Spring 30, 510 A.V. Syllke hurried through the city gates, getting only a brief stare and sniff and nod from the guards. Cradling his parka against his stomach, he made his way through the warren of twisting streets. He didn’t miss the coat’s warmth. Mirwen’s mark was enough to fend off the fall nip in the air. The day had been sunny, but already the sun was dipping below the sea, early nights in the far north. Soon, it would be dark and he wanted to reach his destination before that happened. Shifting his arms a bit, he hurried on, walking quickly yet carefully. It really did not take long to reach the Hold of the Frostfawns. The very first one he happened upon, a young girl about his age who seemed to be just turning in to the front gates of the huge, rambling premises, he hailed. “Excuse me! I need some help here.” As he approached her, he loosened his arms a bit, to reveal the ball of fur, sadly daubed with the rust red of dried blood. A whimper came from the little fur ball, its black nose poking out, long whiskers to either side of its baby sharp muzzle. Syllke pulled the folds of leather away a bit more. “This fox cub has been attacked by something. A wolf perhaps. It looks pretty bad, but I can’t really tell.” Hopefully the girl would either know what to do, or fetch someone who did. |