-10th day of the 8th month of 1527

The combined use of levitation magic and camouflage allowed Wren to easily cross the remaining Tessa Mountain Range and beyond the Valpe plains. The wind blows coolly as dawn has yet to arrive, but the sky has begun to turn a lighter shade of violet and blue.

Wren closes her eyes and allows the silence to sweep over her as she tries to remember her father’s words from long ago. “Over the Tessa Mountain Range and past the Valpe plains follow the winding river until it runs straight and then turn west. Keep to that path until you reach the deep chasm and follow it until disappears into the ground. And only then turn towards the sun to find the stone circle and the large hill overlooking the forest. For their down below you will find our village, our home,” Zarris softly whispered.

Wren opens her eyes feeling refreshed even though she has not slept the entire night in excitement. She smoothly scampers across the ring of stone and through the forest until she reaches the hill her father spoke of. With her heart trembling with unknown emotions, Wren climbs the large grassy hill to stand at the peak. In the forest valley below lays a semi-overgrown clearing of trees amidst the ruins of an ancient village. Wren’s heart plummets sadly, she had hoped that perhaps by some chance of fate there were other survivor’s other than her father. But even still, Wren had kept her promise to father and made it the Frost’s Clan’s home.

The breeze dances with the leaves in the morning light filling the morning silence. Wren’s boots crunch across the dew-covered grass filled with debris as she comes to a pensive halt before the ruins of her ancestral home. Even now, the ruins show the marks of the past violence that had transpired. The burnt streaks across fallen stone frames, the chips of blades in the rotting wood frames that still stand.

For a movement, Wren can even almost hear the screams and the sound of battle. Her eyes fill with bitterness as the last hope inside of her fades away. Wren unconsciously reaches towards her neck and touches the familiar necklace on her neck for comfort. Feeling a tad better, Wren turns away and walks further into the ruins searching for the clan altar to pray and honor the dead.

Having traveled the full length of the village Wren is still unable to find the fallen clan altar. With a frown, Wren encircles the surrounding area again to avail and from this tiny irregularity the seed of hope is reborn.

Taking a gamble, Wren activates levitation and camouflage as she leaps through the treetops. Wren circles the area in large circles searching for a trace of anything in any direction. Suddenly, from the depth of the forest a deer herd moves rapidly as if fleeing. Wren instantly darts for the area and comes to halt on a rock sarsen overlooking the whole area. Wren waits in anticipation for the figure of the hunter to appear.

A large figure despite their massive girth nimbly darts through the trees. The hunter runs at full speed towards Wren without noticing her concealed figure. The hunter rushes eagerly towards the deer to suddenly find themselves airborne and with a painful thud the hunter lands on his back.

Swiftly realizing he is under attack, the hunter rolls to his feet and hastily reaches for his small ax at his waist. But before the hunter can reach his weapon, the hunter finds his arms painfully twisted behind his back as an extremely tall, female elf pins him to the ground. Seeing the appearance of his captor a trace of hope appears in the hunter’s eyes as tries to throw off the elf with his strength, but to his dismay he finds the abnormal elf is stronger than him!

Trying to keep the fear out of his voice, the teenage hunter tries to confidently say, “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” was the curt reply.

The young hunter blue skinned face pales as his blue eyes fill with fear. “Oh,” he rather defeatedly said. The teenage hunter bites his lips revealing pointed teeth and fangs that slightly curve like tusks.

Wren’s eyes widen with hope as she carefully studies the young hunter’s features. Ogre features, but much more human than normal. A girth size much larger than a regular ogre, all the traits of the Frost Giants. And more importantly physical features that largely resemble her own hair, skin and eye color.

Wren’s heart fills with hope as she forces her voice level to hide her excitement. “Are you a remnant of the Frost Clan?” Wren firmly asked.

The young teenager’s eyes widen with shock as he warily says, “Yes, how do you know that?”

