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Freezing winds and blowing snow were the last things that Kirtok wanted to deal with as he trudged through the snowdrifts towards Swifthaven. It was far too cold for a night so close to the spring thaw, and his eyes stung from the blinding snow. His body was kept warm by the bear-fur cloak he wrapped tightly around him, and the smoldering remains of his anger.

"Flynn, why won't you tell me what's going on?" Kirtok had asked a close friend of his, a knorian lumberjack that lived in the village. "I've lost everything, at least let me stay with you until I can get back on my hooves."

Flynn shifted uneasily, holding tightly to a mug of ale as he played through a game of cards with a woman on the other side of the table. It wasn't the ideal situation to approach him in, but Kirtok didn't feel like waiting around for him to finish his game and scurry on home. The woman, who Kirtok observed as a bit of a card shark, eyed him warily, her eyes caught by the flame burned into the minotaur's cheek.

"This isn't the best time," Flynn said, playing his hand. He looked at the woman, watching her reaction to the cards he threw down, but his attention was being pulled away by the minotaur's insistence. "I have money on this game."

"You always do," Kirtok pointed out, "Except half the time, you're drunk."

The woman drew a new card, and the corners of her mouth curled almost imperceptibly. She made her move, making Flynn cringe at what he saw. His hand beaten, she took his pot and the round began again.

"Damn it," Flynn cursed. He swiveled on his seat as the hands were dealt. "Look, what do you want?"

"I need a place to stay, that's all," Kirtok repeated. "I'll pay for my room and board."

"You can't stay with me."

"Why not?" Kirtok could feel heat burning in his face. He relaxed his clenched fists, his hands sore from squeezing so hard.

"Because. Look, can you talk to me later?" Flynn said, exasperated.

"There won't be a later," Kirtok said, frowning. "I know better. You'll keep putting this off until I'm either gone or I give up. So tell me why the hell can't I stay in your spare room for a few weeks?"

"Because you're a bad omen!" Flynn snapped, shoving Kirtok away and out of his chair. The minotaur landed on his backside and dropped to the ground, hitting the back of his head on the floor. It didn't matter that he stood three feet over Flynn, the man had caught him off guard.

"You never should have survived the fire," Flynn said. "The shaman said so. That mark on your face is a bad omen, and I don't want you around my home or my children."

Groaning, Kirtok rubbed his head as he eased himself up. "Flynn, we've been friends since we were kids."

"So? Things change." Flynn stated, turning his attention back to his game and a fresh mug of booze. "I did my part, and that cost me more than it was worth."

"What are you talking about? I haven't seen you since the night --" Kirtok stopped himself, not sure if he could say the next couple words without losing his conviction.

"They wanted your horns," Flynn said.

"Who?"

"Somebody. Look, does it matter?" Flynn snapped, casting his withering gaze at the beastman. "You were in that coma for months. Did you think no one would come looking for you? Do you even know what horns like yours are worth?"

"And you do?"

"Worth more than the broken ribs, bruised eyes, and lost earnings I incurred protecting you from those butchers." Flynn paused as he looked at his new hand, tapping the table with a finger as he thought, before he made his move. "The shaman said you were a bad omen and that anyone who got too close to you was likely to suffer. I should've listened to him and just taken the money to let those bastards cut your horns off. Then maybe the wife would at least sleep in bed with me instead of calling me a damn fool."

Kirtok was hurt that his friend would regret standing up for him. He would have done the same thing in a million years for Flynn, no matter what the personal cost was. That's what it meant to be a member of the Freehorn clan. But to so callously disregard their friendship over a bit of hardship and lost coin... the thought infuriated the minotaur, more than he'd ever felt before.

Flynn set his cards face down on the table and pulled a cigar out of his chest pocket. He bit the tip off and held it for a moment, deciding against lighting it. "I thought he was an idiot talking about omens and signs. I should've listened."

Slamming his hand on the table, knocking cups over and cards around, Kirtok screamed, "I can't believe you'd listen to that shaman's nonsense!"

Surging to his feet, Flynn met Kirtok head on. He stepped into the minotaur's space, bumping him with his puffed out chest and glaring into his eyes. "Things change, Kirtok. You were out for months while he fixed you up. I'd trust that bull more than you right now. Just look at you, getting all riled up because I won't give you room and board. Six months ago you'd sooner live on the street than borrow off a friend. Look at you now. You've changed, and I want nothing to do with you."

