“You can share my tent with me.” Ozarrik says stepping next to Erevan. “I used to share it with my brother Zitirius, but he made a bigger tent for himself and his mate.”

“Alright. Guide me to it so I can drop my sled off next to it.” Erevan says. “And I’ve never had a brother before.”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s much easier to get along with everyone in the clan when you don’t have a claim to Warlord.” Ozarrik says through a strained smile as he begins to walk.

“So I take it you have a claim.” Erevan asks as he follows.

“Technically. There are three criteria to lay claim. The first being succession. My brother is first born and thus has the strongest claim. The second is conquest. My eldest sister is the most tactically sound and is undefeated in single combat.” Ozarrik stops at his tent and gestures to it hoping the conversation will end.

“What is your claim. The third claim.” Erevan pushes for an answer.

“The third claim is prophecy. I was born with cold blood, I never feel the winters chill, I developed an aptitude for magic, and now I’ve slain one of the symbols of my clan. The Winter Wolf was yet another piece to further my claim yet you did all the work.” Ozarrik wracks his hands through his black hair.

“Look, your spear did an absolute number on it.” Erevan says. “And I’m sure if this claim is a problem you could just rescind it.”

Ozarrik cocks a smile and looks at Erevan like he’s an idiot.

“Agh. Probably hard to take back being the Chosen One.” Erevan smiles underneath his helmet.

“How does your clan treat human prophecies?” Erevan asks.

“Humans have those?” Ozarrik looks shocked.

“Yeah, about Crows. The sub-humans.” Erevan inquires.

“Oh? That. Well it’s just something we have to be aware of. When a trader comes by with Crows for sale we know the law forbids us from paying them more than one-eighth the usual mercenary price.” Ozarrik explains.

“And free Crows?” Erevan asks.

“Like free of charge or runaways?” Ozarrik cocks his head.

“Free from birth. Never tattooed. No owners.” Erevan crosses his arms in a waving motion.

“Oh. So like a human with black hair from any other nation.” Ozarrik shrugs.

“Wait. Black-haired humans. Not black haired subhumans?” Erevan stumbles over the words.

“Well yeah. Only those born of the North in this region receive the brand of a Crow.” Ozarrik shrugs.

“Are you fucking kidding me!” Erevan slams his helmet down into the snow.

“Oh. You’re the Free Crow.” Ozarrik gulps.

“How far away is the next kingdom?” Erevan asks the orc with wide eyes.

“The Sovguard lies past the False Forest to the south west.” Ozarrik answers. “Although, I wouldn’t ever go through there based on its reputation.”

“Do you think I have many choices?” Erevan points with both hands to the top of his head.

“Yeah. I see your problem. Well no one in my tribe will fuss. Just put the helmet back on when hunters come around.” Ozarrik suggests.

“If you wish to not hide your face any longer than you will be protected by my clan.” A gravelly voice says from behind the two.

Erevan turns and looks up at the Warlord towering over them.

“I, ugh, hadn’t heard you speak yet.” Erevan mutters.

“I don’t speak in front of hunters. But I recognize Burkwood’s handiwork. He give you the ballista and the blunderbuss?” The Warlord asks.

“No. He was killed by hunters and I salvaged what I could of our belongings.” Erevan’s shoulders sag.

“Huh. Didn’t think anyone would find him. You must be his child. Didn’t think you would survive growing up in the North.” The Warlord huffs.

“You knew my father?” Erevan asks.

“His Siege Troops in the Kingdoms’ Royal Army often paid off mercenaries to protect their flanks. The Frostblood Clan had the honor many times. I’d consider him a brother in arms.” The Warlord boasts.

“Dad never talked much about things before me.” Erevan shrugs.

“And why would he. A child is one's greatest pride and I have seven.” The Warlord boasts. “Tonight I am preparing a family meal for Ozarrik. As you fought alongside him, you too are invited.”

“Thank you sir.” Erevan bows.

Erevan attends the dinner, meeting Ozarriks six siblings, and the Speaker in a less formal setting. The Speaker and the Warlord are actually siblings. The Speaker’s actual name is Dhievni.

All of the Warlord's children are those he has had with women of other Clans. Apparently it was the Warlords job to foster diversity through direct and indirect means to ensure the survival of the clan. His first born son is Zitirius, his first born daughter is Rheensuf, and his twin daughters are Varin and Vali. After them is Ozarrik the middle son, Taghig is their youngest son, and Nawne is their youngest child and daughter. All of them are only half-orc. Upon seeing them up close they all have distinct features.

Zitirius has pointed elven ears, Rheensuf has a blue tint to her nose, Varin and Vali both have a single horn under their cowls, Ozarrik is shorter and magically attuned, Taghig has exceptionally long arms for his body, and Nawne has floppy ears and pointed teeth. Erevan felt it was almost a game guessing which sibling was related to what other race. Zitirius being the easiest and the hardest perhaps being a tie between Rheensuf and Tahhig.

In truth, Erevan found no time to speak at the dinner, sitting at the far end he chose to observe. Warlord Graw’aud led most of the conversations as if staying silent around the Hunters had wound him up. None of them seemed to care or pay any mind that he did not have his helmet on and was showing his black hair. This almost felt startling to Erevan.

Eventually dinner ended and he turned in for the night with Ozarrik. Staying in the same tent as him. They lay on opposite sides in bedrolls of hide and fur.

“The Warlord seems like a really nice Dad.” Erevan comments.

“Sometimes he pushes us too far, but he wants each of his children to be the best.” Ozarrik states.

“If all of you are half-orcs. Does that mean Graw’aud is too?” Erevan asks.

“Yeah, he’s part Goliath.” Ozarrik answers and rolls over to face Erevan. “It’s said his grand-father could command even the Giants. Although he died before I was born.”

“Commanding giants. That would be something.” Erevan smiles at the thought.