FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 6: The Horselords

“Merchant, Traveler, or whomever you are, please show yourself." Calls a voice Hans instantly recognizes as a Horselord.

“Give me a second Horselord, I have to make myself decent." He calls out while pulling up his trousers, putting on his shirt which he didn't remember taking off and ties his belt.

“You done?" The voice calls after a few seconds.

“Yes, yes." He says crawling to the entrance. He pokes his head out to see a rather startled Horselord man he seems to recognize. “Asen? is that you?" He asks.

“Hans? You survived?" Asen asks back.

Hans jumps down from the tented area wincing once he feels it in his knees. He grabs his cane

before speaking. “Barely." Hans replies.

Asen looks over the man. “It shows. Care for dinner?" He remarks.

“Freja make yourself decent, we're having dinner with the Horselords." He calls up to the tent.

Asen grins once Hans gets off the wagon. “It's been too long, hasn't it? Also is Freja the wife?" He asks.

Hans smirks. “No, Freja's a wolfess I captured during my last battle as part of the guard. She's free, I'm teaching her how to read and write and she gives me company." He remarks, making sure to not mentioned the newest arrangement between the two of them.

Asen chuckles. “Bessorab owes me a goat now." He says with a smile.

Freja dresses quickly just pulling up her panties, throwing on her tunic, and tying her waist-rope. She climbs down to see a type of human far darker than Hans, in hair color, skin color, and eye color. She makes no hurry to appear by Hans' side. “Hello human." She says.

“You must be Freja, I'm Asen, I used to fight alongside Hans during the Blackmane War. He says you were on the receiving end of his fury and survived, a scant few can claim that." He says with a smile.

Freja frowns. “Only after he slew my chief." She laments.

The grin leaves Asen's face. “Sorry, I understand how that can feel." He sympathizes.

Freja's ears perk up. “You know what it's like?" She asks.

Hans turns to Freja. “His father was chief-" He gets cut off.

“My father was chief, but also the Khagan of our people, he was one of the first to be slain when Blackmane attacked us. I survived in no small part thanks to the man next to you, the Equis still avoid the Hillkeeps out of fear he'll come back." Asen pokes.

“Oh come on, it's not me, Roger Jeane was the real terror during that war with his spears and crossbows." He retorts

Asen raises a brow. “I wouldn't be so sure given you were the one to skewer Blackmane's son with his own banner." He comments.

“I did that because I was scared still." Hans deflects.

“Maybe but not a damn soul other than you can know that with your helmet." Asen presses.

“True." Freja agrees nodding at Asen.

“See the Wolfess get it too." Asen snarks.

“Fine, I'll take your praise, what for dinner tonight?" Hans accepts watching an Equis female run over to Asen.

“Ask my wife yourself." Asen says grabbing her by the waist.

“Is that who I think it is? It better not." Hans says looking over the brown and white speckled horse wearing a teal dress and gold necklace.

“Hello Buzkani." The Woman says.

“Good evening Kemaslan, I hope there are no hard feelings over the fate of your brother." Hans says with a small bow.

“Even if there was, I couldn't act on it with how Asen has been recently." She remarks with a lustful grin before opening one of her arms for a hug while Asen does the same.

Hans joins the three-sided embrace. “God, I missed you guys." He says with a smile.

Kemaslan pokes her head out. “Come on Wolfess, if you're a companion to Hans you're a friend of ours."

Freja is taken aback by the actions of the strange human and horse-woman. “What's happening?" She asks once she joins the now four-sided embrace.

Kemaslan leans close to Freja's ear. “Between you and me, you reek of human seed and a virgin's heat. I smelled it from camp and have a bath ready for you." She whispers into Freja's ear.

Freja blushes and tries to do the same, but Kemaslan is far too tall and tries her best to be quiet. “Thanks, let's go now." She whispers.

The pair break away from the men and make their way over to the village sized area of yurts and covered wagons. “Follow me, and steer clear of my kind's males." She says before turning around. “Say what's your name wolfess?" She asks why hurriedly moving through the village.

“My name is Freja." She answers.

“Like the human legend?" Kemaslan questions.

Freja hesitates before answering. “Yes, but we Vulfan have the same legend with our kind." She clarifies.

Kemaslan nods. “My husband is named Asen, I was raised believing Asen was the name of Equis warrior-king, to the humans he was a human Khagan and warrior." She says.

