Aha! I noticed this and loved it too. How intimately he knows her quirks and intricacies.

Wonderfully rich to read. Athlain's musings about the woman represented by his red favor, the immersive dialect of the smith, the powerful description of Athlain's new weapon.

The magic, as always here, is the interaction between Athlain and Athynae. Even when she is not physically present, she is there to the point we can catch a waft of her fragrance.

Athlain's emotions are so clearly presented as to cause my heart to ache for him.

Where's my mace? We leave at dawn.

For the rest, it read rather like a conversation with Athynae- darting and swooping from one topic to the next- with only a passing nod to conventions of logic, grammar, and punctuation. Under normal circumstances, her thought processes were convoluted; under duress, they were positively labyrinthine.

Yes, friend Trey, you know women well, since you have a long and deep and (I suspect) frequently whimsical relationship with 'persons of the female persuasion'. (where the dikeens did he think of such a phrase, I wonder... ). It is only through that kind of relationship with women - or perhaps I should say, with a woman - that we males can begin to understand the other half of ourselves.

And, of course, to be able to spin a tale that leaves all readers gasping. Me, for one.

:thumbsup:


As for YOU, Malx1, I will NOT rise up to your bait. I will NOT. Why, I don't even know who Felicity Fey is -



** FOXY was struck by FIVE bolts of lightning **

Ol' softy.. He reminds me a bit of Gimli. Your way of showing is truly inspirational :goodjob:
Loved it! (as usual)

ARGH! - It is probably my fault you have left me hanging on this cliff, - Sorry about that.... :angel: (but thank you!) - now back to what I was saying,... ARGH!

This is the hamster calling... :shocking: ... you are getting very sleepy... :shocking: ... you will write another chapter... :shocking: ...

Everyone seemed to think that I should speak with Bereditte Jastal, the writer who had taken up residence in the mead hall. I decided I would take heed- the consequences of ignoring earlier advice were impressed upon my mind- and some had also left marks upon my flesh. But my reluctance was not a matter of stubbornness- or not only that. First, I wanted to be out and moving- doing something to take my mind from Athynae's absence. And I admit that I was put off by the fact that his name was clearly Breton in origin- and that he was a writer. But one of the hunters mentioned that Athynae had engaged the author in some serious discussions- which might yield a clue as to her whereabouts. I would willingly face a Daedra lord if it meant having Athynae back; a whole host of Breton scholars should be no more frightening than that.

So I climbed the stairs again, much more slowly- and knocked upon the door to the guest room.

A tenor voice called, "Please come in," and I did.

The young man who greeted me proved that my surmise had been correct; he bore the triangular face, high forehead, and sandy hair characteristic of his Breton origin. His ink-stained fingers and the lines around his eyes, signs of time spent reading in poor light, revealed his trade as much as the books and papers stacked all around the room. He seemed out of place in the mead hall with his elegant puffed sleeves and scholarly whiskers, but there was a light of determination in his eyes, hinting at a deep well of strength and stubbornness. While I had been assessing the man, he had been scrutinizing me in turn, and a broad smile stretched his features.

"You must be Athlain," he enthused. "I understand you fought Erich a few days ago. I just wish I had been here to see it- the challenge, the acceptance, the battle itself!"

I thought, but did not say: "And what of the fear, the brutality, and the blood- not to mention the very real chance of dying?"

Meanwhile, the writer was rattling on: "It's just so exciting, to be out here on the edge of civilization. But I am forgetting my manners. I am Bereditte Jastal, a bookseller by trade."

He gave a low bow and added, "But my passion is writing. Most recently, I have been chronicling the history of the Nords on Solstheim- the 'Skaal' as they call themselves. In fact, I have just completed two scholarly works on the subject: Thirsk, a History and Sovngarde, a Re-examination. I have copies of both, available at a modest price, as well as a few other volumes that might be of interest. Athynae was particularly taken with the The Black Arrow, Volume II and The Posting of the Hunt."

