[Belin]

Hillmen

Wolf had made his way back into town quietly, not wishing to face anyone who might have heard of his unusual flare of temper, and particularly not those who had experienced it first hand. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He had hoped to prevent panic and infighting, and here he was supporting, even participating in it. What kind of a chief was he, after all? Old Shadow had never done any such thing, and for a moment he wondered whether the former leader’s confidence in him had been misplaced.

None of that, he admonished himself silently. You’re making it worse. Shadow never faced a crisis like this and you know it.

But neither had Wolf. Everything had changed, and he felt as if he were not the experienced leader, but once again the youth who had carefully hidden his apprehension at his newfound power, who had had to learn to deal with men without competing and women without flirting. He had done well then, but now… With a sigh, he slowly made his way to Cleft’s hut, half-expecting to be told that this was a test which he had now failed, that he was unworthy to be a leader, after all these years of work. It was a bitter thought, and at root he was not convinced of it. He would happily have given up his leadership if he’d thought that there was any man in the village who could save them.

Quietly, he entered the hut, hoping to catch a glimpse of Cleft before the priest saw him. No such luck. The man should have been called Fox for his quickness. He was greeting Wolf almost before he’d managed to round the corner, with the impassive, unreadable expression that most of the Hillmen thought the only one of which he was capable. Isn’t he tired?

"You were gone longer than I expected," he said.

"Yes, I was," answered Wolf shortly. He would not apologize. He was not a truant child. "What have you learned?"

"I can well believe the Rangers are in league with these foreigners. They are... they are very powerful, Wolf." Wolf waited out the silence. Priests liked a chance to tell their stories well, and interruping them only made them irritable and cagey. "I have consulted the gods, but they are ...very subdued. They are not pleased, but they are quiet."

Wolf looked at the priest carefully. Cleft was a very old man, and he had heard of priests to the south (where, admittedly, everyone was softer and weaker) who found assistants when they began to grow old, assistants to whom, some said, they eventually became secondary, in just the way that leadership was passed on among the chiefs when age began to make them weak. "Why do you think that is?" he asked, as politely as he could. "Do you think that under other circumstances their voice might be stronger?"

Cleft had seen the look, and he shook his head. "I do not think it is my own weakness that stops me from hearing them clearly—-not only my own weakness, old and feeble as I may be," he said, quickly returning a few herbs to a high shelf in a rather transparent display of agility. "But we are weak, a handful of scavengers living on what we can get, from wherever we can get it. This is why Calem died. We are not strong enough to hold our gods. Whether they are actually weakening themselves or simply losing interest, I cannot say. They may help us a little. But only strong people have strong gods."

"Unfair, that; I'm sure the weak would have far more use for them," said Wolf, with a grim smile. "Is that what I should have my brother tell his warriors? That they must be stronger? I’m sure it’ll be tremendously helpful."

"Well, have them focus at any rate." Cleft rolled his eyes, with the disdain of the old for the young. "I hope the messenger brings good news. Oh, and if you can spare the time, have them plant something. That helps."

Wolf nodded, and with the usual ceremonial thanks to his priest, left the hut. Perhaps he did not need to make the death public, or to keep it a close secret either. Let those know who could find out. Don’t start a panic.

He repeated his resolves as he walked purposefully toward his own hut to talk to his brothers. Don’t start a panic. We need to be strong.