“Well, which do you think is true?" Freja asks, barely keeping up with the Equis queen.

Kemaslan stops in front of one of the yurts. “We're here, and neither." She says pushing the Wolfess inside along with herself.

Inside are four other Equis women and two human women, the humans are wearing clothing that only covers the breast, sex, and face while the Equis wear only something that covers their sex. “This isn't a mating ritual?" Freja asks. before looking into the almost sapphire blue water of the bath.

“Of course not, these are just Asen's concubines." Kemaslan says with a motherly smile. “Now strip and clean yourself before Yazkizi licks whatever she can off you.

Freja hastily strips and climbs into the large metal bucket. She takes a deep breath letting the strange but pleasant smell fill her nose. “That's a wonderful smell, Queen. What is it?" She asks.

“Wouldn't you like to know?" Teases the Queen. “It has jade, some oils, and some lavender-based soap bought from the Norse, it works wonders on cleaning out and masking scents." She explains.

Freja raises her arms out of the water, her fur drooping as water drips in small streams from it. “That ought to be expensive!" She exclaims.

One the human concubine's giggle. “Freja, my husband is the ruler of the Horselords, Khagan of all men who call this land home. What a Norseman may make in his entire life may be a small gift to me." Kemaslan says sitting down on an ornately sewn cushioned stool.

Freja lays back in the bath submerging her head in the warm water and brushes her

muzzle clean of anything other than her fur. She brings her head out of the water and the previously unnoticed smells that were all gone, from Hans' seed to the flowers and scents of the Keep and forest. She takes a deep breath smelling everything around her in earnest, the permanent low-level heat of the two humans, the burning need to breed of the concubines.

“You're in heat too queen?" Freja asks before shaking her head of most of the water.

Kemaslan grins. “I may be royal but the one thing that living with my dear Asen is that nature can bring Kings and Gods to their knees." She remarks. “Myself among that number." She finishes.

Freja stares at the queen. “Hans refused to take me earlier today he said things were moving too quickly though he was the one who kissed me." She says moving a finger to her lips.

Kemaslan shoots a breath through her nose. “That's Hans alright, he doesn't open girls' legs unlike how he used to open skulls. That man, for all he is, doesn't go a day without enduring the pain of losing his betrothed, the two were close, but its been nearly." She says grabbing a bottle and pouring the slightly yellow liquid into a glass. "If Asen and Roger- lets not talk about that." She says raising the cup to her mouth.

Freja's ears raise. “Hans is seemingly well known everywhere. I don't understand why. He slew a chief and bore his people's banner against us. I know he's fought other Vulfan but I just know he fought them. What is his story?" Freja asks.

Kemaslan spins the liquid in the glass in a circle before downing it with one gulp. “Hans has many names across this steppe and to the southern Kingdoms and Cities. To us Equis he is the Buzkani, the Ice Blood, to the Southern Avins he is the Ebakitzailea or Kyro to others. During the time Hans' served the Elves mustered most of the non-human species together in an attempt to drive the Horselords from the Steppe and cut off the Northern and Southern humans from each other."

“But why is he so famed outside his own kin?" Freja demands.

Kemaslan stares past her. “He was all that was left most of the time. He says he was “frozen by fear" it's a lie he's convinced himself of through years of telling himself he's worthless. He wasn't frozen by fear when he skewered my brother, he lunged into it and pointed the tip to tear through his neck. He joined the Occitans, Norvi, and Vesnans in the harrowing of the Avins. I can't tell you much about that dear, but if you go to those Avin lands you won't find much that doesn't tremble before him." She explains, seemingly lost in unpleasant memory.

Freja decides not to ask any more questions of Kemaslan smelling anxiety on her. She cleans herself and makes small talk with Asen's concubines, of whom Kemaslan soon joins in, they talk about the local gossip and “Tonight's Plans" the latter of which seems almost macabre the way they talked about it.

Soon Kemaslan asks Freja to leave the bath, having the human concubines dry her off with incredibly ornate and clean towels. The Equis girls spray her with perfumes, brush her fur, and rub oils onto it. Kemaslan instructs Freja to stay where she is while she goes and gets a dress.

Asen's concubines make both compliments and remarks about Freja's body. “Ample breasts and hips, though you do leave something to be desired on your rear." One remarks

Another concubine protests that. “Her ass is fine Mo'yna we can't all be horses, though her broad shoulders, a tad masculine in all fairness."