A flash of brown and white caught Flynn in the side of the head. Kirtok didn't even know he'd punched him until after he saw the knorian on the ground. The room erupted in shrieks, and the minotaur swore he saw smoke in the room. He blinked to clear his vision and brought his shaking arm back to his side. He didn't pull his punch. Flynn was lucky to still be conscious.

"If you won't help me, fine," Kirtok huffed. "I'll be taking my leave. Goodbye, Flynn." The minotaur stomped out of the tavern, the patrons shuffling out of his way to give him a clear path to the door. He never looked back.

Kirtok didn't wait for the weather to clear. He gathered the few belongings he still had, stuffed them in a pack, and started walking. Between his thick hide and his cloak, he could brave it.

As he crossed the fields of snow, he kept a close eye on where the nearest farms were. Once he started to get tired, he rushed to seek shelter inside one of the barns. Kirtok wasn't intent on passing out in the snow. The locks on the door were easy to get into. He pulled at the latches until the wood around them shattered, allowing him to open the door.

Kirtok slipped inside and shut the door behind him, blocking out the howling winds and the light of the moon. The minotaur bunked inside one of the empty stalls he found. He only spent a couple hours snoozing, and by the time he woke up, dawn was approaching. Not wanting to be seen by the farm's owner, Kirtok rushed out the door he'd broken into and started trudging towards Swifthaven once more.

By late afternoon, when the sun was beginning to set, Kirtok finally arrived in town. the first thing he noticed beyond the curious glances people gave him was that no one seemed afraid of him. Looking around, he saw other minotaur milling through the streets, and he could tell he would not be an uncommon sight here. It was then that he realized that he'd made the right decision coming to Swifthaven. He could have a fresh start without all the baggage from home weighing him down.

After speaking to a guardsman and asking for directions, Kirtok managed to find the Ebonwolves. It was a tall, yet thin building called The Last Hill. The windows were frosted over, though the flickering glow in one of them promised of a warm fire. Touching his frostbitten ears with a numb finger, Kirtok welcomed the sight and headed in.

The scent of the burning logs mixed with the aroma of cooking pork broth, reminding Kirtok of something that he hadn't had in months. He shucked his cloak off and made his way to a table near the fire to get warm.

There was no one else in the inn, but that didn't surprise Kirtok. Few people traveled in the winters, especially not with the recent cold snap the province was suffering through.

Kirtok was soon approached by a middle-aged knorian woman, her hair styled up in a bun. She wiped her hands off on an apron and said in the most sincerest of tones, "Welcome to the Last Hill, is there anything I could get you?"

"I came looking for someone named Doren. Is he here?" Kirtok asked.

"He's out getting some things. Why don't you wait here? He should be back shortly," the woman suggested, and Kirtok nodded. "I'll get you something to eat in the meantime. You look like you've been walking a long time."

"I don't have any money," Kirtok said, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears as the woman walked away from him.

The minotaur thought to get up and make sure she heard him, but the fire was so inviting, and his legs so sore from the trek, that he didn't dare to get up. After walking through the snowstorm, he hadn't realized how tired he was. After laying in a deep slumber for months, his body had grown weak and stringy. Kirtok took time to look at his mottled arms, realizing they had lost much of their definition. Farm work had been good for him, and made him strong. He tilled his own fields, and never once used an ox or horse to do it. Now he looked as though he wouldn't be able to do even that.

Kirtok slumped forward, holding his head up with an arm. He turned and watched the flames in the hearth. Something about them was enchanting, but at the same time, a grim reminder of the night that his life had changed. He didn't want to look at the fire, but something held his gaze, and he felt strangely content.

When the woman returned a few moments later with a bowl of thick soup, the door opened and Kirtok saw Doren stepping in from the cold. He was carrying a heavy-looking brown package that he set down on the nearest table.

"Next time dad wants me to see the smith, he can forget about it," Doren groaned, cracking his back as the sound ricocheted off the walls. "Almost dropped the damn things twice on the way back here. Honestly, ya think the damn street sweeps could keep the roads clear of snow."

The woman cleared her throat. "Doren, there's someone here looking for you." She gestured to Kirtok, and he tipped his head.

"Well if it ain't Kirtok. Decided to come out here after all, did ya?" Doren said, beaming with a smile that cut across his face from ear to ear. "Ya snouts a bit wet there, did ya walk?"

"Yeah," Kirtok said, wiping the melted frost off his snout with his hand. "Cheaper than traveling by sleigh."

