The scent of roasting meat was a powerful lure. Kael, still clutching the rusted blade, followed Bjorn's silent lead. The massive Razorback Boar, draped over Bjorn's broad shoulders, seemed to shrink the towering Viking only slightly. Kael's single eye scanned their surroundings, every shadow a potential threat, every shift in the wind a warning.
They moved towards the wisp of smoke Kael had observed for days. As they drew closer, the faint murmur of voices grew, a low hum of communal life. Kael's instincts screamed caution. He had only known solitude or hostility. This warmth, this gathering, was alien.
The settlement was nestled deep in a mountain bowl, sheltered by ancient rock faces. Sturdy timber-framed longhouses, dug partly into the earth, dotted the snowy ground. A colossal bonfire blazed in the center, casting flickering shadows that danced like restless spirits. Figures moved about, some laughing, others tending fires, their forms bulky in thick furs and hides.
Bjorn led Kael to a smaller, outlying fire pit, a bit removed from the main communal space. The air here was still thick with the scent of pine smoke and roasting meat. He dropped the boar with a heavy thud, the ground trembling slightly.
Kael stood rigid. He kept Elian close, pressed against his side, his small body a coiled spring. His single eye darted, absorbing every detail. He saw other Vikings glance their way, their expressions a mix of curiosity and cold appraisal. A child. Carrying an infant. Alone. Such a sight was rare even in these harsh peaks.
Bjorn knelt beside the boar. He pulled a heavy hunting knife from his belt, its blade wide and sharp. He began to efficiently carve the meat, his movements practiced and fluid. The raw flesh steamed in the cold air.
He looked up at Kael, his gaze steady, devoid of judgment. "Sit, child," he rumbled, his voice low, not a command, but an invitation. "Meat will be ready soon."
Kael hesitated. To sit was to expose himself. To relax was to invite danger. But the gnawing hunger was a constant, undeniable presence. The smell of the roasting meat was overwhelming. Elian stirred, whimpering softly, sensing the food.
Kael slowly lowered himself to the snow-covered ground, keeping Elian between himself and Bjorn. His hand never left the hilt of his rusted blade. His single eye remained fixed on the Viking, ready to react to any sudden movement.
Bjorn seemed to take no offense. He simply continued to carve, slicing thick portions of meat onto a broad, flat rock. He then pushed a large piece, glistening with fat and blood, towards Kael.
"Eat," he said. "Your brother needs strength."
Kael looked at the meat. It was more food than he had seen in weeks. His stomach rebelled with a painful lurch, then roared in agreement. He still didn't speak. He cautiously reached out with his free hand, snatched the meat, and immediately brought it to Elian's lips.
The infant suckled eagerly, his small mouth working to tear at the soft, warm flesh. Kael watched Elian for a moment, a fierce satisfaction blooming in his chest. Only when Elian had swallowed a good portion did Kael tear off a piece for himself.
The meat was tough, gamey, but warm. It was life. He chewed slowly, savoring every mouthful, the taste a stark contrast to the bitter roots and dry pastes he had subsisted on.
As they ate in silence, Kael watched Bjorn. He observed the Viking's strong, scarred hands. The way his eyes constantly scanned the perimeter, even while at rest. The casual, powerful way he handled his weapons. He was a survivor, just like Kael, but with knowledge Kael lacked.
Bjorn finished his portion. He wiped his hands on his fur tunic. He looked at Kael. "You are from the ash-lands, yes?" he rumbled. It wasn't a question, but a statement of observation. "Few make it this far."
Kael did not confirm. He did not deny. He simply stared.
Bjorn chuckled, a low, guttural sound. "You hold suspicion like a shield. Good. It keeps you alive." He paused, his gaze thoughtful. "That Razorback. You fought it… strangely. Not with strength. But with endless patience. You knew its steps. Its anger."
Kael's grip tightened on his blade. He thought of his clumsy attempts, his failures against the Mountain-Goat. He thought of the boar's predictable charges. He had felt it, yes. The rhythm of its fury.
"You use its own bulk against it," Bjorn continued, seemingly reading Kael's unasked thoughts. "Clever. But slow. A Razorback is a strong kill but you are lucky it wasn't a Frostfang Ravager… that is a different beast."
Kael's single eye flickered. Frostfang Ravager. The name echoed Gorok's challenge. The price of entry to the city.
Bjorn saw the flicker of recognition. "Ah. So you know of them. Good. No child, no matter their will, can bring down a Frostfang alone with only that scrap of iron." He gestured to Kael's rusted blade. "They are masters of ice and shadow. Their fangs cut through metal and bone alike. Their hide deflects all but the keenest blades."
He picked up a bone from the boar. He began to scratch a rough diagram in the snow with his finger. "A Frostfang. It moves like the wind, yes, but its heart... its heart is a weakness. And its eyes, they see movement, not stillness."
Kael leaned forward, subtly. Listening. His innate suspicion warring with a sudden, overwhelming hunger for knowledge. This wasn't pity. This was a warrior speaking to another warrior. This was knowledge, freely given. Knowledge that could mean survival.
"Their charges," Bjorn continued, drawing a swift, arcing line. "Like this. Always. Predictable, if you know what to look for. They blind with ice-shards, then strike with the fang. But after the charge... a pause. A moment of recovery. Small." He made a precise dot in the snow. "That is when you strike. Not with strength, but with speed. Or… with cunning, if speed is not yours."
Kael's mind absorbed every detail. The words formed images. A pause. A weakness. A way.
"And their hides," Bjorn added, gesturing to the outer reaches of his snow drawing. "Like rock. Unless you hit here." He tapped a spot just behind the shoulder. "The joint. Or here." He tapped a spot at the base of the neck. "Their blood runs hot, but their skin is frozen. You need a blade that can find that heat."
He looked at Kael's rusted blade. A grimace. "That… will not do." He then gestured towards the thick furs he wore. "The hide is good. But not for warmth alone. It can be armor."
Bjorn picked up a sharp, pointed bone from the boar. He etched another diagram. "A Frostfang smells fear. But it respects resolve. Make it think you are not prey. Make it waste its strength."
Kael listened, his single eye never leaving Bjorn's face. He understood. This wasn't pity. This was knowledge. Survival. A weapon. He was still wary, his distrust a cold, hard knot in his gut. But his desperation for Elian, his burning need to get into that city, superseded his caution. This man was giving him a map. A way.
Bjorn finally stopped. He looked at Kael. "The mountains demand blood, child. But they also offer lessons. You survived the ash-lands. You have the will. Now you need the knowledge." He nodded slowly. "Stay here. For now. You are safe from the elements. And from hungry men."
Kael didn't reply. He simply watched, his mind already dissecting Bjorn's words, turning them over, absorbing them. He would accept this. For Elian. For his purpose. He would take the knowledge. But he would trust no one. Not truly. He would remain a ghost, even in their temporary warmth. He would remain separate. A single eye, calculating. Learning. Preparing. For the path ahead.