Wren apologetically climbs off the young and quickly aids him to his feet. The young hunter warily takes the elf’s hand as the monstrous women easily pulls him to his feet. The teenage ogre unhappily grunts, “What do you want?”

“You’ll know soon enough, show me to the village,” Wren swiftly ordered.

The young ogre trembling shakes his head and replies, “No! I won’t betray the village, I would rather die!” Flinching, the teen hunter closes his eyes and waits to be killed.

A soft snort causes him to peek through one eye. The monstrous elf women merely shake her head and says, “I promise by my very own life that I mean no harm to the Frost Clan.”

The teenage ogre reluctantly accepts the oath and nervously leads the way. Every few feet, the youth glances back to ensure the elf is still with him. Sure, enough the elf woman still is and despite her unusual height which matched the grown village ogres, there is something almost familiar about her, but he just can’t place it.

At the edge of a clearing, the sound of village voices can hear causing Wren’s heart to pound as she hears the villagers. Gulping down her excitement, Wren finds her stomach clenching nervously. Trying to shake loose the feeling, Wren takes a deep breath and calms her exited heart and mind.

The young hunter pauses at the edge the clearing. “Follow me closely and don’t speak until spoken too,” the teenage hunter said. Despite his wariness of the elf, he did not wish for ill to befall her. After all, she had not killed him nor threatened him and that was an option rarely offered to his clan.

The young hunter nervously takes a loud gulp. He hesitantly steps out of the clearing and says, “Well, look what I found? We’ve got a guest!”

The villagers don’t pay attention to the proclamation until a tall elven figure emerges from behind the young hunter. The children instinctively are hidden by the villagers as the men take a step forward. A particularly scarred ogre angrily roars, “Idiot! What were you thinking?”

The teenage hunter flinches and wilts under the roar. Strangely enough, the elven woman pats him on the back in comfort. Feeling a bit better, the teenage hunter peeks from under his eyelashes at the elf woman as she walks past him.

Wren heart pounds as she eyes the simple wooden, stone village. The houses are larger than normal to fit the ogre’s large girth. They looked so much like her and father that her heart was pounding with joy. It was her clan. It was home.

Wren keeps her hands in the air to show that they were weaponless. “I apologize for my intrusion, but I have journeyed long and far to be here. If I may, may I ask to see the resting place for Calder, his wife, Uma and his daughter, Ara?”

The ogres stare at each with suspicion at the request. The air is still as the ogre men protectively reach for their weapons. Wren’s face stiffens with dismay, but suddenly an old man’s voice emerges from the back of the crowd. “I sure as hell ain’t dead to be in a grave yet. Who are you stranger and what do you want with the departed?” The old silver-haired ogre croaked.

The crowd parts and a large scarred ogre walks out with a limping gait. Despite his age, Calder is still tall, large and imposingly muscular with long white hair neatly braided down his back. Calder’s face suddenly stills upon seeing the face that was so heartbreaking familiar. Abruptly coming to a halt, Calder tremblingly growls, “Girl, who is your father?”

“My father’s name is Zarris, Sir,” Wren swiftly replied.

The older ogre’s in the village instantly recognize the name as their faces fill with shock as Calder harshly says, “Prove it.”

Wren nods and reaches for the necklace inside her shirt. Wren takes out and shows it for all to see. “This belonged to my father and it was given to him by his mother, my grandmother Ara on his 8th birthday,” Wren quietly said.

Caldor’s shoulder shake as he maintains his calm and quietly asks, “And what of Zarris?”

Wren is silent for a moment, before answering, “My father-, he died to save me.” Wren pauses to steadfastly meet Caldor’s gaze. “I know that my answer may not be what you wished to hear, but it is true. And even so, I can’t blame you if you blame me for his death. But I have come a very long way to fulfill my father’s wishes and only ask to be allowed to visit the graves of the dead,” Wren sincerely added.