Another horse makes an entirely separate question. “Now how does she please the Buzkani, perhaps she cares to share?".

The other human pipes up “The queen claimed she smelled her to be a virgin, she hasn't yet." She raises.

The third horse pipes up. “She does smell of a virgin vulfan, she hasn't mated, but she did reek of the Buzkani's seed, so she was either a pleasurable sight or gave pleasure herself."

The last and largest horse by a noticeable margin speaks next. “I think she used her tongue, no? Asen said that the Buzkani would let a woman worship at his altar of man but never

consecrate it." She raises, her large gestures complementing her massive frame and measurements.

The other five nod in agreement and turn to face a very embarrassed Freja. “Isn't what I do with Hans my business?" She asks.

All six girls look at one another before they giggle, the largest is the first to speak. “Told you girls, she's a virgin."

Kemaslan enters the yurt and hands Freja a teal dress much like her own. “Put it on, I want to see how it fits." She tells Freja.

Freja slides the dress over her head and over her body. it hugs the hips and breast. Kemaslan asks Freja to turn around with a spin of her finger. “You look wonderful Freja. Come on let's go see the men." She says with all the excitement of a little girl. She takes Freja by the hand and runs her through the village once more. She pulls her through the bead door of a monstrous tent, inside is a splendorous amount of art and furniture.

Meanwhile Hans, Asen, and his retainers were cleaning up, dressing up, and discussing the night's affairs. Hans is adorned in a brigandine cuirass, plate pauldrons, greaves without gauntlets, and chain skirt. Asen and Hans both take a bath but nowhere near as nice as the one the women have been given. Their cleaning and dressing is far less elaborate but does include two glasses of Norse mead. Once they finish the Men wait around the throne Asen jokingly letting Hans sit on the Ebony Throne, proclaiming him the Prince of Wagonoia. Finally, the girls arrive.

“Welcome to the Khagan's palace Freja." Calls Asen from atop a black throne. “Hans and I were just cleaning up." He says before gesturing Freja to sit on one of the cushions around a knee height table.

Once the four sit down, a group of servants brings out a whole lamb on a spit. The meat smells wonderful, it smells of apples, carrots, wine, and spices. Asen draws his blade and with a single cut splits the lamb in two, the stuffing of apples, red rice, and vegetables spills onto the table. “By my blade you are served, by my word you may feast." Asen says.

“Thank Khagan, Lord of the Steppe." Hans and Hemaslan say with a bow.

Asen stares at Freja for a second who does a quick bow. “I take it you're not well versed in steppe manners?" He asks.

Freja turns to him. “I didn't even know the steppe existed until today." She replies. "I just figured it was a very large pasture." She finishes.

Kemaslan jerks her head to look at Freja. “Seriously?" She demands.

“Seriously" Replies Hans. “She knows of the Cats but that's as far south as she goes, the Vulfan don't travel the steppe." He explains.

Asen nods his head. “You can get mad at ignorance but not the unlearned." He says before taking a handful of rice. “Oh, we eat with our hands tonight." He says before anyone else takes a bite.

The feast is wonderful by any margin. Not long after they start peeling apart the fallen half of the lamb, more servants or slaves bring out wine for them to drink. Everything is up to the standards of the Great Khagan, eventually he leans over to Hans “My friend, tonight we're attacking the last of Blackmane's old horde, after our feast bring your wagon into the village, it won't be safe to be outside." He instructs.

Hans gives a nod. “I remember your customs, I figured it'd be something like that once you said we'd be eating with our hands." He whispers back.

Asen sighs. He raises his glass “Tonight we have been blessed with the return of the Buzkani, my old friend Hans who shielded me from the wrath of Blackmane time after time. A toast, to him." Asen calls out the other three at the table stand and raises their glasses, Freja about a second or two later. “Skol" Cheers Hans before downing his glass in one gulp.

As the four get progressively drunker as the night rages on, once the half-lamb is done Hans and Freja begin the longish walk back to the wagon, Asen calling out to remind him. Hans is barely able to drive the wagon to the village, once inside Freja climbs up into the tent and one of the Herdsmen stables the horses and wedges the wheels. Hans joins a far drunker Freja.