His spate of words stopped for a few moments and his eyes took on the look that those of the masculine persuasion often assumed when meeting, or recalling, Athynae- a rather stunned fascination. I guiltily stepped on the unkind thought that if the Nords simply allowed Athynae and Ser Jastal to talk, they would have no need of fires to keep the mead hall heated.

With an effort, I brought my thoughts back to my responsibilities, to my mission to the Skaal village. The Breton scholar must have some information about the settlement, so I prompted him:

"What can you tell me of the Nords of Solstheim?"

He drew himself up and folded his hands behind his back, pacing across the floor as he spoke:

"I came to Thirsk all the way from Cyrodiil, by way of Vvardenfell. My father once visited Solstheim, you see, and as a boy I was intrigued by his exciting stories of the Nords. I was particularly fascinated with this very mead hall -- its residents and their adventures, things like that. I arrived here over a year ago, and have been living among the Nords ever since. I've been chronicling their lives, and recently collected enough data to complete my history of Thirsk. It is really quite a place- it may be as much as 500 years old, and was founded by a great warrior named Hrothmund the Red."

I started at the name. "You mean Hrothmund was real? He actually lived?"

The Breton gave a firm nod. "There can be no doubt. And he was finally brought down by the great wolf and interred in a barrow somewhere west of here."

He lowered his voice- "They say that the barrow is still guarded by a snow wolf. I don't know- I have not seen it myself."

So Hrothmund had existed, and he was buried on Solstheim. Louis Beauchamp had been right about that much, at least. And that meant, in addition to everything else, I still needed to search for the missing airship and for the burial mound.

Meanwhile, Ser Jastal's darting thoughts had carried him onto another topic, and he again assumed the stance of an academy lecturer:

"Nord traditions regarding life and death and what comes after are another of my areas of interest. They talk of a place called 'Sovngarde,' which only the greatest warriors can find. The Nords believe that the god Shor constructed a magnificent fortress where valiant Nord warriors may live forever; feasting, fighting...basically doing everything Nords like to do. The trick is finding the way in. According to legend, the entrance to Sovngarde is hidden, and only those who take up the search may ever find the way in. But according to my research, which I've chronicled in a new book, the way into Sovngarde isn't quite what they thought."

He stopped for a moment and stared pensively at the ceiling, a frown of concentration on his features.

I seized the opportunity to bring the conversation to a subject that was of more immediate interest, asking-

"You mentioned that Athynae had visited with you?. Would you mind telling me what the two of you discussed?"

The somewhat silly smile came back to his face and he was quiet for several minutes before responding:

"Athynae? Yes, she was interested in any stories I might have heard regarding werewolves, and how to combat them. It is a fascinating topic- and certainly has some basis in the Skaal hunting traditions and their reverence for the spirits of animals. And it may very well be tied in to the legendary Great Hunt, when the Daedra pursue mortal men."

His eyes shone with scholarly zeal and I wondered if he had any concept of what it felt like to be chased across a winter landscape, knowing that to falter or stumble would mean a horrible death. But his mind had already leapt to a new subject:

"Later, she asked me about the legal implications of marriage contracts, especially the practice of families entering into a contract for a child who was not yet of age. I explained that I am no lawyer, nor even well-versed in the intricacies of Imperial law. However, my reading inclines me to believe that such agreements are binding upon the child, barring some extraordinary circumstance which would allow for voiding the contract."

Marriage contracts? Why would she be concerned about marriage contracts, of all things? So much so that she would ask a relative stranger? And what did he mean by "extraordinary circumstance"? I spoke the last question aloud and he explained:

"Oh, things like a crippling or disfiguring injury, such as the loss of a limb or eye; proof of moral unsuitability; insanity; disease," he waved a hand casually, as if those afflictions were of little real consequence.

True to form, I had sought answers and come away with more questions. Perhaps the Skaal village would provide greater enlightenment.

Yaay! Athlain returns! :celebration:

Once more, it is a treat to read the continuing adventures of our young and oft-confused hero. This line really jumped out at me and brought a laugh:

if the Nords simply allowed Athynae and Ser Jastal to talk, they would have no need of fires to keep the mead hall heated.

