As Beorn entered the house the memories of past visits with Galanör rushed at him. With the adrenaline from the fight and his urgency in showing the corpse to Nathaniel, Beorn hadn't realised how coming back would affect him. It hadn't gotten any easier even after he’d been avoiding the place and its memories for two years now.

Nathaniel turned toward him, "Well what are you waiting for? Come in," looking at the mud tracked in by Beorn he frowned, "take your bloody boots off at the door and put that damn thing on the table."

Not waiting for a reply he busied himself lighting the lamps and stoking up the low fire.

Taking a deep breath, Beorn shook himself and took off his boots. Leaving the elk-laden sled by the door he grabbed the corpse and hauled it onto the big oak dinner table. Looking at Nathaniel bringing in a mug of ale, Beorn complained, “How about some brandy old man? I remember you having some Bertoux stock last time."

"That was two years ago you brat."

"So, you do have some stingy old bastard. Gimme a warm cup, least you could do for the saviour of the Village."

Nathaniel scoffed, "Saviour. The nerve, waking me up in the middle of the night, bringing in mud, a stinking corpse, and then asking for brandy..."Still muttering he made his way down to the cellar.

While waiting for Nathaniel to come back with the brandy, Beorn took a seat and sipped at the ale looking around the room. A wave of sadness swept over Beorn as he recalled memories of his mentor. Nothing had changed since he'd last been here with him.

There was still the ancient sword sheathed in an ancient scabbard above the mantelpiece. And a mannequin beside the fireplace with rusty armor that had long become obsolete. Mementos of his time serving in the Imperial Army, but Nathaniel’s glory days were most definitely in the past. Now he spent most of his days training children and organizing the able-bodied men into a militia when he wasn't busy chatting up local widows at the tavern.

Walking up the stairs Nathaniel returned with a sizable cask under one hand and a hanging pot on the other. Hanging the pot over the fire, he poured some of the brandy into it. The spicy-sweet aroma soon filled the room. Nathaniel groaned as he took a seat next to Beorn.

"My bones aren't what they used to be, now what do we have here?," he said while ladling the warmed brandy into both their mugs. Nathaniel examined the corpse, poking and prodding it. Seeing him move to the jaws Beorn spoke up, "Be careful touching the teeth, the thing bit through my vambrace"

Taking off his left vambrace he passed it over. Nathaniel took it in his hand and inspected the damage before asking, “Isn't this one of Galanör's, how did it break through the enchantment?”

“I thought you'd have an idea. I have some of the saliva with me.”

Retrieving the vial, Beorn placed it near the fire for a while to melt the contents and passed it to Nathaniel. Sitting back, he took a sip of the brandy. The drink trickled down his throat warming him right down to the bones. Beorn felt some of the fatigue flow away.

Meanwhile, Nathaniel was smelling the vial, making a face he poured some of it onto his finger before hopping up from his seat and swearing up a storm, frantically rubbing the finger on the nearest cloth. The finger was blackened when he finally managed to wipe it off. Finally settling back into his chair, Nathaniel glared at Beorn, “Bloody hell kid why didn't you warn me.”

Surprised Beorn replied, “I had no idea, I mean the blood burned through my shirt and stung a bit.” Beorn fell into thought, he always knew his resistance to the cold was higher than anyone else.

Guess those smelly baths Galanör forced me to take while training gave me protection from more than just the elements.

Shuddering at the memory of the smell he was reminded of the blood,“ Speaking of did you notice how there’s no blood?”

“Yes, I was a bit curious. Thought you’d drained it”

“Well I did kind of drain it...” pausing, Beorn took out his dagger from the sheath he passed it to Nathaniel, who examined the blade with interest.

Beorn explained, “When I plunged my dagger into the body it somehow absorbed all the blood, now it’s a bit heavier.”

Running his thumb along the edge, Nathaniel gripped Beorn’s hand, “Stay still”, he commanded as he drew a shallow cut on Beorn’s right palm. Surprisingly, Beorn felt no pain only a slight warmth before Nathaniel’s hand and the dagger glowed.

“What was that?”, Beorn exclaimed, “I’ve had it for half my life and its never done that”

“Lucky aren’t you, Galanör must’ve really liked you”, Nathaniel spoke releasing the blade and Beorn’s hands, who examined the dagger once more. It looked the same, but it felt more comfortable somehow, the awkwardness he felt from the increased weight was gone. Replacing it into its sheath, he glanced up at Nathaniel in askance.