“Hey Hans, you should take off your pants." Freja drunkenly asks, barely awake. Hans pushes her down with one hand and she practically instantly falls asleep. Hans does take off his clothes and hugs Freja at the waist letting his dick rest between her thighs and soon falls asleep thinking about his day.

Morning comes faster than either Freja or Hans expects, the gentle morning light having nudged them awake. The first thing Hans smells is burnt horsehair, then the lingering smell of jasmine and flowery perfumes on Freja, and lastly the feeling of fur on his manhood, he struggles to remember the night before, his head throbbing with a hangover headache. “Right, right." he groans as he rises. Freja shrugs Hans' manhood from between her thighs as she moves to her knees.

“Oh Heavens… my head…" Mumbles Hans putting his hands to his temples.

Freja takes two deep breaths through her nose. “Well, this whole place smells like wine, blood…" Her face curls before saying her last word. “...and dung."

Hans grimaces “That's the Horselords alright…" Hans then finally catches on to what Freja just said. “Wait blood?" He asks snapping a tad bit more awake.

“Yes Human, it reeks of blood, like a battle or massacre, now that I know what those things smell like." Freja states covering her nose with her paw.

“I'll have to ask Asen about this then, it is possible though that today is the day they slaughter some sheep or cows to make dried meat for the summer fighting season." Hans says writing off the last bit of Freja's remark in his head. Womenspeak, more flowery than a springtime valley he mentally reminds himself.

Freja decides to take a peer outside the tent before dressing herself. Everything seemed as normal as she could find things, and it seemed Hans was right on the slaughter of animals, with what looked like some sort of livestock being bled out into troughs and bodies disposed of. However, she still felt something was off. Freja was annoyed with how full the air was with sounds and smells. “The farther I get from the forests the better I wish my eyes were" Freja thinks, remembering how little her vision seemed to matter in the woods. “I think you're right Hans, I can't really tell what they're slaughtering but it looks like animals." Freja affirms.

Hans throws on his shirt hurriedly and goes to look himself, he peers out and looks around to see where Freja was seeing. His eyes go wide as he finally sees what Freja was talking about. “Oh, that's a slaughter all right, but those are not animals." Hans says mutedly. He turned to Freja who looked about as confused as he expected and back to the scene of the massacre. Down in the main area was the ritual execution of the enemies of the Horselords. “Freja, you smelled blood all right, we need to get to the center of the village soon, as the great Blackmane clan dies today." Hans says finally seeing the banner being held over the executed men.

While Hans and Freja dress themselves, Freja asks Hans what she believes is a simple question. “Yesterday Kemaslan told me you had been one of the most important figures of some war, but also another name, and other peoples. I know you're something of noble, but how long were you a soldier?" Freja asks.

Hans turns to Freja with a strange look on his face. Hans is wondering why of all times she's asking him this as he answers, “I was in the service for fourteen years. Last frost was my 29th Winter, but I was born in summer. I'm 29 years old, and this summer, I will be 30. I left when I was fifteen, on the eve of my 16th year if I recall correctly, though many of my memories of those times are distorted, and most are clouded by emotion." Hans then changes out of his tunic and wearing nothing but linen trousers leaves the tent area, climbs down the wagon and into the main storage area, where he grabs his burgundy and white dress wear, a knee length shirt with blue embroidery. Next to the shirt in the box is a necklace with space for two stones, one is filled with the traditional lapis of Woeda, and the other, while now empty, used to hold the ruby of his dearly departed. The ruby was lost during his final battle with the Blackmane, Hans remembers it well, as well as the lie he's crafted around the final battle.

“I'm sorry my love, but I suppose you did make good on that promise you said you'd make, you did wind up saving my life" he says aloud, feeling the dent left in the silver clasp left by the dulled lance of Blackmane the Second. Hans can almost see himself back on the battlefield that day, the lance still in his hands, the anger over the broken ruby, and the emptiness in that hollow victory. Hans puts the necklace on but closes the box before he's tempted to see what else in it.

Hans peers back into the tented top, to find Freja putting on the same dress from last night, teal silk, black and white embroidery in a floral pattern around the neck, cuffs, and bottom of the dress. Freja's belt is tight around her waist, accentuating her form. Freja wonders why clothes among the other people's of the world are so complicated, at least for those with power; back in tribe the men wore deerskin trousers and sometimes a shirt made of some sort of hide, women would wear some sort of tunic, usually made of deerskin or some other sort of animal hide, in the winter they'd wear furs stitched together with sinew. The unamused look on Freja's wolfen face is no longer lost to Hans, who quickly notices.