:D

Welcome back! More doggie treats! :celebration:
Well, Athlain is getting some answers - and more questions.



This is one reason I like your writing - beautifully descriptive!


Werewolves indeed! I fear for what Athynae may have gotten herself into.

I find myself really enjoying this story. Your character development is fantastic, and I find myself rooting for the protagonist, even though I picked up the story only at the beginning of this second thread. I also love the way you develop the secondary characters, and give them life.

Don't stop writing this! I want more!

Ahhhh, doggie goodness! Yay! It was a long wait (* cough, cough * ), but worth it -- your characters and story are true to form, and fantastic as always. Keep it coming!!!

I have the flu, so my comments may suffer some, but Treydog, this was an Awesome addition! I have to agree with SubRosa (the Minx) on which line was my fave as well !!!

AAHA!!! The plot thickens fast!!!

Let me make a wild guess.... Athynae's family has entered into a marriage contract with somebody else when she was a child, and therefore she is not free legally to marry Athlain...so she has gone to find a way out of the contract, and that way out has something to do with werewolves...

*does a doggy dance of his own*

do I get a biscuit???


And Trey ole chap DO post more frequently than every five days! After five days Beth software cuts me off from auto notification of your new posts!!!

Where is that feature? ARGH !! (Woof!)

Everyone--- I cannot say "thank you" enough for your continued reading and kind comments. A variety of factors conspired to hinder my writing (and my reading of others' fine work). Some of it was physical- add me to the (recovering) sick list. Another issue was more spiritual- my hereditary tendency toward depression (Thanks to all my Irish and Norse ancestors). But what has brought me back is the wonderful community here. When I added a few comments to Remko's wonderful thread, I realized I was writing as much for myself as for others- at least in terms of how to get past writer's block. And Destri's words particularly struck a chord with me- I have often been guilty of thinking I have to write the "greatest (fight scene, dialogue, character study, etc.) in the English language. But what I really need to do is just get on with it. And I would be remiss if I did not also mention mALX1's wisdom and advice- special thanks to you for your words.

@SubRosa- If I can provoke a laugh from the creator of Teresa of the Faint Smile, I know I have succeeded.

@Acadian- You again identify a bit of description that I added late, hoping it would add to the immersion. I have learned to rely upon your eye for detail and for the right word.

@hauteecole rider- Welcome and my humble thanks. I know from personal experience that keeping up with the astounding talent on offer here is a fulltime task, but I hope you will go back and read at least Chapter 3? which is where we first meet Athynae.

@Rachel the Breton- One day, I hope to write humor that is even a pale shadow of your work- I have to carefully ration my "Edward consumption"- especially when I am at work. Thank you, dear, for your words and your patience with this old doggie.

@mALX1- Get well soon and thank you more than I can say for having exactly the right words to allow me to again put pen to paper.

@D.Foxy- Doggie biscuits for everyone, just on general principles! As to specifics- time will tell- although some material has already been revealed (and misinterpreted by a certain not-quite-clever enough redhead Redoran princess). I cannot promise to hasten my posting- I literally only have one more scene sketched (other than the ending, which I actually had written before the beginning). However, I hope the next bit will prove entertaining.

I do hope to get caught up on my reading- and commenting- this weekend, especially as I see that some exciting new stories have been posted.

Glad more than anything that you are back, and feeling better. <3

Author's Note: I have added a link to the Story of Aevar Stone-Singer at the end of this post. I did so for a couple of reasons- first, it is quite long; second, the words are not my words, but those of the Bethesda writers of Blood Moon. That said, it is essential to an understanding of the Skaal and of this part of the story, so I encourage my readers to follow the link. And now, back to Athlain.

My spirit had taken a chill that even the roaring fires of Thirsk could not thaw. Athynae's absence was a void that nothing could fill- not food, nor drink, nor even the rough friendship of the Skaal. Still, Svenja and Skjoldr did their best- offering me furs to cover my armor and keep out the wind and mulled cider to warm me from the inside. It was no fault of theirs that they did not possess the cure for my affliction, so I thanked them for their many kindnesses and turned my mind to the only thing I had left- duty.