Before Wren can react, the old ogre stomps towards her as she realizes with surprise that despite his age and behind somewhat hunched over with age, Caldor is still taller than her. With shock, Wren finds herself being engulfed into his Caldor’s chest. A feeling of warmth and comfort invades Wren as Caldor whispers into her ear, “You have come home, little ogre.”

Raising his head, Caldor lets out a joyful shout, “My great-granddaughter has returned to us! Tonight, we celebrate!”

The villagers roar with joy as well and happily begin the preparations. The young teenage hunter is left gaping along with the younger members of the village at the unbelievable events that had transpire. Before the youths of the village can react, they are dragged off by the adult villagers to prepare the feast.

Caldor wraps a gentle arm around his great-granddaughter’s shoulder and softly says, “Come, I will show you the place of our dead.”

The two are quiet for a bit as they walk towards the forest with Caldor leading the way. Once out of the village, Wren tentatively says, “We thought-, I thought you were dead Cald-, grandfather. Father always said, that he saw you fall before he was taken by the slavers.”

Caldor sadly nods his white head. “Yes, I did fall. But it takes more than a blow to a head to kill this old ogre,” Caldor proudly said.

Wren’s lips twitch with mirth at the statement, before hesitatingly saying, “Grandfather, I have something to confess.”

“Oh, what is that?” Caldor wryly asked.

“I returned in hopes of becoming the Frost clan head and leading our people away,” Wren honestly said.

“Is that so? Well, you can’t become a clan head just by wanting it. One either must be chosen by the village or possess the power of a clan head. But there have not been any descendants in the village for the last several generations that carry the ancient Ogre clan head lineage.”

“Oh, is that all? I thought it would be a lot more complicated like some ancient tradition of proving my strength by performing some impossible feat,” Wren muttered.

Caldor snorts and says, “As if it is so easy to gain the unanimous vote of all the villagers.”

Wren shrugs and says, “I don’t think that will be much of a problem.” Wren flashes her grandfather her second set of razor sharp teeth.

Caldor suddenly begins to choke and pounds on his chest to breath. Wren warily eyes her grandfather lest he begins to choke again. Breathlessly, Caldor says, “Show me that again.”

Wren’s second teeth appear as Caldor’s eyes fill with tears causing Wren to awkwardly pat him on the back. After regaining control of his emotions, Caldor breathlessly says, “Do you know what this means?”

Wren drily says, “I know that I’m the next clan head.”

“Yes, but you are the future of your people for the ancient lineage only appears when a great Ogre Clan Head is born,” Caldor said with eyes full of excitement and hope. Caldor’s excitement dims as they arrive at a clearing with a giant mural filled with carved names. Caldor remains at the edge of the clearing giving his granddaughter privacy with the dead.

Wren reverently crosses the clearing and stops at the mural altar. Wren quietly reads the name of her ancestors and clansmen one by one until she reaches down to her line. Wren tremblingly reaches out and touches the name of the grandmother she never knew, Ara. The grandmother who taught her child to love and to be far braver than possibly thought.

Wren’s fingers stiffen with longing as she touches the next carved name, her father’s, Zarris. Wren’s nails dig into the stone as if she could touch him across the distance. Wren gently withdraws her fingers and brings them to her lips, before pressing them back to his. “Papa, I made it back,” Wren whispered. And in response a wind gently brushes her ears and leaves a tiny flower on her shoulder, a Bluestar, her father’s favorite.

Wren’s lips twitch back into a gentle smile and tucks the tiny flower into her shirt pocket. Turning on her heels, Wren returns to the figure of Caldor with a smile. Caldor grins back revealing sharp fanged teeth. “Come, tonight we celebrate and come tomorrow, we shock the whole village!” Caldor wolfishly said.

Wren drily says, “I can see why father was always described you as a loose cannon.”

Caldor throws back his head and laughs. “That’s my boy. He was always a wily one that one,” Caldor chuckled to himself. Wren doesn’t interrupt the sweet memory and waits for Caldor to come to. Intertwining her arm with his, the two return to the celebrating village. The village drums pound with fury and excitement, the sound of war.