The night was crisp with the chilled air that signaled the snow from the tops of the mountains. To some, this would be a warning of storms and fall that was to come, but to the small village of Norn it was just a reminder that even in their summer the nights were crisp and summer would not last. The fields were in full flourish and a regular target for an easy meal from the local wildlife. So Norn residents had taken up putting up sentries. To discourage the thieving beasts and if any were to try, the meat was always welcomed. The fields and their yields were precious things to the Northern tribe. For grain, and corn kept longer than meat or fish and was far more steady a source. Hard-won from the mountain's valley. Not to say they did not have bad years, but those were discounted as bad luck or the work of evil spirits. The displeasure of the Earth. So for that year, the offerings would triple in hopes of appeasing the angered being so their crops would flourish the next growing season.

However, this was not the only reason the sentries had been posted. For this was the first year the village had called to do such a thing. Something that had taken much thought from the local wiseman and the Chief. The village was not so close together and along with the great fields of grains and corn, were the more private gardens of roots and herbs. The private huts that housed each families' meat well off the ground, a precaution from the enterprising predators during the lean times of winter. Though some preferred to dig cellars, large holes covered with stone or wood. The houses themselves were mostly wooden, with dirt flooring though older houses had taken stone and many had woven reed mats across them. Roofs were of thatch, wood or the rare tiles if one was a bit more flashy with their good fortune. But the latter was rare for clay had more and better uses than being put upon a roof. The roads were dirt, some stones packed into them closer to the center of the village. For flat stones, when not needed for a house, were agreed that they would do better to be added to the village's streets, for the mud of winter made things difficult and frozen mud had made more than one set of boots ruined. And so the large wooden platform- the speaker's stage- where wiseman, Chief or another would speak to large gatherings was set near the center of the village. To one side was a large fire pit. A communal fire that was used during feast days, to burn the sacrifices, or when game was too large to store away all the meat and the village would revel in the bounty. The stones about it were blackened with the heart of large bonfires and ashes lingered within the pit. Small pockets of embers kept alive by the curious child, or the tidbits of offerings that people would toss in to let burn and carry a pray to the spirits.

Still, the leaders of the tribe were worried and they were not alone. For hunters had returned with strange reports of odd tracks and missing kills. Things that could be explained away as a beast or animal of the forest. But one had returned held up between two friends, his blood flowing from a cut in his scalp. His arms covered in scratches from something's claws, and bite marks upon his same arms and one upon his throat. He babbled about an evil spirit in wolf shape and spoke his story only to the chief and wiseman as the latter tended to him. He had been hunting, as was obvious. But when he had taken aim at a wolf who was feasting upon a rabbit, the arrow had been led astray! For no wolf would know he was there no matter how crafty, and his arrow would not have missed! When the wolf turned upon him, he shot again and this time the arrow had struck a tree that the wolf had dodged about. An evil spirit for sure! He did not get a third shot before the beast was upon him, a large slamming of their power upon his head and he had fallen to be savaged. The two other hunters agreed they had heard snarls and raging of a wolf and when they had come, they had seen the wolf-like figure disappearing. A creature possessed by an evil spirit, though they had no more than a glimpse of the fur and rustle of leaves as it passed. They had gone off hunting for the spirit several times after that, but never did they see it. So the two hunters and their wounded friend grumbled and spit. Making wards against bad luck and too the precaution to never enter the woods at night. The wiseman had thought upon this and had said his piece in the fact that he would think longer upon it. He would also seek out what spirit they angered, or who might have been sent against them. "Though-" He said. "I do believe it is of the North. For the Wolves of the North are most deadly and should it have descended from the plains of ice then it will be even more so."

So his warning was headed and the chief did not look askew at foreigners. For they were not of the great glacier that lay to the East in the valley between the mountains. So now he looks upon this clear, summer day and wonders what the world will bring. And if that spirit has left for good. His problems as chief were many, and many were petty. This was neither part of the many, nor was it petty. The man sighed and went to whittling his new knife hilt upon his door's stoop while he waited for breakfast. Many of the other villagers were either leaving to fish or hunt or waiting for the sun to break the haze of morning to begin their days. The odd man stumbled from one of the largest buildings in the settlement. The mead hall that the southerners called a 'tavern' or 'inn', depending on wether they meant to stay the night on the rough pallets of straw next to a great hearth that kept the place cozy. While Norn did see a decent amount of traders, the inn more often got its goods and barter from the local hunters who regaled each other with tales of bravery. Across the way from his own house however, he grinned as the burly blacksmith stirred up his forge. A trader had stopped by the town and his rickety cart had broken a wheel. Hod, the smith, would find good trade in replacing it though the trader was in no hurry. The man had come for the market day, where folk would trade and barter goods and services with each other and bring their grievences to him to be judged. Every fortnight it came, and every fornight someone got drunk enough to challenge the spirits. The chief was hopeful that this time the market would not be interrupted by Lutter stumbling into the mead hall raving about a spirit beast attacking him. It laid with Taver, their healer and wiseman, to garner answers on the matter. He had asked for more time and in two more days an answer would be had.

A raven looked down at the man from the roof and squawked. A reminder of Fate and Change, or so thought the man. Who would walk into the stream of Fate or fight it's currents today?

Gwendolyn stirred the pot again and sighed, glancing up at the outdoor sky. Surely father would be home soon. Meetings with the chief never lasted too long. Though given that it probably revolved around the injuries of the hunter that the wiseman left in her care...

Sighing, she pushed back her hair. Worrying over much was not productive, yet she couldn't think of what else to do. The herbs were all cleaned and sorted. The stew was about done. The hut was swept. The only thing left that she could do was check on their injured man, again. She took bandages and herbs and went over to visit him.

He appeared out of the darkness. Only huffs of condensation betrayed the moving mass of furs as something living. To any onlooker, the creature moving towards the lights of the village was nothing more than some amalgamation of forest animals. The hood was pulled over his face so that only darkness could be seen. He came from the wilderness as if some sort of cross between animal and man. His destination lay before him. A safe heaven from the cold bite of winter.

The nights were getting colder and he knew that even as skilled as he was in the wild, winter was no place for a sensible person to be caught out. He had with his the fruits of his labor. A couple of weeks’ worth. Behind him was a makeshift sled that he had manufactured out of his bed furs and his spear. He dragged it containing the goods he brought to sell. He had stashed some emergency supplies and other things that would last the winter in various hiding places. He had learned from the squirrels and other animals to save up. Even those stashes would not be enough to survive on.