The wind howled and the snow swirled, obscuring the landscape and blotting out my tracks as I plodded northward. It was hard to believe that I had once found the frozen flakes exotic- now they were simply another obstacle to overcome, a hindrance that slowed my steps and weighted my clothing. In fact, it rather reminded me of slipping and sliding through the ash-fall that still covered the slopes of Red Mountain. Swiping the ice from my face, I pressed on-east and north. The only good thing about the weather was that it kept the wild animals- and the wilder humans- away.

Mingled scents of wood-smoke and curing hides alerted me when I was near the village, and I uncovered my head to better listen- and to make sure my face was visible. The wind carried faint sounds to me- an axe striking wood, a door slamming shut, the creak of a windlass. I turned slowly, trying to discern the direction from which they came, and saw dark shapes looming out of the snow. Moving closer, I recognized buildings with the steep roofs and crossed timbers of Nord dwellings. I eased my mace from its loop and then let it drop back- I was not sure what sort of greeting awaited me, but it would not do to appear hostile.

A windbreak of closely-spaced trees blunted the force of the wind and snow, creating a quiet space in which the village sat almost as if it had been plucked out of time and suspended forever between one minute and the next. The illusion was shattered when two burly figures in Nordic mail marched toward me and asked:

"Who be ye? And why do ye trespass here, stranger?"

The words were a standard challenge, no different than one might hear anywhere. But the tone carried a clear message- if I wanted a fight, these warriors would be more than happy to accommodate me. Holding my hands well away from my sides, I answered quietly:

"My name is Athlain, and I have come from Fort Frostmoth, seeking news of my commander. The fort was attacked and he was? taken."

The Nords glared at me anew and muttered to one another in the language of Skyrim. I knew enough of that tongue to make out several insults, and even threats. At last, the older man shook his head at his companion and turned back to me.

"You will Speak to Tharsten Heart-Fang. He will decide what we should do with ye. Now."

He stomped off through the snow, not bothering to see if I was following.

My surly guide led me to the doors of the largest building in the village, and pulled them open. We entered and he curtly gestured for me to wait while he went to speak to the leader of the Skaal. I took the opportunity to study the man I guessed must be Tharsten. His hair and beard were the color of steel, but age had not diminished the strength of his limbs. He wore an elaborate suit of Nordic mail and glanced at me keenly as the guard spoke to him.

At last, he waved me closer and asked gruffly:

"You are not of the Skaal- so what do you want here? And what is this I hear about an attack on the Imperial fort?"

I told him as much as I knew about the attack and the creatures behind it- and that some of the troops believed the Skaal had been involved. He snorted his contempt and growled:

"Soldiers...pfah! They cut their trees and dig their holes, and have little to show after a day's toil. They do not respect this land or its creatures, and for that, I find them offensive. But, though I have no love for them, the Skaal would never do such a thing. We prefer to let the Imperials kill themselves slowly. But these creatures that attacked...they were not wolves of this island."

He sat back in his throne and asked: "Now, have you finished your business here?

I reached into my pack and produced the skull Gaea Artoria had given me. Placing it reverently on a pedestal, I said:

"This is the relic of a Nord warrior. I? we? wanted to return it so that it can be honored properly."

Tharsten rose and examined the skull carefully, without touching it. At last he looked at me with a bit less hostility.

"You've brought the bones of one of our ancestors? Stupid Imperials. You need to learn to leave things as they are. Still, it is good that you have returned this to the Skaal. Perhaps there is hope for you and your kind. You are welcome here for the moment, but there is much to atone for."

He paused for a moment as if gathering his thoughts and continued, pacing back and forth in agitation:

"You Imperials in that fort have brought nothing but harm to these lands. You cut the trees and dig the earth. You are wasteful, lazy, and careless. You have no comprehension of the Oneness of the land. It is this Oneness from which the Skaal derive our strength, and you Imperials have defiled these lands."