“What's the matter Freja, don't care for the dress?" Hans asks. “I'm sure Asen wouldn't mind you wearing the formal wear of your kind, after all I'm dressed in the Norse fashion since I can't be bothered to put on my armor like the Horselords." He adds.

“It's not that human, it’s the fact that everyone outside we Vulfan dress so excessively, why can’t all of you wear leather or linen without anything fancy? It just doesn’t make sense, dyes are easy enough to come by, but all this embroidery, the jewelry made of metal and stones, it just doesn’t make any sense to me.” She states, moving her arms out and letting he loose cuffs of the teal dress fan out. “And what’s the deal with all this extra? Am I supposed to hide a dagger? A bow? Why are these so excessive?” She asks again.

Hans answers with a simple but infuriating phrase “I haven’t a clue, but I don’t complain.” Then takes his head back out of the tent and with a creak gets off the wagon.

Freja just glares at the space where Hans’ scarred face was just a moment ago. She takes a deep breath; “There is no rhyme or reason to any of this settled “civilization” the only thing that they seem to do better is make war.” She gripes. She takes another breath and leaves the tent to find Hans standing just off the wagon, staring at a necklace she’s never seen before. Hans was clearly grinding his teeth, and the look on his face was an angry one, one the people of this village remember from when Hans was a young man, and one Freja had never seen before.

“Everything okay Hans?” Freja asks with deep concern in her voice.

“Yes, I’m fine, just, reflecting on the past I suppose.” Hans says, seeming to snap out of his trance. “Lets go to the town now, if we’re lucky I won’t have to partake in-“

Freja cuts Hans off. “I know how the death of a tribe goes, the men are killed, the boys given to sonless families, and the women given off as wives and concubines. It’s the same in every free people.” She states.

Hans nods. “True, but every group of nomads does it differently, if I don’t arrive late, they’ll want me to finish one off.” He states.

Freja nods, walks even with Hans, and the two make their way towards the center, taking their sweet time all the while. In the morning light the moving village looks entirely different. The colorful cloths used on the tents and yurts are so much more vibrant in the light, the stripes, the patterns, and the one that Asen and Kemaslan live in literally shines in the light. To Hans this mobile village is nice, pleasant even, but still small, barely a tenth the size of his Keep, and far smaller than the cities he’s visited in the Avin lands and along the trade coasts. To Freja this village seems almost like something out of legends, the way it sprawls out like some of the Feline cities in the deserts west of the mountains, and is almost the same size, but rather than an unending horizon of hamlets, villages, and farmland, this village is surrounded by ranchers tending to their herds and the ocean of grass. Hans respects Asen’s aptitude for leadership, while he is master of the steppe, Asen only directly commands his own clan, just as his father had before him, unlike Freja who thinks this village is exceptional, there are hundreds, perhaps even a thousand, villages almost the same size as this one scattered around the Steppe. Asen told Hans that there were other steppes, smaller ones, ones with names, but the one south of the Norse keeps, has always been called the Steppe among the Norse, so to Hans, the Steppe it stays.

Hans takes Freja on the scenic route of the village, and towards the smiths Hans’ favorite part of the village when he was here the first time. Freja notes that they passed Kemaslan’s bath tent, the scent of perfume still coming off it. The smiths in the area are all busy at work, making the usual lamellar, scale, and chainmail the Horselords love so much, but something catches Hans’ eye as he passes one of the busy smiths. “Good man, are you making a Brigandine perchance?” Hans asks, looking down at the metal plates arranged within a leather jerkin.

“Good eye Buzkani, we started making them shortly after you left with Ro Jah’Ir towards the lands of the Eagles. Asen took a liking to them, as did many of the lances, not as flexible as chain, not as protective as plate, but enough to stop any arrow, and flexible enough to fight with blade and lance.” The smith remarks.

“I’m surprised you remember who I am, a good man, though I cannot say I know your name.” Hans remarks.

“This is because I was still a boy when you left Buzkani, my brother died under your banner, though I doubt you remember his name either, nor do I feel any malice towards you for any of it.” He says scratching at his nose before returning to hammering the metal into the proper shape.