Despite how much he hated the comparison, it was times like these that being a human helped. He had traded and survived enough winters to know that civilization would increase his chances. He did not need much and the villagers usually tolerated him enough to let him hang around the village for the winter months. He would depart a few weeks before spring to begin tracking game. Until then, he would have to endure and be endured.

While he could not be called a regular, enough village people knew him as to not arise unnecessary submission. Still, many gave him a wide berth when he was about. Little did he know that this time he would have even less than the condescending welcome he usually got. He approached the village just before the morn, when the sky is darkness. Not even the light of the cold somber moon was enough to illuminate him enough to allow any sentry to identify him as nothing more than human. True, he smelled like a wet dog who had been buried and left to marinate for a week but human he was none the less. He was about 100 or so feet on the edge of the village, the light of the sentry’s torch illuminating the outside edge as if the light was one last bastion of protection keeping away the darkness and all that I represented.

Innocently, he stepped into the light, passed the threshold between nightmares and lucid waking. His fur covered boots muddy, his breathing ragged. There was no way for him to guess what would happen next.

The night was cold, all nights were. It was late, the sun had gone down what felt like days ago, and Mira was at the outskirts of Norn. As far as she could look, dim lights faintly painted the place before her, and the smell of firewood ever so faintly permeated outwards. The old crone stared into the moonlit dark atop a chilly hill, roughly 200 feet away from the road to Norn. They told her about this place, like many places. “To Norn. Fires among the night. Walk the long road.” The dead, and her crows for that matter, never did speak very clearly. Mira always believed it was hard to speak to the living from so far away, but it was of little consequence, as she arrived. Off into the distant sky, she could hear the guttural noises of a crow circling overhead, only confirming even more that she was meant to come here. The old woman descended the hill with her equally old staff in hand. Peaceful footsteps occasionally accented by the tink of her staff against the steadily growing stones along the road. Mira walked many roads like these throughout life, but few had stones sunken into the ground, they must have a good hold on things out here, she thought. The glow of the fires, and the scent of fires warming the homes grew as she approached.

A loose, airy black hood partially covering Mira’s face as dark hair slinked out made it clear she was an outsider, outsiders don’t look like villagers, dressing in dark clothes, wandering through the night. Mira passed home after home, following the warm glow she saw. There were others gathered in the place that was coming into view while the sounds of ravens still echoed. The night was always darkest before dawn, the sun would surely rise soon. Norn had a good feeling around it, children were beginning to scurry through the village, and the spirits were quiet, good signs. As the night began to lift, minute by minute, Mira’s dark figure became human. Her attire became muted slowly as her face was more visible. On her walk through Norn, she passed a man outside. He was tending to a blade on his doorstep in the faint morning light. Her stride slowed to stop a stone’s toss from the house he stood at.

“Good morning to you,” she called, her seasoned staff outstretched in her hand with a straightened arm as she lowered her hood with another, perhaps to appear unthreatening to a stranger. “If I may speak with you for a moment. I am not from this place, and have just arrived. Would you know where I might find a place to rest in this village? A tavern, or perhaps an inn?” Mira spoke politely and slowly towards the man, he may have just woken up, and she need not disturb the peaceful atmosphere. A raven cooed at the sight of Mira, from overhead of the two, atop the home’s roof. The spirits were watching.

---

_{Interacts with : @LadyRunic}

The streets were near-deserted with the odd child returning from gatherings eggs having found the night restless or found themselves unable to sleep with the promise of a sunny day. The summer was shorter in the North and the children delighted in being able to go about and explore before the snow cloistered them within the walls. As Gwendylon moved the small hut she shared with her father oddly early, the old man moved about on his cot. The rustle of furs marking the man's reluctance to wake to the dawn. It had been twelve days since Lutter had stumbled into the mead hall cursing about some strange beast and bearing wounds that could have cost the man his life if he had not been so quick to get away or the creature so lacking the care to kill him. Sitting up he watched the daughter he had adopted gather the bandages made of rough cloth from the wool of sheep. Stew was already cooking and the hut was swept. "You are oddly eager this morning, and to tend wounds without being called upon?" The wiseman of the village was growing older and he was happy for these brief days of summer even as the chill was a warning that harvest would soon be upon them. Was his daughter perhaps interested in a man? It would be good for the woman to take a husband and teach her children the craft of healing. But of all the men in the village, he had little idea as to who could use bandages aside from Lutter, and he hoped he was mistaken. The hunter was a decent enough man, but older and foolish. Gwendolyn could do far better. Perhaps he had best speak upon it?

He thought as she hurried to the door seemingly unaware of his presence or the early hour. "If you do rush off, daughter, perhaps bring this man you are so interested to dine?" Or would she be home at all, she had made the stew ridiculously early. By the time they would have sat down to a hearty dinner it would be well cooked! "And, perhaps this is not my place to say, but you could do well to find a man well worth your talents and with as quick of a mind." He hoped the little barb would aid his obviously smitten daughter against her apparent infatuation of Lutter. The man was old enough to have been a young hunter when Gwendolyn had been found lost and wandering the forests. Sighing slightly, the wiseman shrugged. He had problems aplenty it seemed. A strange beast roaming the forests and now a daughter smitten with a fool. He sincerely hoped it was an old man's wants for his daughter to find happiness.

The street outside the village was slow to rise. The odd hunter slipping from their home to walk along the road or wander amongst the houses towards the slowly lightening forest. Children either gathering eggs or seeing older brothers off on their hunt and sisters off to collect the herbs and berries that were growing in these happy months. It was picturesque just about, thought the headman. Who continued whittling before a blackbird crooned about his head in the most terrifying way. Was it a bad omen? Was some malicious spirit within his hearth? Looking up sharply and with a matching intake of breath at that shadowy apparition before him. Was this a woman of death come to whisk him away? But no, as the woman lowered her hood to show a face of great age the headman relaxed. A stout fellow, he was given to worry and the lines on his face shouted such for all to see. His beard was a tangle of grey and red hairs as much as from stress as from age. Studying the strange Mira, he grimaced slightly. How had a stranger gotten within Norn without being challenged by the sentries?! But he could see her countenance and found himself agreeing. It would be unwise to stand in the way of such a crone. For with the dim light, Mira looked far older than she appeared.