He seated himself again and stated: "The Oneness is what gives the Skaal power! It is the balance of our lands, the trees and the waters, wolf and bear. The Imperials have no respect for this balance, and we pay the price. Through your carelessness, you have upset the natural order, the Oneness of the land. It must be balanced once again, and the All-Maker appeased. I wish for you to make things right, Athlain. You will be the one to restore the power of the Skaal. Then we will return to the matter of your missing captain."

He was silent for several moments, his eyes fixed on a vision only he could see.

"It is right that you do this, as it is your people who have caused the damage. Speak with Korst Wind-Eye, in the Shaman's Hut. He will give you further instructions. None in the village will harm you, but watch your manners- we have no love for Imperials."

He waved me away, and I exited the Great Hall, pausing to survey the rest of the village. The eaves of the house just west of where I stood were hung with bundles of herbs, and the door posts were carved with stylized figures of wolf and bear. Those clues seemed to indicate that it was the shaman's dwelling, so I walked over and knocked on the door. A pleasant voice bade me enter.

The interior of the house was sparsely furnished, with only a few hides on floor and walls, along with a few simple tables and benches. The one unexpected element were the books that filled several shelves. It was a varied collection, and I started a bit as I recognized copies of The Five Far Stars and The Chronicles of Nchuleft. What sort of Nord was this, who read Ashlander poetry and Dwemer history? The subject of my curiosity cleared his throat and said,

"Yes, Cyrodiil? Is there a reason you disturb my studies?"

I left my study of the books and turned to the home's inhabitant- receiving another surprise. I had expected the shaman to be at least as old as Tharsten, with white hair and a wrinkled countenance. The man I saw was close to my own age, dressed simply in furs and a brown robe, which apparel set off an athletic frame. I flushed a bit as I realized I was staring and stuttered,

"Ah, I ? that is? Korst Wind-Eye?"

He nodded and held out his hand in an invitation to continue.

With an effort, I remembered my manners- and my reason for being there.

"Tharsten Heart-Fang has said that I must restore the power of the Skaal before he will tell me what he knows of Captain Falx Carius. Captain Carius has been missing since a band of strange, wolf-like creatures attacked Fort Frostmoth. He- Tharsten, not the Captain- told me to come to you for instructions, so here I am."

The Nord wise-man greeted my rather breathless explanation with silence and a slightly amused look. Finally he asked an odd question:

"Would you by any chance know a young lady named Athynae?"

"Yes? I know her rather well, but what does that have to do with the task Tharsten has given me?"

Korst allowed a small smile to lift the corners of his mouth and said dryly, "No reason, really. It was just an idle thought."

He quickly grew serious and added,

"The land is wounded, and I see that you are heartsick, as well. If you would heal yourself, you must heal the land. How can any person be truly complete if he cannot feel the rhythm of the world around him? If you would earn our trust, you must perform the Ritual of the Gifts."

He held up a hand to forestall me as I opened my mouth to ask about this ritual.

"It is too much for one not of the Skaal to learn from telling. But I have the story in written form."

He retrieved a scroll from one of the shelves and added,

"Before you begin the Ritual, I would ask that you go out among the people, speak to them, discover their needs- and help them as you can. The survival of the Clan depends on the honesty and dependability of all. I must test your truth before I place our fate in your hands."

http://www.imperial-library.info/mwbooks/bm_aevar.shtml

Within the first couple paragraphs, I had to go find my furs and bundle up. Now, my furs smell of smoke as you intended. Thank you for the foresight to provide the hot mulled cider you knew I would need.

Treydog land - Where description meets dialogue, and swirls with perfection around the most endearing of characters that we love so much. Ahhh.

Once again, you regale us with the old Nord ways.

:read: As always, pure joy to read. Thank you trey.

The story you linked to was not at all overly long and well worth the read.

Very evocative descriptions. I can feel the bite of the cold wind as it drives bitter flakes of snow into my face.

I am not sure if I have ever mentioned it, but I like the fact that you use the term mail rather than chainmail. It is nice to see someone use the real term.