Hans leaves the man towards his work, slightly ashamed. He and Freja head back towards the center, praying the killings have already been done. All the shops and stands are closed, only the smoke billowing off the meat yurts give any sign of commercial activity outside the smithy. Hans tries to remember just who that smith looked like under his command, but nothing rings any bells. Like most things pertaining to the war, Hans simply puts to the side of his head, and tries his best to forget it ever happened.

“So, you were a sort of commander?” Freja asks.

“Not yet, just a colonel, commanders lead battles, colonel’s lead regiments.” Hans answers.

“But you would one day?” Freja asks.

“I would, but never on the Steppe, only under the banner of the Normae, the Blue and Gold.” He says, fondly remembering the Normae lands, never terribly hot in the summer nor terribly cold in winter, a breeze coming off the sea, enough to keep the skin soft but not enough to be sticky. Out of all the places Hans would ever choose to live in, should his body ever fail him, or he simply grow tired of travel, he thinks an estate on the Normae coast would suit him best. A part of him wishes he could’ve shown his betrothed the fantastic harbors of Atordeaux, or Belaen, but that was never to be.

“I’ll have to ask you about that sometime.” Freja states plainly, moving closer to Hans.

“Once I have taught you to read and write, perhaps I will, when you can read the history tomes on the matter of my actions among the Normae.” Hans says, trying his best to lighten the mood with a snarky remark.

Before Freja could make a comeback the two arrived at the center, Asen standing in the traditional lamellar over chain armor of his people, a Normae’s full helm, horns and all, and Nordic arm greaves and sabatons. Before him was the last man of the Blackmane, a strong horse-folk to be sure, but utterly broken. Hans had thought that Asen wouldn’t notice his arrival, but he was sorely mistaken. Asen pointed at Hans with the bloody saber. “Hans Woeda, the Buzkani, Harrower of the Avin, Slayer of Blackmane the Son, and dear friend of mine, glad to see you here this morning, I was afraid you’d miss out on seeing the end of treacherous Blackmane.” He bellows, the reverberation through the helm making his voice sound deeper and far more ominous. “Please, join me here upon the altar, bring Freja with you, whilst you are not dressed to perform the ritual, I would be honored if you would be present for the spoils.” He continues.

Freja turns to Hans. “Are you sure you want to do this?” She asks.

“I haven’t a choice Freja.” He says, taking her pawed hand and walking up to the alter, feeling the eyes of the village on him and his companion all the while.

Asen turns to his people once more. “As many of you remember, Buzkani here helped us many time throughout the war, for four years he protected and guarded Kemaslan and myself from all sorts of danger. To the young and strong in my clan, many of you see only a weak, older human, but this man is anything but, he is a banner taker, prince slayer, and formerly, my champion.” He bellows. “And for that I wish to allow Hans to take share in the spoils of the Blackmane.” He cheers.

Asen turns to Hans and Freja. “Hans, your blade, I know you no longer wish to kill, but you also know my people’s tradition.” He says in his normal voice.

Hans unsheathes the golden kopis, taking it both hands and kneeling to offer it to Asen, showing the traditional respect of the Norse. Asen takes the blade, feeling its weight and balance in his hand. In a flash, Asen brings the blade down onto the neck of horse-folk, severing the head from the shoulders. Hans doesn’t turn to look, having already seen it before, Freja is appalled. Asen then kicks the headless corpse into the wooden barrel with the rest of the Blackmane. “First, I must divvy the spoils, then we CELEBRATE!” He announces.

“I hope you have no plans to give me a woman.” Hans states.

“Oh please, I won’t give you something you won’t accept, but on the matter of women, Roger and I will need to talk with you when you do take one as your wife.” He remarks.

“You and Roger still talk? I remember some bad blood between the two of you.” Hans remarks

“True, Roger and I were not on the best of terms, ten years ago, but things have changed. Every year since the Blackmane were scattered we’ve met in Rougme, talking matters of trade and of ruling and having ourselves a good break from dealing with nobles, merchants, and more. I'd like to think we've become friends.” Asen says. “Regardless, that conversation will come with time.” He finishes. “Though, Roger will be joining us tonight, when he heard you arrived yesterday, he had one of his wizards open a gate here. Speaking of, Roger, I’d like you to meet Freja.” Asen says, making a wide motion with his arms that have a hand pointed at the young wolf, and the other by a man about Hans’ age.