"Tavern, inn." He replied foolishly and found himself frowning. "You look from the North but speak as though you were from the Southern Kingdoms. The mead hall," He put emphasis on the words, belying his dislike of the Southern term. "Is right over yonder." He gestured with the hand not holding the knife, for to gesture with the knife would have been rude and perhaps invite a threat towards the woman when he meant none. If his gesture was followed the large building was indeed just a stone throw from the headman's own home. It's walls carved with curious stories from the mythology of the village. The gods in their ceaseless battles as was told throughout the North. Lutter could be seen past out under the eaves of the roof, his injuries healing well and would be better if he didn't try to regale the whole town every night. The stories were growing more fearsome and far-fetched by the night and the headsman was growing more curious if such a creature truly existed at all. Something had been raiding their flocks, but Lutter could have gotten in a fight he well knew was foolish. The steady roar of fire from the smithy interrupted the conversation as the smith blew the coals into life once more. "Does your son come for the market? You are but two days early if such is the case." He offered, curious as to why the older woman was indeed there.

Across the village, however, the headsman was not wrong as to why Mira was allowed to pass unchallenged. The sentries had seen the woman and found themselves valuing their lives. For while a witch would not cost them their lives, she could well cause other horrid things to happen. Bauld was a fearsome looking young man who would have rather been hunting than watching the road and treelines in hopes the game would come to him. The only reason he had agreed to such a duty was the fact his father's sheep had been one of the groups preyed upon and with a bad lambing year in the spring they could ill afford to lose more of the prized animals. His mother, Drega, spun their wool and wove it into cloth they traded with their neighbors and even donated cloth to Garin, the wiseman and healer of the village. Garin, the stubborn fool had paid for the gift despite himself, not wanting to take charity. Sighing, Bauld leaned on his spear then stood up straighter as a lumbering giant bear came from the forest and down the road. Only it was not a bear. After taking a second harder look he relaxed only slightly. The massive man dressed in a way that matched the folk who lived far to the North in their small tribes with their spirit and animal totems.

"You are back with a good catch it seems! The market is in two days, and there is a Southern trader. He would pay well for good hides." The young man noted as the giant of a man paused in they dying torchlight as Bauldr remembered it and snuffed the useless object. The light was enough as it was to see and there was little reason to waste the torch. "Been attacks in the woods and on our herds by some strange spirit." While the strange bear, literally, of a man had not been about the villages in a while he had come often enough for Bauld to feel easy letting him pass without challenge. For a large as the man was, he was known to the village and Bauld remembered his mother taking pity on the giant. Often buying his furs rather than paying any attention to the ones Bauld brought home. It had stung his pride, but his mother had pointed out sternly that he had everything he needed. The strange traveller only stopped by so often and was nearly mute by his own will. Drega had far too large a heart, she couldn't even let a runt die as would be useful but a small flock of motherless, small, or abandoned sheep kept a solemn company about their hut. His father had tried to butcher one only once, his mother had dumped their supper in with the pigs' and had decreed that she would rather sleep with the sheep than the man she had married. She had too, and his father had never brought up the topic again.

Arn stopped just in front of the sentry. The wild looking man just barely discernable from beneath his layer of furs. He straightened up to his full height trying to loosen and stretch the sore muscles that had been employed in dragging his goods for days. He groaned as his knotted muscles relieved their tension. It had been a few days since he had started his journey. It was a good thing he knew how to smoke and salt the meat or it would have spoiled. The villagers preferred the meat fresh but the last buck he had taken down would have been much too heavy to pull in just a few days time.

He knew the young man that was in front of him. The lad must be his junior by about eight or so years. He grunted at the young fellow’s appraisal of the contents of his makeshift sled. The lad had a good eye. He made a decent hunter. Unfortunately, he had an idiot of a father who was more for drinking than for the skill of tracking and hunting. There had even been a time when the oaf had claimed that Arn had been stealing from the traps he and his boy…Bauld must be the name…had set. Out of spite, Arn had delivered many a hare and fowl to the very door of the man’s hut with the useless traps properly arranged and baited as if to say “this is how you do it you fool”.

The lad’s mom however, was a kind soul. Reminded Arn of his own. A stern and heavy handed woman but whose eyes could not hide the goodness and gentleness of her heart. He had always reserved the best furs for her. Even though she paid what she could and he could have gotten more somewhere else, he never objected. He had even let some go for a bowl of stew or some cooked fowl. The taste reminded him of home. Perhaps, in some way it was Arn’s only way to feel he was still human, still part of a family.

The mention of the strange spirit brought his mind back to the present. His eyes fell on the young lad, appraising and taking in what had been said. Bushy eyebrows furrowed in thought and consternation. There was no reason for the villager to lie. Indeed, even the mention of a spirit was to invite it into being. No sane person would willingly bring that sort of evil into their fold. That being said, the wild man had felt some sort of darkness in the wilds. He could not completely place it but there was small clues. The animals felt uneasy around certain kills. They had been mangled and butchered. No natural animal would eat like that. No natural animal did. The carcass would be left to rot when it would have normally fed scavengers and such.

Involuntarily Arn touched the lucky rabbit’s foot around his neck. He sported other various totems but that had always been extra special to him. The gnarled hands found some sort of comfort in it. He turned his gaze away from the villager breaking the few moments silent pause. There was no reason to worry about this until the time came. That was one of the secrets of animals. They cared about the hear and now. Live day by day.

The news about the southerner was good news. He had dealt with them only once or twice so he knew that they paid more and bartered better than the locals. It was either because they could appreciate the goods better or because they were not as knowledgeable. Either way, it meant that he would not have to do the odd job until spring came if his funds ran out.

He nodded to the sentry as if to request passage and at the same time as an acknowledgement. Even animals provided greetings to their own kinds. Arn would make his way towards the market square after being allowed to enter. He would deliver his meat first. The furs and other goods would be left until the market, two days hence.

"What?" Gwendolyn turned around. "Oh father! I didn't see you come in last night!" She rushed forward and hugged him. "How did the meeting with the chief go? Any news? Wait, you really must be starving." She set down the healing supplies and got out bowls. "You were called for in such a hurry last night." She then moved to the pot and spooned out the broth, her golden hair starting to glimmer in the morning light. "I hope it's still good. I was keeping it warm for your return after we tended Lutter, but I must have dozed off in the night..." She hadn't even realized it was day yet! It'd still been dark when she woke by the fire, holding her lute after many hours of waiting and practice.