"Too damn cold for that, friend," Doren said, shaking his head. "Ya shoulda come with me, I woulda split the cost with ya."

"Cold doesn't bother me any," Kirtok shrugged. "I'm here all the same."

"At least Auntie Jenna got ya some soup. Should warm ya right up." Doren picked up the package he brought in and moved to the backroom. "I'm gonna take this down to dad then I'll come talk to ya. Ya should eat up before it gets cold."

Nodding, Kirtok began to dig into the food. Though not the best home-cooked meal he'd had, it was certainly better than anything he'd eaten in months. The mixture of barley, potatoes, and pork went down easily and it was more filling than he expected for a knorian sized dish.

He tipped the bowl back and drank the remaining broth. When Kirtok set it back down on the table, he could see Doren coming towards his table with someone who looked like an older, greyer, larger version of himself. Without his coat on, Kirtok noted that both men wore matching black leather doublets, with the image of a wolf's head emblazoned onto the chest pocket.

"You were right Doren," the bigger man said, "That there's one big fucker."

"Would you watch the language?" Jenna shouted from across the room. "I don't care if you run your guild out of my basement, but this is a refined establishment. How many times do I have to remind you?"

"Aye, aye, I get it woman," he shot back, twisting a finger in his ear. "Keep yelling like that and I'm liable to go deaf."

Doren cleared his throat and gestured to the bigger man next to him. "Kirtok, this here's my dad, Conor. He runs the Ebonwolves. Dad, this is Kirtok."

"Aye, the one you met in prison," Conor said with a grunt. He set himself down in a chair across from the minotaur and they shook hands. "Helluva grip you got there. So what brings you to my neck of the woods?"

"I'm looking for work and a place to stay," Kirtok explained. "I was told by your son that you can offer me both."

"That I can," Conor grunted. "Can you handle yourself in a fight?"

"Does a bar brawl count?" Kirtok asked, earning a small smirk in response.

"Aye, that'll do. More than most that we get." He twisted and looked at Doren. "Ain't that right, squirt?" The man dropped a hand on Doren's head and ruffled his hair.

"Would'ya quit it?" Doren grumbled, fending off Conor's thick hand. "I learned right quick, no need to go making fun of me."

Chuckling, Conor turned his attention back to the minotaur sitting across from him. "You look a little stringier than I would have imagined. Maybe I should get you to wrestle a few of the fellows here, see if you can actually fight."

"I don't mind the challenge, just tell me when and where." Kirtok responded. He and Flynn had been in plenty of brawls in the past, and a couple times against people with knives. Alcohol made already stressed farmers that much more stupid, and it was often all too easy to get roped into a fight.

"That's what I like to hear," Conor said and grinned. "I'll arrange something for you soon then. How comfortable are you with hard labour?"

"I have no problem earning my keep," Kirtok replied. "I used to be a farmer. Truth be told, I was in an infirmary for a couple months."

"Sorry to hear that, lad," Conor said, stroking his chin in thought. He paused a moment, long enough to be noticeable, before he spoke again. "Well, tell you what, how's about you stay in one of the upstairs rooms for tonight, and we can talk about the finer details after you've had a good night's sleep. If you walked here, you must be tired."

Shrugging again, Kirtok said, "If that's what you prefer." He wondered what the old man was thinking about him, but didn't press him about it.

He would have rather gotten the messy details out of the way first before going to bed, but he had to admit that he was far more exhausted than he gave himself credit for.

"Good. I'll have Jenna set up a room for you while I look into getting you a uniform. No sense being in the guild if you don't look the part, eh?"

"I'd appreciate that. Thank you," Kirtok said. "What about money?"

"Worried about it?" Conor asked, and Kirtok nodded. He stroked his beard again. "You need a uniform, some equipment, and food. Got nothing on you? No, figured you didn't. Well, I normally take some of the payout from a job for my own overhead and to pay Jenna. I'll garnish a bit extra to pay for whatever you use 'til you start earning some decent coin. Sound good?"

"Whatever works," Kirtok said. "Being a farmer, I didn't exactly have a lot of money to begin with. I can manage just fine without for a while."

Kirtok and Conor shook hands before the old knorian headed back into the basement to tend to something. The minotaur was surprised by Conor. He thought the man would be rough around the edges like Doren was. He was pleased to find that wasn't the case. Anxious to see what the morning would bring, Kirtok followed Doren upstairs to his room so he could get an early night in.