying his paw upon the new arvian's shoulder and giving him a gentle shake.

The newly fledged Arvian groaned, covering his new, hawk-like beak with his paws, huffing.

"I'm here Eskil... Just a bad fever dream, I'm feeling-" He opened his eyes, and let out a screech of alarm as he bolted upright.

"Oh! Oh! Eskil, I- Eskil?" He panicked, and Eskil had to force him to sit back on the alter as he tried to stand on unsteady legs, urgently inspecting himself, and his new body, stretching his arms out and twisting this way and that as he looked himself over.

"Oh Eskil, what did you do? What have you-"

"It was not I brother. It was the spirits. You should have seen them. Hundreds, all gathered here. They willed the change upon you, not I! I was merely the courier to carry you on the path my friend. You're one of us now!" Eskil exclaimed, hugging the blacksmith tightly in his arms.

Tolk grunted as he was subjected for the first time to the full strength of an Arvian's tight embrace.

"Oh... Oh, this will take some getting used to." He muttered, flexing his fingers out one at a time over Eskil's shoulder, before with a sigh, he hugged the silvery Arvian back.

"The spirits did this, you say?"

Eskil nodded, his beak stretching as he beamed.

"They did! Can you stand? Let us walk back to the village, and I will tell you of what happened, and we can tell the others of this blessing."

---

It was almost dawn by the time they reached the village again, the pair of Arvians having to stop frequently as Tolk experienced his new senses firsthand, wanting to stop and delight at every new marvel, from leaping high into the air and stooping low to observe some new detail he'd never seen before.

His steps had begun unsteady but had quickly grown into his new stride, the former blacksmith delightedly marvelling at each new thing he noticed with his change. Eskil couldn't help but delight in Tolk's wondrous fascination at his new form, rubbing along his russet feather arms as if still in disbelief.

"And you are sure you are feeling well?" Eskil asked, trepidation still in his tone, though he had no reason to believe the spirits had not healed his friend to completeness in making him Arvian.

"Better than I have in years! I can breathe again, I can sprint, I feel like I could wrestle an iron boar, my friend! Hahaha!" Tolk threw his head back, letting out a long trilling birdcall of absolute joyousness, before reaching his hands up to smooth down his hackles, a soft chuckle passing his beak as the former fox caressed the single silvery-white feather of his crest. His smile, even made using an unfamiliar beak instead of his old muzzle, was unmistakable. His eyes were still the same as he looked at Eskil.

"And I've you to thank for it Eskil. Where everyone else had passed me off as gone, you never once stopped... I don't know how I can repay this debt."

Eskil clasped the blacksmith on his shoulder, laughing.

"Don't go dying on me for starters. I suspect after all the effort the spirits put towards changing you themselves, they would be disappointed if you were to go and die foolishly, so no wrestling iron boars until you learn your new form!" He grinned.

Tolk laughed, nodding wryly.

"For you, I will try not to, but I make no promises. Oh... This doesn't mean I'll have to go through all of your fledgling lessons now, does it?"

Eskil cackled at that, tossing his head back boisterously.

"I'm afraid it does my friend, but worry not! You'll have me to guide you if needed!" Eskil's playful grin stretched from ear to ear.

"Hmph, I've seen how you swing a hammer. Fledgling indeed! Ha! Is it too late to ask the spirits to change me back?"

They entered the village through the same archway they had left the night before. A crowd had gathered by the blacksmith's hut, Arvian and unchanged both.

"...and he was gone when the council came to check on him this morning!"

"I heard Eskil is missing as well. I hope they've not gone and done something foolish."

"Look, it's Eskil! And who is that with him? Another Arvian?"

At the commotion quieted and all eyes turned to look at them, Eskil got a cold tingle of dread down his spine. The five Arvian council members were closest to the hut at the back of the crowd, but people parted instantly as they walked towards the pair of new arrivals.

"Eskil! Explain yourself! Podinus said he saw you leaving carrying Tolk in the early hours, and now you return with a stranger on our doorstep! You had better have a good explanation."

Tolk lay a paw across Eskil's chest before he could answer.

"Aye, he did leave with me as I was, sick, feverish, dying. The spirits came to me, Elder Gudrun, at the ritual site where Eskil was told by them to bring me. Dreampals Moonkissed and Suntouched both, it was they who made me as I am now before you." The new Arvian nodded, kneeling in supplication to the seniormost elder of their village.

"They blessed me, friend. I've never felt fitter in all my days! See for yourself!"

The elder seemed to recoil in disgust like a curse had been spat at him.

"Suntouched?! You say you were blessed by their ways? That is heresy, stranger!" The eagle-like arvian growled, drawing his blade from his waist.

"Oh, Stanger I am not! Ask Eskil! He was there! This was the spirits' will entirely!"

The blade swept through the as it was wound back to strike when there came a loud screech, and a diving dreampal crashed into it, clutching the blade between hooked talons and tearing it from the Elder's hands entirely before he could react. It clattered to the ground before Tolk, as Valkner alighted delicately on the rocks between the new Arvian and the elders, wings spread as it steepled before them, hissing at Elder Gudrun defensively.

Gudrun took a step back, as surprised as the rest of the crowd of onlookers seemed to be, stunned into silence.

"It appears Valkner has objections to your accusations, Gudrun." Elder Fullspakr spoke up from behind him, gazing down at the changed Tolk before him.

"I have no doubts that this is Tolk, and Valkner tells me what you speak is true... It is..." He paused for a long moment, trying to decide upon the words.

"A strange set of occurrences, but a blessing, I have no doubt. Come! Rise, Fledgling Tolk. Let us celebrate your return properly! And perhaps, together Eskil, we can make sense of these strange omens. If the spirits did not want Tolk to be so, he would not be. There is no clearer sign of their will for us."

Tolk rose slowly, unsteadily, as the crowd slowly pressed in, eager to be reunited with the blacksmith who had been a cornerstone of their village for much of their lives, and bombarded him with questions and glancing, meeting the newest Arvian of their community.

Eskil paused, stepping over to Elder Fullspakr as the golden Arvian gestured.

"Yes, Elder?" He asked, bowing his head slightly like a child expecting to be scolded at any moment.

"I do not know why the spirits chose to heed your request of them, or why Suntouched dreampals would assist you in such... But their will is clear in this. There is more strength in unity than in a village or tribe divided, and I am not about to cast out our only smith before winter on account of not understanding their will in this. Whatever you did, it was the spirits' will. I have seen enough seasons to know when I was wrong. Eskil..."

And at that, the elder bowed his head, silently asking Eskil's forgiveness.

Eskil tapped his beak lightly against the elder's brow, and they rose, following after the crowd of villagers who were carrying a joyful new Tolk with their momentum.