She had so wished that she could have been allowed to join the meeting, but the chief had only wanted her father there, even though she was her father's apprentice. She couldn't even tell at this point if he just thought her too young or that the meeting was 'no proper place for a women, especially one looking to marry'. Pft. She had enough of that from the other village women when they came in for ointments and treatments for their children, trying to push their elder sons at her, even if those sons were clearly as pleased with the idea of marrying her as she was with them, which was, not at all. Maybe someday, but there was so much for her to learn right now...

She then took the bowls to the table and set them up, wooden spoons joining them. Then she brushed the wrinkles out of her dress and returned to her father. "Come. You can tell me what you can over breakfast."

@LadyRunic

“Nay, I have no son,” Mira replied to the man, who had an obvious disdain for her odd speech. “I am a traveler, I’ve walked all through the north until this day, and I will stay here for a time. What is this market day you speak of?” Almost as if listening to their conversation, the black feathered bird above their heads fluttered down between them, right in front of Mira before harping at her. This wasn’t new to her. “Hush already, there...” She reaches into her cloak with her free hand, and produce a few seeds of various origins, which she proceeded to toss out of the way; The annoying thing hopped away to eat it’s fill. In near complete disregard for the crow, Mira returned her attention to the man she was speaking to. “Are merchants coming to this town? I shall stay longer, perhaps.” Mira made note of the mess hall in the distance, which was quite easy given the drunkard stumbling about. The stories that were yet to become known to Mira would no doubt reveal themselves in due time, as the sun grew higher, the town became clearer and livelier, more people poking their heads out of their homes as fires died down. “I am called Mira of the Crows Eye, I do not intend to cause trouble in this village.” She stated, her appearance was a little strange, the sentries wouldn’t disturb a strange looking woman such as herself, and feeding a crow likely didn’t give a good impression of an outsider dressed in black.

But it was no doubt fate that this old crone had arrived in Norn, for in passing she had seen visions of strange things in the village whose name the spirits whispered to her. Violent things, deep within the cold of the forest. Flashes of hunters being robbed of their kills by something unbeknownst to Mira. She hadn’t ventured out to Norn for the intention of striking down something that was causing grief to the village, as it wasn’t her place. Rather, the sprits encouraged her to travel to this place in particular through their phantasmal ways. To Mira, Norn was just another stop on the road with something to see, but where she could help on her journeys, she indeed would. This knowledge was not something she would readily share with anyone here, the image of an outside who kept crowd and communed with the death would undoubtedly be traced to whatever was on the outskirts of Norn. Until she could put their minds to ease, it would remain a secret between her and the dead.

"It was hardly a meeting," Garin informed his daughter gruffly as he returned the hug heartily. While most men would gruff and wave off a hug, the healer was a soft enough man to accept it. Garin had lived an exciting life and enjoyed the quiet of the village. Something he kept to himself, lest his daughter take it in her head to wander the North and perhaps risk going South. "Vosker was worried and I was just alieving them. He wants a reply, an official reply, in two days and since Lutter showed up and I agreed to think upon what attacked the poor man..." Garin shook his head in slight annoyance, Vosker had been worrying but since Lutter no one else had been attacked so it well could have simply been an indignant young wolf or perhaps a bad prank that the perpetrators were hoping would never be solved. Moving to sit with his sweet daughter he dug into the stew, a far heavier breakfast than he was used to. Giving Gwendolyn a worried look, he raised a brow. "Daughter, Lutter was wounded twelve days ago. His wounds were more superficial and not helped by his drinking of the bitter brew." The man watched the young woman with a keen eye and seriously hoped that she did not think to make a court of Lutter. While Garin could sympathize with the young man, he did not want a drunk for a husband to his daughter. "That being the point, the headsman was merely had one of his worries that would not let him sleep and Yarra was beside herself with trying to get him to. It was hardly a meeting so much as delivering some soothing tea and listening to his ramblings on the matter." Giving a weary smile the healer, set aside the heavy breakfast and chuckled. "Healing is not always wounds. Sometimes my being a person of the spirits is more important than being a person of the herb."

As Arn walked through the dirt and slightly cobbled road seeing the people slowly begin their daily routine, he would see Hod at work in the smithy as he came upon the rough center of a village. The Northern villages were really just a gathering of houses and spaced depending on how close or far apart people wished to live. Garin's hearth was on the edge of the village, the man finding the quiet more to his liking. While the smithy was more center along with Vosker's home, places people were more likely to visit along with the mead hall. As the dawn light rose slightly higher and lit the world, Arn would notice a troubling sight. Having stopped by every other year he would be well aware of a small group of young boys who encouraged trouble where ever it could be found. They were peering around the large mead hall towards the two figures in front of Vosker's house. The man himself was talking with an old woman dressed in all black, and the group of boys were huddled together hurriedly whispering among themselves. The eldest of them was a black-eyed, brown-haired lad with a mean look to him. Wersk was perhaps a year from reaching the age of manhood and his attitude warned that he would be trouble even as he sneered at Arn. "Look, Oskar. It's the bear-man." The words were common enough, but the tone of them implied insult. Taller than the others, Wersk was starting to fill out and his voice was breaking slightly.

The other boy had enough sense to look contrite. Younger than his cousin, Oskar was an avid hunter and the opposite in looks to Wersk with soft brown eyes and blonde hair. "Wersk, Arn's a good hunter and he's helped my pa-"

"If your pa is your pa." Sneered the other boy, Skal. The younger brother to Wersk, who took special glee as Oskar's ears went red. "Face it Oskar-"

The more cunning boy was cut off as Wersk growl. "Shut your mouth, Skal. Ma don't like Yvenna but she's Uncle's wife and Oskar's ma." Despite his own opinions on Yvenna's morals, he wanted Oskar as a friend and not for the other boy to tattle on their tales. "Let's go have some fun away from the monster." He spat as he passed Arn, strutting as though he was already a man. Skal, their younger brother Durin, and a few other boys. Oskar giving the hunter a soft apology as he hurried after his 'friends'. In truth, it was a rumor spoke quietly that only Oskar kept the group from actually turning worse than they were. The ringleaders were the two eldest brothers of Ryska's brood. The large woman made good bread and mead, but the boys were nothing but trouble and her lack of punishment against them only made the village look at her with disapproval. Something Ryska could not stand and so settled with drinking and setting a worse for example to her sons. While Dallen and Frenn did their best, they did have a business to run and Dallen had his own children. It was a situation no one expected to end well.

