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EDIT: Damn I'm so stupid, I forgot to give the men shields... This is why I'm gonna quit writing again for a long time as soon as I'm done with the next chapter. My story's not very good and I've already made too many mistakes to fix easily and I just want to sleeeeep.....

Chapter 2

As had happened the day before, it rained, on the day of the hunt and even through the night, and so the hunt was postponed. The dogs spent their time in their usual idleness, trading gossip, forming rumors, sharing news, eating and napping, tussling with the pups occasionally, and perhaps getting into some friendly combat. The wolfdog Basker was led out at one point by his master, which lead to some gossip, but none of the other hounds knew why.

Finally, on the next day, the sun shone bright and the air was humid and the earth was damp, a perfect spring day for the hounds, who preferred the musty damp odors of the earth. The dogs were led out of the kennel by Tain and into the fresh open air.

The kennel hounds ran circles in the gardens or jumped into the air barking their delight. They were itching to be out in the forest, anticipating the rush of adrenaline that came from the hunt.

Norther just went out and lay in the wet grass with a few others, mostly older, hounds. He took in all the senses at once, the subtle, cool breeze brushing against his short fur and skin. The smell of the rain on the slightly swaying flowers and the grass, the smell of the grass and the flowers that was being released with the evaporation of the rain. The scent of the alder and willow trees, the juniper berries on the juniper bushes, and the sweetness of apples near the courtyard. He heard the calling of geese in the distance, the tweeting of the chickadee and the tufted titmouse, the warbling of the yellow-rumped warbler, and the cry of a sparrow. He felt the spirit of the earth, the life that surrounded him in the plants and animals of the world, and he basked in the warmth of the sun.

Canadal made a loud, sharp bark that was obviously made to get everyone's attention, and everyone silenced and stopped in their tracks or stared. The wolfhound Basker was at his side.

Canadal said in a clear voice, "Basker, earl Ganwin's hound, will be leading this hunt instead of me, due to the absence of the king. There has been a change in plan. Those who will be hunting with me and Basker will be Daffus, Gorm, Enera, Bastruf, and Norther." Canadal looked Norther straight in the eye upon saying his name, and there was loathing in his piercing gaze.

There was an uproar amongst the rest of the hounds, from those who weren't chosen. Ilow was yelling particularly loud. "I thought you said we were all invited!"

Both Basker and Canadal made a sharp bark to silence them, and the other hounds began to quiet reluctantly. Once most had quieted down, Canadal continued.

"Those who haven't been chosen for the main hunt will be going on a secondary hunt with the earl and his daughter. You will hunt in the nearby valley to the east for deer or hare for sport.

"Those chosen will accompany the prince and a group of his fighting men on a dangerous mission. We will be hunting a boar, a dangerous creature, to adorn the feast for the marriage proposal of the prince and the lady Mary, which is why only a few, the bravest and fiercest amongst you, are going. We can't jeopardize the loss of too many of our loyal hounds.

"Those chosen will gather around Basker and I now, the rest will stay in the fields beyond the kennel to await the earl and his daughter."

Then there was silence. The few who had been chosen for the hunt got up and went confidently toward Canadal and Basker's sides. Those who hadn't, and there was still plenty of muttering and grumbling, went off toward the field next to the kennel.

Norther didn't understand. Why did Canadal want him to accompany the main group to track down a boar? He was hardly among the bravest, and definitely not among the fiercest. As he joined the group he noticed Enera and Daffus eyeing him, apparently just as confused.

When the prince arrived, his men close behind him with their spears, he addressed Canadal.

"Alright, we got a report from Basker that the boar was last seen near the river in the forest just north of the crossroads from the main road and the one traveling between the two closest towns, about a mile and a half from here. So we will start by following the main road until we reach the crossroads."

Canadal looked critically at the prince, "Prince Banerick, the road is where the boar might be expecting us, would it not be wiser to approach from upriver in two parties and catch it unawares?"

"I've already gone over this with Basker. Basker will indeed lead your hounds up the river, then you will separate into two groups, one staying close to the river, approaching the boar slowly, the other will flank the boar. Me and my men will be waiting downriver at the other end. If all goes according to plan, the boar will sense the hounds and make its way in the opposite direction downriver, where it will be trapped by my men and we shall kill it."

Canadal nodded, his neck muscles tensing in frustration, Norther guessed because he was not allowed to participate in the battle.

The prince ordered the group of men and hounds to follow the road that lead north out of the city. Along the road, Basker made idle chat with Canadal, but the leader of the hounds did not seem much to want to talk to the wolfhound, and said little. In their talk, Basker mentioned Norther's name, and Norther listened closely.

"It was wise of you to allow Norther to come. We could use his expertise and it will give him action to boast of and a fresh story to tell."

Canadal looked at Basker in bewilderment. "Expertise? What expertise?"

The wolfhound shrugged. "Oh, when you're a storyteller, you have more senses than just your nose. You can feel the energy of the world that gives birth to your stories."