Taking a sip of the brandy, Nathaniel explained, “The blade is Mithril and enchanted to be wielded by a single person. You’ve been carrying it a long time, so it only needed to finish the bond. Though you won’t be able to use all of it until you go through the Initiation and learn to use your essence. Still… haven’t seen one of these outside Illyria.”

Beorn’s eyes grew wide, he’d never had guessed the old man was a Climber. Clutching his mug, he sat up in his chair, “You can use Essence? You were a Climber? What Blessing did you get? How did you end up here?”

Nathaniel scrunched up his face and showed his arms, "You see any markings kid? I haven’t been Blessed; I just know how to use Essence. And before you ask me to teach you, I don’t know how”

Seeing the scarred but muscular limbs, Beorn failed to notice the armband, that indicated a Blessing. Disappointed, he slumped back into his seat and finished the rest of his delectable brandy before asking, “Well if it isn’t found outside the Elven capital how did you recognize it?”

“You live long enough you see stuff,” Beorn raised an eyebrow at Nathaniel, he recognized an evasion when he heard one.

“Like how you can use Essence without a Blessing?” questioned Beorn.

“What you want to hear my life story now? Not enough to discuss here?” Nathaniel poked at the corpse irritatedly.

Shaking his head Beorn replied, “Well you never really shied away from telling a tale before, just surprised me is all. So, what do you think? It didn’t make a single noise when it crept up on me, I nearly got my head taken off.”

Examining the paws Nathaniel quipped, “You sure you weren’t dozing off?”

Rolling his eyes, Beorn replied, “You know who trained me, you think I wouldn’t be alert a couple of hours into the Wolvenrych? And anyways I can hear a dragonfly from a couple of miles away, no chance I miss something that close.”

“Well, nothing special on the paws, at least nothing I can make out.” Pointing at the rotting scars on the corpse, “These were made with claws and fangs of another wolf.” Falling into thought, Nathaniel spoke after a pause, “I’ll need to show this to one of those nerds from the Sorcerer's Guild. Need to go to Ingoldtshold… great timing actually, I heard Warren’s heading there tomorrow with his caravan.”

Looking at Beorn he asked suddenly,” How old are you?”

Puzzled Beorn answered,” Sixteen, why?”

“Perfect time to undertake the Initiation. I mean you’ve been trained by an Elven Strider for what ten years? Although you aren’t too bright you should be able to survive the Wolven Spire.”

Not bothering to reply to the taunt, Beorn replied,” Not yet, I haven’t heard from Arwen yet. I’m gonna wait a few more months before heading to Atilan.”

Shaking his head, Nathaniel replied,” Still waiting on that brother of yours? How long has it been since his last letter?”

“Nearly a half a year now, said he’d back around now.”

Getting up from his seat, Nathaniel collected the mugs and walked into the kitchen. Calling out to Beorn,” Well, I’ll be heading there with the caravan. If you change your mind you can come along, I’m sure a Ranger would be more than welcome considering the roads this time of year.”

Coming back into the dining room, Nathaniel turned towards the chest of drawers before speaking,” You’ll have to serve in the army for a while after getting your Blessing. I still have some connections there; I’ll write you an introduction so at least you won’t be cannon fodder.”

Beorn watched as he took a sheaf of paper, ink, quill, and a candle. Setting them down on the table he started writing. The tiredness caused Beorn to doze off for a while, when he was kicked in the shin by Nathaniel, seemed like he was done with the letter. While lighting the candle he called to Beorn,” Wake up you big lump, go get me the sword.”

Rubbing the sleepiness out of his eyes, Beorn yawned and stretched, wincing from the still-healing wounds. He headed towards the Mantelpiece. Unhooking the sword from its mount he handed it to Nathaniel. Heavy, he thought, noting the weight of the weapon. He watched, as Nathaniel pressed the hilt into the molten wax and seal the letter. Handing it to Beorn, he spoke, “Now get out, I’ve got to pack.”

Unsure what a washed-up old Captain's letter would help, he took it nonetheless and thanked him, “Thanks a lot Nathaniel”

Examining the letter, Beorn touched the Raven seal on it before putting it into his fur-lined coat.

“Bah, I owe Galanör. Damn shame if you died in your first skirmish after training for so long.” Pushing off from the table, he turned to go upstairs without another look at Beorn.

Beorn smiled and shook his head as he got up. Taking one last look around the room, Beorn exhaled before heading to the door.