Across the way from the mead hall where the boys had been spying, the headsman nodded. "Aye, in two days we'll have one trader at least from the South be putting out wares in hopes of trade." Vosker agreed, looking a bit perplexed when the woman said she had no son. Perhaps a daughter? Though it was odd for a woman so old to be traveling alone. "The markets... People gather from smaller villages and farms to trade for what they need or want." Strange indeed she did not know what a market was... "A trading day." He offered the older term that his grandfather had used. But as Mira fed the crow and offered her name, Vosker flinched. A woman of the crow? One of the tricksters and carrion feeders? It was an ill omen after all. His lips thinned but he did not feel it wise to offer his own name or anything not directly asked for. Was she perhaps the cause for ill luck? He would need to speak to Garin about the matter, but when? He had kept the poor wiseman up late the night before with his worries. Would it be too much to ask for another night of the man's time?

The large man made his way slowly through the village. His make shift sled bumping and clipping against the stones that made up the road. Here was a clear symbol of civilization. A mark that wilderness ended here. His feet were used to walking on the wild places of the earth and even to his booted feet, which he already hated wearing compared to being barefoot most of the summer, the texture of coble stone felt alien. He shambled on, his eyes beneath shaggy eyebrows and tick hair moved side to side identifying and remembering that not much had changed in the village. He had been in Norn on and off through his years and had actually seen many of today’s adults grow up. Many knew him or of him but few ever dealt with him. He noticed the smith at work and made a mental inventory to see if perhaps he would need a few more arrow tips or upgraded knives. His own had been used almost to the point of getting too thin. Depending on the return for the sale of his wares a few days time from now, he might upgrade.

His eyes stayed fixed on the smith who toiled about the fire. If the big man offered him a greeting the wild man would return it. Arn wondered if the smith, Hod, knew that he was the very definition of civilization. His fire crafted wares that allowed humans to be the reigning species. That his furnace created items that allowed creatures without tooth or claw to rule over much better predators. Heck, even prey was better suited to survival than humans were. The young of deer or bunny possessed better instincts that a man youth ten or more winters old.

As if to make his proverbial point, his eyes settled on a group that would have been carrion for wolves. Arn had not quarrel with anybody. It was true he did not trust anybody, but he did not go out of his way to make life hard for them either. The same could not be said of the young thug that tried to stare him down. He had known the offspring of the mead hall’s owner’s daughter, Wersk, since they had returned to the mead hall. The lad had often directed insult and perhaps some sort of blame(?) towards Arn. Children were often trying to prove their superiority, strength, and courage. The bearish man was perhaps an easy target. This time however, the malice of youth was starting to shift to the cruelty of adulthood. Some instinct inside Arn made him turn to face the lad when normally he would just ignore him. The wild man’s eyes rested on the other’s. The lad would find caution and warning written on Arn’s eyes.

He did not look away from a perceived threat despite the other lad’s attempt at assistance and apology. He knew Oskar, the lad had a sensible head on his head and would sometimes approach Arn with a greeting or question. As a young boy, he had asked about Arn’s wares, or totems or even his tattoos. It was perhaps of this small familiarity that he felt a pang of annoyance at Skal teasing Oskar. Arn started to rise to his full height, easily beginning to tower over the boys. He was surprised that the older delinquent came to Oskar’s defense. Perhaps there was some hope for the leader yet. Oskar may yet change the ways of the group. Only the heavens knew how many times the boy’s sensible head had spared them death or injury. In an unforgiving world as theirs, the consequences for dangerous situations were often final.

He still kept his eyes on them and watched the group pass. He then spit on the boy’s spit and stepped over it, his sled eventually erasing their exchange. This would also erase it from his memory. As a survivor of the wild, Arn had no space in his brain for situations such as these. As he made his way to the spot where the group had been, his eyes fell on the sight that they had been spying. Despite having faced danger and sometimes very real chance of death, Arn still felt a shudder as his eyes fell on the dark robed figure talking to the village had man. He did not know why, like many of his race and region, he was wary and perhaps even to a fault, of magic and the arcane. Unlike his peers, Arn did not think that magic was unnatural. It was actually some innate instinct that made him be wary of a deeper respect for the essence that seemed to inhabit every life force.

His unease was reduced a bit as he saw the crow allow itself to be fed. Crows were actually very crafty and intelligent birds. He often viewed them as harbingers of change and understanding. It perplexed him why the people of the village were so of put by them. Even now, he could see that Vosker had apprehensions. He felt drawn to the scene but he knew that in civilized company, one had roles and rules that had to be followed.

Instead he, made his way to the back/side door of the mead hall. He really needed to sell of his meat as soon as he could so that the buyer could profit before it was spoiled and so that he could get paid for it too. He had been making business with Frenn and his eldest son for years. He knocked in what had turned into an identification knock. There was a tap, a rap and a triple tap. It was loud enough so that the anybody in the back room would hear. While he waited for the door to be attended, his eyes stayed on the visitor. Her figure stood out amongst the villagers. The big man adopted the behavior of a bunny or other small scurry creature as he saw the pair across from him. It was painfully obvious the man was looking at them.

@LadyRunic@Omni5876

“I see. I apologize for the manner I speak with, it’s grown on me after all the places I’ve seen.” She replied. “Where I am from, we simply call them traders.” Mira’s eyes turned to the mead hall. “Thank you for directions, good day.” She turned and walked off into the day to the mead hall. The crows finally silent as she felt eyes on her, that was to be expected. The occasional and faint thud of her staff on the soft ground was the loudest noise coming from Mira’s presence as she made her way to the door, she spotted a rather large man at the back of the hall. Good morning” she said, admiring the prey he had caught at first, she could barely see his sled from there before he left her view. Looking upon this man gave Mira a strange sensation. There were no spirits offering wisdom to her in that moment, but she could feel something within him, this man had ghosts following him, no, he was following them. Mira had no ability to see spirits, but thanks to the ones who spoke to her, she knew someone who was touched by the ones beyond when she saw them, like he was never alone in anything he did. This man had an atmosphere of death around him, death in the sense of ancestry. She could feel it in the air around whoever he was that something guided him as something guided her; Nevertheless, she wouldn’t stare. Perhaps they would meet soon. At the main door to the hall, out of sight of the man, she pondered what she felt in passing for a moment. Did this man have some kind of magic ability such as her? Maybe he was haunted by something. It had been a while since Mira met someone like her.