Canadal scoffed and their conversation concerning Norther ended there. Norther felt a mixture of pride and respect for the foreign hybrid.

When they reached the crossroads. Basker spoke again to Canadal, "Follow me a moment, we need to discuss tactics with the prince, since you and I will be leading the two groups of hounds."

Canadal grunted and followed.

To Norther's amazement, Enera, who was usually too proud and interested in Canadal to talk with Norther, approached Norther and pushed him gently on the side with her shoulder in a friendly gesture.

"You ready for your real hunt, storyteller?"

Norther shrugged. He didn't want to admit he was feeling a great deal of anxiety, though he was glad to be amongst the other, stronger dogs.

"Like Basker said, it will give me a good, fresh story to tell, aside from the usual myths and legends..."

She laughed, a light and friendly laugh that stirred some deep emotion in Norther and helped to relieve the tension.

"If you're in my group, you will stay close to me, okay?" She said.

Norther agreed, feeling happier knowing he had the support of this previously unapproachable hound.

Canadal came back with Basker. He seemed pleased about something. Then he turned to Norther.

He spoke in a gruff tone, "Norther, you will accompany the men to a spot downriver. They will need a hound to locate the boar. Once you locate it, you will accompany the men to their spot downriver of the boar, and wait there."

Norther looked surprised and anger began to ebb through him. "You want me to fight? I am not a fighter, Canadal."

Canadal growled in annoynce. "We know that. Basker chose you because he had faith you could sniff out the boar from a further distance and thus remain hidden until you reached your location. In my opinion, it is a fool's idea. It should be me who accompanies the men, since I am the better fighter, and there's no telling whose nose is better, but Basker chose you."

Canadal walked away, leaving Norther standing stunned while the prince began to make his way toward where he stood. Near the other hounds, Enera gave him a sympathetic look that said "I'm sorry, good luck".

"Norther," the prince said, gazing down at the hound and looking him over. Norther had never been addressed by king's son before, let alone the king. He lowered his head and put a paw out.

"Basker says you are the right man to locate this boar. It's time to head out with my men. Follow me."

Norther looked back at the group of hounds who were to make the flank and the position at the southern end of the river. They all looked nervous, whether for Norther's sake or their own. Everyone except for Canadal and Basker. The wolfdog gave him a wink, as if assuring him everything would go according to plan, and then the prince motioned for Norther to follow and he turned away and began his trek with the prince and his men up the road.

Eventually Norther could smell it, a faint smell of boar on the wind coming from the northeast. Fortunately, like Basker said, it was still near the river, where it must have made its home. The wind was pushing harder now, and Norther was starting to get more and more anxious, as if the howl of the wind through the trees was whispering his death.

Norther told the prince they needed to head further north now and pass up the boar, and find a fragrant grove to hide their scent. They continued north, the scent of boar getting stronger, but still faint enough that the men's odor would not be detected.

They passed by several fragrant bushes of some unknown berries that gave off a sickly, rotting smell, although they were still not far enough north. Then Norther had an idea.

He spun around to face the prince. "The berries! Rub them on your bodies, it will keep you hidden until the boar is close enough to strike."

The prince looked impressed. "Excellent idea Norther. Men, pick as many berries as you can and smear the juices on your skin and armor."

The men shuffled around and began picking as many berries as they could, smearing them evenly wherever they could. The prince did the same. When they were done, Norther stood close to them and sniffed them. He could still smell their human odors, but they were fainter now, and Norther was starting to feel more confident.

"You should go unnoticed, at least until it sights you. Hopefully you will have made the jump on it by then." The prince thanked him, and Norther felt pride swell in his chest.

"Just a little further north and then we will have passed it enough to be able to make our way toward the river."

Norther led the way this time, feeling more confident now than he did before. The scent of the boar was getting fainter and fainter and not much further than when they left the berry bushes, Norther felt it was time they start making their way toward the river.

They continued on, seemingly a long distance, and again the forest seemed to call out to him, and this time he couldn't ignore it, like it was calling out its urgency.

The wind was still howling its death howls, and Norther tried to ignore it, but he was feeling less confident the closer they got to the river. He felt light on his paws and it was starting to make him dizzy, and the soft wet leaves and heather made his paws damp, both uncomfortable and distracting. The strange smell of the berries was making his stomach churn along with the dread of what they were about to face. Through the leaves above, a large cloud covered the sun, and Norther no longer felt the warmth. The wind's cold was beginning to seep in.

The trek to the river seemed to go on forever, although it wasn't nearly as long as it took to get to the crossroads. Among the men, Norther could sense their restlessness, their anticipation to fight affecting him and worsening his state.

He dropped back from the head of the group and padded wearily behind. The smell of the river was getting closer. By the time they reached it, Norther was slightly unsteady on his feet, and was relieved to lay down and take a rest.

But he didn't get to rest long. He could smell the hounds on the wind, as well as the unmistakable scent of boar getting rapidly closer. He got up on his feet quickly and warned the men. He could smell it moving west, closer to the road, and he lead the men to where it would ultimately cross their path. Then they waited, the men tense, battle hardened, their strength growing, being replaced by a stony acceptance, a willingness to hold their ground and fight to the death, if necessary.

