The teen pulls his helmet on tight and he enters the village. A few people pass wearing rough hides and thick furs. Two people have baskets filled with fire wood. One man has two dead rabbits he’s bringing into town.

Burkwood bee lines towards a larger building with a sign that has a tankard and snowflakes on it. The sign has lettering underneath that reads “The Frost Stop”. The teen enters leaving his sled by the door outside.

A few townspeople and a few hunters from out of town are inside. Some watch Burkwood from their peripheral while others blatantly stare at him. His left foot hits the planks and his right boot lands with a clunk. Thus he walks slightly lopsided with only one audible footstep for every two.

“You lose a boot?” The bartender is a tall Goliath. A man descended from giants blessed with strength and size. Though this man has a large gut as well.

“A boot, a pound of flesh, and I might have pissed myself when I was attacked by giants.” Burkwood mumbles.

“Right.” The man says as he cocks one brow. Both his brow and head are hairless as goliaths don’t grow hair. “Where’s your parents?”

“Dead. I left my homestead in the North to find others.” Burkwood answers flatly.

“No one lives North of here.” The bartender scoffs.

“My father was a great hunter.” While true in a general sense, his father was not in fact a sanctioned hunter in this nation.

The Goliath purses his lips.

“Alright, fine, so your dad died. If he was a great hunter then I am sorry that the world lost him. We need men like him, especially around here.” The bartender says.

A chair scoots loudly as a ginger bearded man stands up and steps up to the bar next to Burkwood. He slams a silvered knife down into the counter.

“Werewolf clans have been cooperating and taking out hunters across the region. Their getting tricky. We just lost our outpost making this shit hole village our last defense.” The man bends down to snarl the words into the teens ear.

“Don’t scare the kid.” The bartender looks less than thrilled. “And the town of Arfall is tougher than half your hunters.”

“Are you trying to start something?” The ginger hunter turns to the bartender. “My brother is in one of the missing hunting parties! And you want to talk shit about us risking our lives for you!”

“Pay your tab and get out of my bar.” The bartender says bluntly.

“Not until this kid with all his cuts and blood and missing shoe cuts himself with the silvered blade. I don’t know how he got here without frostbite and I’m willing to bet he’s a werewolf.” The hunter says with a wicked smile.

“Fuck you Jarn.” The bartender says before shifting his gaze to Burkwood. “I won’t let him touch you in my bar. You don’t have to do shit for him.”

“If he’s not a lycan then no allergic reaction.” The ginger, Jarn, begins to explain himself.

“Okay. But I’m keeping the knife for the trouble.” Burkwood shrugs before grabbing the knife and nicks the back of his hand with a precise motion.

Blood runs down his hand onto the bar. The Goliath quickly brings out a box and pulls out some medical supplies. Jarn stares at the wound scowling. He wordlessly turns and leaves the building.

“What an asshole.” The bartender grumbles as he starts wrapping a bandage around the teen’s hand.

“Got any work?” Burkwood asks.

“No small talk huh. Just my dad’s dead, I’m gonna get blood on your bar, give me a job.” The Goliath shakes his head. “I’m Broxton, who are you?”

“Erevan Burkwood.” The teen answers. “I would love a chance to stitch myself up, maybe sleep in an actual bed, but I don’t have much money.”

“Alright Erevan. You want to remove your helmet while indoors?” Broxton asks.

“I prefer to keep it on. It was my fathers.” Erevan answers.

“Alright.” Broxton nods. “You can clean the bar at night, chop firewood for the hearth, and clean my stables. Maybe do some stable boy things.” The Goliath shrugs. “You find a way to make my life easier and I’ll pay you.”

Erevan nods. He thinks through what he could do before nodding to him.

“And a room?” The teen asks.

“Rooms are all full with hunters. You can stay in the stables. There’s a room in there with a fireplace. Just never insulated the place.” Broxton shrugs.

“Alright. I’m taking this with me for the night.” Erevan takes the medical box and stands up from the bar.

The teen walks to where Jarn was sitting and picks up a half full tankard.

“Aren’t you too young to drink?” Broxton calls out.

“It’s for my wounds.” Erevan grumbles before leaving.

He grabs the reins of his sled outside, mutters his incantation, and starts dragging it towards the stables. The teen pulls open a side door and slowly brings his things inside a room connected to the main stables.

After getting his things situated he throws some firewood stacked outside into the fireplace. He lights it with flint and steel before laying on some straw. He strips his clothes off and slowly unwraps his bandages.

He puts a belt in his mouth as he pours the alcohol on his chest wounds. Then he begins stitching himself up. After applying fresh bandages Erevan Burkwood drifts to sleep in a heart beat.

Waking up in the early morning before any crow would make a noise the teen gets dressed for the day. With only one broken boot he tosses it to the side and grabs some leather wraps instead.

After getting those secured to his feet he takes a peak in the stables. There are two horses. In truth, Erevan had never seen a horse up close. He inches towards them, held his hand out, and felt them rub against his gloved palm.

Smiling Erevan moved through the stable looking at the other stalls. All were empty save for one. A massive fat beast sat in one facing the back wall. The teen reached over the stall and put a hand on the fur of the beast. It stank but Erevan was to curious not to see it.

It lifted its head. Even from behind Erevan could see the tusks of the beast. It slowly turned its head giving the teen side eye that could kill. It’s glare was one of annoyance. But Erevan was enraptured by the sight of the beast. It was a massive boar. Bigger than any wild boar he had ever seen.

The beast snorts and then turns its head away. It seems lazy to Erevan. The teen heads out of the stables finding a small axe and the stack of logs they use for firewood. He makes a mental note before heading to the tavern.

He enters. Seeing a few messy tables and one villager passed out at a table. The teen heads to gathers the dishes before heading to the back kitchen. He washes the dishes before taking a wet rag back up front to wash the tables and the bar. He even scrubs a few spots on the floor where alcohol and possibly some blood was spilt. He knew the blood stain on the bar was his.

Erevan uses his understanding of the land he traveled through and some basic hunting tips he had learned from his father. Heading out with his sled and ballista he finds a hill to perch on down wind from a game trail.

Erevan kills a buck in a herd of deer. Almost decapitating it with a ballista bolt to the neck. The teen field dressed his kill, recovered his bolt, and headed back to the tavern.