@Blizz
The burly man watched as the woman in black seemed to set her eyes on him. He tensed but was more out of cautiousness rather than fear. His eyes narrowed as he took in her semblance. Covered in her dark cloak and adorned by her long unkept black hair, she seemed to be a shadow in plain daylight. She seemed to float towards him, and he would be willing to believer her incorporeal except for the thud the walking stick did every now and then as it hit the coble stone. The soft thud of her walking stick, an impending mark to her approach. He noticed his heart seemed to keep beat with her stick.

He started to lower himself, as many animals do in preparation for fight or flight. Something inside him screamed she was no ordinary woman. Something in her blue eyes spoke of wisdom and mystery. She was old, much older than any woman he had yet seen even in the village. Her skin was no stranger to sun and wind. His soul could recognize another given to travel and the wilds. He would have believed her some sort of human live crow had it not been for that look in her eyes.

His inched a bit closer. His interest had been piqued and he acted like a cautious cat or dog keeping sideways and head cocked to the side. He took in her look again. By all means, she did not seem from the area. In all his years coming to the village he had never seen her. He wondered why she was here. Could she be related to the incident that the lad Bauld had spoke of earlier?

Despite his look and his manners, Arn was actually very smart. Some may attribute this intelligence as to the reason why he was so good at hunting. Few knew that unknowns to Arn himself, some deep magic within himself allowed him to ingest the memories of the animals he hunted. It was through this that he was able to know the migration routes, find the hidden burrows, understand the animals behaviors.

He could not leave his wares so he stretched as much as he could until he lost sight of her. Was she the trader from the south? Who knew. His line of sight broken, this also broke his trance and he went back to the task at had. He once again repeated his unique knock which he had picked up from the birds of the forest a bit louder on the back door.

"I am glad you were able to relieve his worries then. I wish I had more your temperament when it came to other people." She dug into her stew as well. "If I ever want to be half the wiseman you are, I will need to be able to do that as well. And yes, I know Lutter is basically better now. Haven't you said yourself though that it's better to be cautious than let the worse befall do to neglect?" She smiled, then sighed. "I mainly going to have a bit more practice with my, talent. No one would notice if he was as well as he ever was a touch sooner than he should at this point. And we both know the more I practice now, the more I can help when a situation is truly dire."

And given how the villagers reacted to anything out of the norm, like with that man Arn, the ability to practice when no one would suspect it was an utter requirement. Lutter's lingering wounds were so minor that it would not take much energy to coax the healing along, meaning there would not be any awkward questions. Perhaps there would be gossip of her longing for an affair with the man with how much she had taken care of him in his recovery, he would soon be out of their care where the obvious nonsense those rumors and ideas were could finally die the death they deserved. Because really, why would she, who really wasn't interested in marriage at all at the moment, find herself attracted to a drunkard that barely cared to know more about the world than what his day to day life required of him?!

Garin sighed as he watched his daughter with a tired smile. He was getting old and Vosker's worries did not help the old healer get the rest he needed, but if it kept the peace in the village. Wisemen and women were something between a local priest and a healer. They healed the sick of mind and heart as well as the body and often helped sort out disputes along with the headman or jarl. The latter being a more prestigious leader found on the coast. "I did say caution is always warranted." Agreed Garin as he watched Gwendolyn eat the morning stew. "And If you were a wiseman I made a mistake naming you a woman's name." He teased in his soft reedy voice. "But no, my daughter, your temperament just solves problems another way. Though, rather than going to tend to Lutter why not go out to the edge of the forest and see if we can find any herbs? The young hunters are restless and despite the warnings insist on hunting. Whatever it is that attacked Luther I doubt is a true danger. Most likely the fool came across a half-starved fox or a young wolf who overreacted." He eyed the bundles hanging from the rafters of the small building. The wooden logs and stones forming a study structure, if perhaps one low of light. He would love to have more, but openings would let in the cold during the winter and that was the last thing anyone wanted to do up North.

"We need more yarrow and nettles. I had to take a package of both over to Ryska. Her brood is causing her headaches and I hope I'm not right but she could well be suspecting another child." Rubbing his forehead Garin felt his age. Ryska's brood was already large and unruly and Frenn, the proprietor of the mead hall, did not need another mouth. His hearth had already been packed with his son's family. Ryska's return had only brought five years of problems. "If I dared, I would give the woman some herb to loose the babe and prevent more. Frenn does not need eight children running about his hearth and Ryska does nothing to control her sons. Those boys will find a bad end by the coast." There was uncharacteristic bitterness in Gwendolyn's father's voice, but it was not unexpected. Garin had been the one along with Gwendolyn to fix the hurts on other children caused by the rough housing of Ryska's older children. The healer had even spoken to Ryska though it did no good and only ended in sour feelings between the large woman and the wiry man.

It was as if that thought had summoned Dallen to the door as Arn knocked. The son of the mead hall's keeper was harried-looking. Brown eyes were tired and his beard was untrimmed, as Frenn- his father- was one for appearances where his son was concerned, it was telling of the state of Frenn's hearth. "Arn," The man's voice was slightly annoyed, but as he stepped out the sounds of raised female voices within were apparent. Yvenna and Ryska were most likely having a 'discussion' as the villagers of Norn liked to talk of the raging fights between the women that stopped just short of blows. "I'd offer you a seat inside, but no man will want to be caught within that." His father, for better or worse, was caught in the middle of it at the moment and the loud voice of Frenn trying to put the discussion to an end was drowned out by one woman or the other. Moving aside a barrel, Dallen pulled out a chilled pitcher of bram and poured some into a small cup kept on his person. "But I will offer you ale. I suppose you are looking for a trade?" He offered, trying desperately to draw the topic away from the sounds of something being thrown against the wall of the tavern.

At the main door, Mira could hear the start of a shouting match that seemed to grow in intensity. Three children, two brown-haired and eyed boyed like much of the village and one girl with the blonde hair and blue eyes that were more common along the coast. The oldest was tall, and looked rather annoyed as he sat on the stoop, watching the younger two stacking stones and playing some childish game that he was far too old for in his young mind. Near by a young man was propped up against the wall, looking unconscious and smelling of stale ale as the morning mist began to burn off. Looking up, the oldest boy's eye's widen as he shuffled to the side looking quickly away though he was very aware of the woman. The young blonde girl was the exact opposite as she stared at Mira with wide eyes. "Gunnar, is she a crow woman come to take Ryska away?" There was almost a note of hope and the large boy looked bugged eyed at the tiny blonde girl.