They waited awhile. Norther's rest was brief, and while he did regain a little composure, his fear was beginning to override his senses. His mind was on the omens of the wind, the rustling of the wind stirring the leaves on the ground and on the trees above, the rotting scent of the berries affecting his nostrils, the willingness of the men to fight to the death, the shade of the forest from the obstruction of the sun, the scent of fear that was coming from him.

All these senses came from all around him, from all directions, diminishing the sense of his nose in seeking the boar. He couldn't even call out a warning before the boar came crashing through the leaves and charged toward the men.

It was surprised when it saw them, and the men took this advantage and sprinted for the boar, leveling their spears.

And they clashed. One of the men was knocked aside. The men were trying to get around it, toward its flank, when it happened. Another sound came crashing through the forest, and another boar came in sight, charging to the other boar's defense. The men began to fall back.

Norther finally took a hold of his senses. This other boar was a female, most likely the male's mate. The men's surprise at this unexpected turn of events made them lose their confidence, yet some the men formed a tight group, with the prince in the center, and stopped backing away and held their ground, while a few others fled. Apparently the stronger men were ready to face these two beasts and defend their prince, even at the cost of their lives.

Suddenly the boars charged, both together, lowering their heads so their tusks were aimed and ready for attack.

The man in front, aiming for its throat, caught his weapon on the tusk of the male boar and the spear glanced aside, scraping its shoulder. The boar plunged, hitting the man with full force and knocking him off his feet. Norther could smell blood.

The female who charged at the man on the left side wasn't as lucky, and the spear pierced her front leg, crippling her.

Norther stood beside the men, trembling. But his senses were now aroused to the two boars and the fighting men. He watched, trying to make his way around the boars as some of the men were doing, and he began looking for an advantage that only a dog could make.

One of the men, who was at its flank, was able to pierce the crippled female in its side. It let out a wail, a sharp and horrible sound which echoed through the forest. It struggled, it's flailing legs weakening, and eventually it silenced.

The male, who had stopped to get his bearings and ready his defenses against the circling men, was now aflame with anger, fervent at the loss of his mate. He spun around and faced the man who was closest to him, the one man that stood exposed, the one man who's fate was howling in the wind, and Norther could hear it now, a danger so fierce it stopped him in his tracks and turned his blood to ice.

It was the prince, his eyes remaining focused, yet his stance beginning to sway. His arm was unsteady where a wound from a glancing spearhead had scraped a shallow cut into his forearm, dripping blood.

Norther let out a cry that wasn't heard, as the realization of what had happened to the prince's arm, the real conception of the wound and the prince's unsteadiness, hit him. One of his men struggled to push the prince away, but the boar's eyes were fixed on his chosen victim. It charged then, with all its fury and all its might concentrated on the prince.

And then the boar was in range. The prince's spear lunged, piercing its chest, but the prince's grip on the spear faltered. The shaft slid through his hand with the force of the boar's charge. The boar, with its final reserves of strength, pierced the prince in the stomach with its tusk, stabbing him deep into his flesh.

The prince let out a choking cry, and he fell to his knees, then tumbled back. The boar tusk slipped out of his body. As the prince hit the ground, the blood gushed from his stomach, quickly covering his body. The men cried out and one of the knights that was still alive, the one who had tried to push the prince out of the way, pressed his hand firmly over the prince's stomach, trying to staunch the bleeding while the prince struggled weakly.

One of the men who hadn't fled did so now, back in the direction of the castle, to warn the rest of the knights and the king.

The prince, who was still gasping, was trying to tell them something, but his words wouldn't form against the blood coming from his throat.

The hounds soon caught up with them. Canadal looked at the man beside the struggling, gurgling prince and it took some moments for him to realize that it was the prince who was dying, and he howled his grief to the winds. It was some moments longer, which seemed to last forever, that the blood stopped flowing beneath the man's hands, and the choking of the prince ceased, and the prince, who had been growing weaker and weaker, stopped struggling altogether and lay still.

The man who held his stomach was sobbing. The men around him were muttering their surprise, and the hounds around the men were barking their anguish, even Basker contributed his remorse. All were making the sounds of grief, all but Norther, who stood some distance away, too stunned to do anything but stare.

Canadal soon stopped his howling, and noticed Norther staring, but not barking his sorrows. He glanced back at the men and smelled their fear and their blood, the blood and the death of the prince... and something else. A sickly smell that stood out amongst the blood and the fear and anguish of the men, but not on Norther. He looked again to Norther and stared at him hard, and Norther knew what Canadal was thinking.

The winds had stopped howling now, and the trembling inside Norther ceased as the bitter gaze of hatred, so intense that its energy seemed to pass between the hound leader and his culprit, made the storyteller's knees crumble. The peace of the earth, and the shining of the sun as it broke through the clouds, washed through him, and his vision slowly faded and he was soon succumbed to black.