This is a good touch, and clever working of the plot to arrange this. Was this on purpose all along?
The land is wounded, and I see that you are heartsick, as well.

So will Athlain being going all over the world to reclaim the Water Stone, Earth Stone, Sun Stone, etc...

Oh, the Skaal really believe in tests, don't they? AWESOME Write Treydog!!!!


My comment may suffer, my puppy is ill again. We just got him back from another emergency trip to the vet. ARGH !! I hope you are not snowed in!

What a wonderful chapter.

I keep thinking of Beowulf, and the old Norse myths I read so many years ago. Your story has all the wonderful flavor of the old myths.

Keep it up!

That goes for me as well, Trey. Although I have seen your picture, while reading this story I keep picturing you as blonde, slim, with eyes of blue ice and an itch in the heart that only quests into the unknown can alleviate.

A magical read that echoed the snow outside my window.

It's been a long time since one of my characters followed the Nordic quests but you bring it all back. This time, with words instead of an image. I find the words to be the more evocative form.

@Acadian- Thank you, my friend. If my words give you that sense of immersion, I know I have succeeded- for you are a master of immersive descriptions.

@SubRosa- And my thanks for your kind words, also. Yes, once I had decided that Athynae would "scarper off," I also decided to parallel the "wounded heart" with the "wounded land." Athlain needs faith of some sort- and he needs to learn that the Empire is not always right.

@mALX1- I always appreciate you for taking the time to read- and to comment. Here's hoping for a rapid canine recovery. Got to leave work 4 hours early on Friday and stayed home until around 3 p.m. today. But thanks to my generous sister, I have an xBox to occupy my time.

@hauteecole rider- Thank you- I really want to give it that "ancient lore" feel- esp. as a contrast to Athlain's youth and inexperience. And of course his name is a bit of a borrowing from Cuchulain of Celtic mythos....

@D.Foxy- Well- I still have the blue eyes and blonde (going white) hair. "Slim" went by the wayside when I married a marvelous cook... And my adventures are of the armchair sort these days.

@bobg- High praise indeed from such an artist of words AND images as yourself. Thank you.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Before leaving Korst's house, I read through the scroll he had given me, a retelling of the story of Aevar. Though I had never heard the story of the Gifts before, it seemed to awaken something deep inside of me, as though some missing piece had been returned. I had never been especially religious, a trait I knew I shared with Father. But the words of this story came alive in my imagination and I "saw" the events as if acted out on a stage in front of me. I could not help but recall the rumors that the blood of Skyrim ran in Father's veins- and mine. Korst Wind-Eye looked at me with a smile of satisfaction, as if he had heard and approved of my thoughts.

Intent upon earning the shaman's respect, I decided to show that I was more than just another arrogant Imperial.

"You are the healer and counselor for your people. Therefore, I ask you: Who among them has need of my assistance?"

Korst's smile widened, and he said, "Already, you demonstrate wisdom. I believe you might find that two of villagers in particular would benefit from your aid. Speak with young Ingmar and then with Lassnr. Return to me when that is done."

As I went back outside, I wondered- Ingmar? Certainly it was a common enough Nordic name, but this was a small village. The simplest solution would be to go and see for myself, so I asked a Skaal guard to direct me to Ingmar's house. With a grunt and a shrug of irritation, he pointed to the opposite side of the Great Hall and turned back to his survey of the perimeter. In the event, I had no need to go all the way to the dwelling, for a familiar young Nord bounded up to me and gave me a crushing hug. Then he released me and looked around hopefully.

"I heard you had come to visit us! Is Athynae with you? I wanted to show her my house and see if she wanted to hunt with me along the Isild River."

My own sense of loss was too recent for me to feel any satisfaction when I told the youth that I was alone. And I actually felt somewhat better as I processed the knowledge that Athynae had never been to Ingmar's house. Whatever else was going on, she had not cast me aside for this man. Of course, the idea was ridiculous on the face of it- what would she want with a mere boy? Albeit one who owned his own home- and who was taller, stronger, and probably better-looking than I?