"Seyja! Don't say such things!" His voice was a harsh whisper as he pointed towards the smallest child who looked rather saddened by the girl's words.

Seyja only rolled her blue eyes as if it was all so very simple. "Well I don't see why she shouldn't be! Then Grandda can start tellin' Wersk and Skal and Durin what to do without Aunt Ryska making a wail. She sounds like she's dying so of course, she'd attract a crow woman." The large Gunnar looked about ready to give a sharp reply to his sister, but he thought better of it. The drunk Lutter laying against the building groaned and gripped his head, staggering to his feet. Unaware of whatever was going on around him as he staggered away.

"You take just about anyone you can get! Nevermind you've a husband and a fine place to sleep! While I, his blood, am to sleep upon the floor by a cold hearth!" The shout range clear as the smaller boy pushed into the mead hall and it's dim interior. The fire from the night before having burnt low from what Mira could see of the shadows.

The nasal voice of the first woman was not without reply as the door slowly closed. "Then perhaps you ought to put yourself in line to find a second man to provide for you and your clutch! There was enough for us, but when you showed up with four children and your vast-" The door shut before any more could be heard in detail. The two children looked rather interested in what was being said, but were dubious about getting near the door with Mira right there.

Arn snapped his head back to the door he had been absently knocking at while trying to see if he could catch another sight of the mysterious woman. As a child, he had heard stories of a woman dressed in black that would come and take children away. The premise was that kids who were bad were no better than carrion and as such since crows were nature’s janitors, it was assumed that the lady in dark was a crow lady. His childish fears were tempered by his current knowledge of how wild crows actually behaved. The were observant, cautious and times picky of the carrion they eat. It would make sense that it could be said that the kids that were not good would be at the very least be food for the crows. Arn knew that spoiling meat would have a bad effect on the environment and as such crows were very important part of the cycle of life and keeping things in balance. Chaos was not something that was tolerated in nature.

To the hunter’s sad acknowledgement however, chaos was something that was almost an inevitability in the human existence. This feeling was reinforced as an outburst of sound followed the meekly, annoyed greeting from the Hall owner’s son, Dallen. Had Arn been a scurrying animal, the sound would have sent him running for his burrow, a tree or anywhere far away from the shouting match that was ensuing in the inside of the hall. Arn did not have to wonder much to assume that the look sported by the man who was before him was a consequence of perhaps a multitude of such events. He did not keep up much with the nuances of the society he visited every now and then but from what he could gather and remember, the older boy who had disrespected him belonged to a heavy set woman who was family of the owner.

In the wild, such altercations would result in banishment. A had too much to worry surviving to deal with non productive and combative members. The Alpha had a responsibility of correcting such deficiencies. They needed nothing but complete compliance from the pack members, if another member wanted control, a challenge would ensue. In this situation however, it seemed that the power struggle was between more than two adversaries. Arn shook his head, both incredulous at the current predicament and to answer the question that Dallen had posed.

He took one step back, as if to allow the owner’s son the ability to step out and close the door behind him to conduct their business. Regardless of if the action taken by the Mead Hall’s owner son, Arn answered in a gruff voice. “No trade, deal.” He moved towards his make shift sled and moving aside of the furs, revealed two hind shanks and two flanks of what could be none other than from an Elk. “You can have this to smoke or salt. I just want a share.” The deal was pretty simple, There was no way the hunter would be able to eat or process such a large amount of food. The Hall would have the hands and resources available for that. It should be a mutually beneficial arrangement.

From what he had gathered from Bauld, successful hunting had been impeded by the mysterious force working in the wilds. Indeed, it had taken Arn a longer time to track this particular elk. It seemed to not be following the usual patters. It was almost as if it was spooked or avoiding something that also prowled the hunting grounds.

Arn’s hazel eyes studied the face of Dallen, he wondered if the man would find the extra work welcoming or offensive. To be fair, the hunter had done the majority of the hard work. He had cut and dressed the flanks expertly removing the meat at the bone but keeping the top layer of fur intact to help prevent any bugs of dirt to get on the meat. The haunches still sported the bone but Arn knew that this could be used to create broths. He had buried the meat in ice to freeze it in preparation for the journey to the village. Even now, it was still cold and firm. He had covered it in moist and clean leaves to prolong the freshness. The hunter knew that the amount of meat and the way it was dressed, to and experienced eye would be most pleasing.

The hunter extended his weathered and callused hand beneath from under his makeshift fur cloak and offered it to the man. His eyes were firm but not threatening as he looked for a response from his customer. Even if the man refused, he could still trade the pieces to other people in the village. Meat was always a welcomed commodity. He liked how they prepared their meat however so the trade was beneficial to the hunter too.

His voice has a questioning but not worried tone as he spoke "deal?"

Gwendolyn sighed. "No use harming the potential child to be for the sins of their mother. Even if she really needs to be a better mother." She rose from her seat, grabbing her cloak and herb basket. "I'll go for the yarrow and nettle. Don't wait over long for me, father." She kissed his brow. "I'll be back before you know it." Then she went out the door and into the village, mind pondering.

Perhaps she was simply oversensitive to the idea. She had been a foundling child after all, left to die by whoever abandoned her. Would have died if not for father. Never having a chance to grow and become who she was now. Yet she had at least seen the world and daylight. To just talk so casually about killing a child within their mother's womb...

It was a theory of his. And she could not blame him over much for not wanting Ryska's sons to grow in number and hurt more of the others in their cruelty. Yet, they had no way of knowing for certain that if she was expecting again, the child would be like that too. Or even if it would be another boy. It could be a daughter for all they knew. She would check on Ryska herself, see if she could confirm her father's words. She had thought she could sense the child when last they helped with labor. Maybe it was her imagination, but she could see. Even if it meant hearing her complain, nag, and wonder why she doesn't marry, again.

She huffed, blowing some of her hair away from her face. Why couldn't people be simple? Less likely to get on your case about things that don't concern them? Or willing to stop others from hurting other people just because? True, it likely would make things more boring and dull around here, but sometimes boring was not bad.

She paused as she came by the tavern, spying Voshker looking rather pale. "Chief Voshker?" She came up to him. "Are you alright?"