With an almost physical effort, I stopped those unproductive thoughts and asked Ingmar,

"So, is all well with you? Have you need of? anything?"

He beamed at me with innocent health and good humor and replied:

"No, I am well-pleased with things. Thanks to Athynae's help, I passed the ceremony that makes me a man of the Skaal. So now I can join the hunting parties and even marry."

He reached inside his fur cuirass to show me a bear totem carved from horker ivory and threaded onto a rawhide strip. Then he banged a friendly hand on my shoulder, nearly driving me to my knees before sprinting off again, calling back to me,

"When you see her again, tell Athynae 'thank you'!"

The best face I could put on things was that Korst should be satisfied- whatever might have troubled Ingmar had been taken care of by Athynae. And so now the young Nord could go out into the world and try to get himself killed- or married. Perhaps I was more fortunate than I had realized, since only the first option seemed to be open to me.

With a sense of fatalism, I asked directions to Lassnr's hut, half expecting to find that Athynae had already been to visit him, as well. And she had no doubt waved a shapely hand and made his problems disappear. Despite my sour expression, the Skaal sentry who directed me was more forthcoming than previously, warning me that Lassnr had a peculiar way of speaking.

"Just dinna be taken aslant. He be a stout warrior and a good man. He disna mean aught by it; 'tis just his way."

Thus prepared, I knocked on the door of a house on the west side of the village. In response, I heard a sort of cough, which I took to be a greeting. When I opened the door, I saw a bare-chested Nord who wore a wolf hide headdress. He was obviously agitated when I entered his cabin, but it was equally apparent that I was not the cause of his distress. He could not be still, instead walking around the room in quick, frantic circles. When I introduced myself, he jerked his head and grunted, "Lassnr," in response. The effect of his movements and attire was rather like trying to have a conversation with the beast whose pelt he wore. Still I was determined to follow the shaman's instructions, so I asked my question:

"Is there something I can do for you, Lassnr?"

He did not answer, but stopped his circling long enough to pick up a small portrait from the fireplace mantle. He handed it to me with a pleading look in his brown eyes and panted, "Tymvaul." I glanced at the portrait and saw a younger version of the man who had now resumed his loping circuit of the room. Before I could ask any more questions, he darted outside with a series of sharp, wordless exclamations and a glance over his shoulder to see if I was following. When I stepped out the door, he raced around the side of the house, heading west. Again I followed, only to find him pacing back and forth beside a well. The structure was capped by a trapdoor secured with a stout padlock. Lassnr looked from the well to the portrait in my hands and shook his head spasmodically, uttering another series of sharp, wordless yelps. In between, I made out the words "Tymvaul" and "well."

Trying to piece together the evidence, I asked:

"Tymvaul is your son?" He nodded.

"And you are trying to tell me something about Tymvaul?" He nodded more vigorously, adding another yelp for good measure.

"What are you trying to tell me, Lassnr? That Tymvaul has fallen down the well? Is that it?"

He practically danced with excitement, bounding around and nodding his head affirmatively.

"Then we should get him out. I will be glad to try."

My words seemed to have an almost magical calming effect on the old man, for the fit that had until then possessed him suddenly passed. He drew in great gasping breaths and spoke coherently:

"'Tisn't just a well; it leads to the Rimhull caverns. Ice-caves, and he be lost or trapped. I usually keep it locked- must have forgotten- or perhaps he took my key. Found it on the ground by the well and locked it up afore I kenned he was missing. It was only after he didn't come home that I recollected he had asked me about the caves. He seemed drawn to the old well, no matter how many times I begged him to stay away. Certain I am that he's down there, lost and alone."

Oooh, Timmy fell down the well! I put it together as soon as Lassnr led our hero to the well. *whine whine* :facepalm:

A wonderful chapter again. I'm enjoying this immensely.

Yes, "Athlain" does have more of a Gaelic feel to it.

While "Timmy fell down the well" isn't ancient lore, the rest of it sure feels like it! I love your imagination and your ability to show me something I had never seen before, simply by evoking ghosts of old myths I've read long ago.