Dallen gave a weary sigh as he grasped Arn's hand, his own looking diminutive in the larger man's grasp. "Deal." The owner's son agreed readily, though he was privately dreading having to go back into the Hall to inform his wife and sister of the agreement. Most likely they would not even hear him, or care, until this spat ran its course. As it was, Dallen was seriously considering pushing his sister to marry again outside of the village. Ryska had never been so vicious as a child, but such was the bitterness of lost beauty. With a large brood of children and getting wider after every one, Dallen knew there was a lack of love towards her sons and privately wondered how her husband had dealt with her. What he did not know was that Ryska and her husband had been a good match and now that she needed to find a new husband Ryska was at a disadvantage due to her brood of children and large size. "Anything else you can get from the forest before winter comes in force would be helpful. I'd give you an exchange of ale and whatever food we have about that isn't meat." In truth, none of the boys were good hunters and it was hard during the winters to keep them all fed, especially with another mouth on the way. Dallen's offer was one of necessity. He would have hunted himself, but the owner's son was often too busy dealing with repairs and the work about the hall with little help from his nephews and his own son too busy keeping a sharp eye on said nephews.

Across the way from the other side of the mead hall, Vosker was puffing on his pipe and frowning at the caterwaul sent up by Frenn's daughters, by blood, and by marriage. He still felt a bit shaken by Mira's appearance and seeing the black-dressed woman talking to the children unnerved him. Black was not a color most people wore all over like that, and old women did not travel alone and converse with crows without being a woman of some sorcery. He had tried to be polite and show hospitality to her, but he still felt uneasy. When the soft voice of Garin's adopted daughter interrupted his musings with an odd lisp, Vosker tapped the ashes out of his pipe. "Oh, just fine lass." Though in truth that was certainly not the case. The headman simply did not wish the strange crone to have unnatural hearing and hear him put any potential insult into words. As the headman of the village any curse done upon him would be done to the entire village. "Just fine, dear."

@LadyRunic

The shouting at the door was mildly annoying, but not the least bit alarming to the old crone standing on the doorstep, it didn't sound good, but it definitely wasn't her business; It was a wonder she could hear much of anything other than the glorified cat fight that was ensuing beyond the door, such as the children off to the side of her, messing with rocks and each other, who were whispering about her. "Crow woman" they called her. "come to take Ryska away." Mira hear that kind of thing quite often from people in various towns in various places throughout the northern regions that she had travelled. "Death-Woman," "Crowtalker," "Woman of Darkness." She always seemed to have an ominous presence surrounding her wherever she went, but she never once was bothered by that. It kept the right people away from bothering her, who wants to get involved with a woman who talks to the dead and to crows? Mira wasn't bothered by the children and their musings, it was common for small ones to speak about things they seldom understood, it was their was of making sense of the insensible. Mira reached to push open the front door to the hall when...

Visions flooded her mind

_{De A t h
f Orest
un s a Sf E}

Her arm tensed as flashes of things unsolved writhed in her head, trees, foul beasts of inhuman understanding, blood on the fresh fallen snow, hunters fleeing for their lives. Her whole body seemed to fall catatonic as she stood their as the images in her mind cleared themselves, she heard animalistic noises like echoes carried on hollow winds ring past her. One moment she was seeing stolen hunts being devoured by obscure beasts, the next, she was seeing through the eyes of something moving fast through the moonlit night, into the safety of Norn. Visions of bound wounds and elk slaughtered in rage... When the visions past, Mira grew dizzy for a second before collecting herself in what she could easily pass of as fatigue to another, she was left with the foresight of the dead who had spoken to her. This is why they were quiet, they are never quiet if not for their own reasons. The dead knew things the living may only scratch the surface of; there is no hiding from the eyes of the thousands who live in the furthest places away from human touch, yet for all their wisdom, they rarely have the strength to speak with the clarity of the living. There wasn't a crow in the sky, to make matters more confusing. The thoughts sent chills down her body. What could tear animals to shreds that easily? More importantly, what manner of beast would kill in such a fashion and leave a carcass there? No hunter would do that, no wolf would do that. Mira's mind raced as she looked beyond the mead hall, into the woods past the village. She could see little, but the sight of them was enough. This must have been the reason as to why the spirits wanted Mira to come to the village of Norn. Something was very wrong here.

Arn took the smaller man’s hand and shook it earnestly. He may have adopted many animalistic characteristics but still upheld many of the human rituals such as hand shaking and hugging. Though he had not hugged anybody in a very long time. He followed the man’s gaze towards the door that was not doing a good job keeping the noise inside. The hunter might not have had a sister but he remember the spats he and his brother had gotten into. Still, he pitied the man because men’s fight would simply turn into brawl. Eventually there would be an understanding between who ruled over who. This simple activity was also practiced in the animal kingdom which allowed for a structured system of rule. This was not often the case with females, especially human females.

The bear man cleared his troat and taking the hint attempted to continue the conversation in a manly attempt to delay Dallen’s return to that chaotic scene. He looked up to the sky. There seemed to be clear and still sunny skies. Looking back down at the inn keeper Arn shrugged. “I will try….some animals could be around.” He knew that some animals might try last minute fattening to survive the winter.

He continued on a more somber tone remember his own experience and what the young guard had told him. “The animals are behaving strange…” His brow had furrowed in worry and thought. He had not given it a real consideration but somehow saying it aloud forced him to think of the situation. He wondered if there was a connection between the clues he had found and the story of the guard.

He looked at Dallen, “I can go now. Can you keep my stuff?” He still had a few days until the market and he agreed with the inn keeper that getting as much meat before the winter was probably for the best of every one.

As they were talking he heard another bout of shouts. He almost wished that he could invite Dallen but Arn knew that it was much better to hunt alone. He did not have much gear and it would be easily stored in a corner by the Inn Keeper.

Gwendolyn raised an eyebrow. When was Volkaser ever just fine? "If you say so.." Really he did seem more pale than not. And why was he outside rather than inside the tavern again? Unless... "Yvenna and Ryska having another row?" She turned her head towards the door. Really, if the two of them could just figure something out, or if Ryska could get married again. If anything, a good father might be the true answer to the village dilemma. But who? Lutter? No, he was too often swimming in the mead. Unless he could give that up, there would be no way he could be someone Ryska or her children could respect.

Maybe Kettil? He wasn't handsome to be sure, but he was a kind, decent, and would know about being firm like the boys needed him to be. He could even teach her sons how to hunt, and provide for the next child. It'd be perfect, if only she could somehow arrange for that.