The Blood Flows True

Chapter 1 – Sanctuary

Ash was strolling along the perimeter of the Snowy Barren village, keeping a close eye
for any sign of pus-white fur, or the gleam of metallic claws in the sun, and an ear out for the
stomach wrenching whining growl that he had heard once before, and that he would never forget.
He glanced over occasionally at the tent that they now knew as Sanctuary, the place that they
would have to run to if the wendigo happened to make another appearance. It would be up to
him, during his tour on watch, to give the alarm should he notice it approaching. They had only
lost one person to the monster in five cycles. He wouldn’t want to be the one to take the blame
for the monster claiming a second.
 Ash didn’t know it, but if Fawn had been with him, she could have given him an idea of
what general location the spirit-devourer would be in at this particular point in the season. The
wendigo had a set circuit that it roamed every cycle of the seasons, with only a minimal variance.
It was late summer, which meant the beast was actually farther to the east amidst the plains,
seeking to feed off the Reindeer People, who were unwary that it had manifested. Without this
knowledge, the Owls were forced to be vigilant. They did not want to be caught off guard ever
again. That had happened once, and as a result, they had not all managed to make it back to
Sanctuary in time. They had lost poor Verity on that day, leaving a tribe where the women were
already much in the minority bereft of another female.
As he rounded his customary path around the village, he saw his younger brother Larch
emerging from a tent. Larch was starting to look like a man now, and Ash thought it wasn’t very
fair that he had not been allowed to travel to the Sacred Grove this spring to make an attempt at
achieving adulthood. Of course, that was only a minor injustice. Larch was only fourteen
cycles, and that was on the younger end of the norm for making the trek. Ash had endured a
much harsher denial of privilege, and one that certainly wasn’t deserved. He was now twenty
cycles, well beyond the seventeen traditionally considered the longest one would go without
attempting the Rites.
He had heard all of the arguments as to why he hadn’t been permitted to go. It was too
far from Sanctuary, his parents had argued, and the wendigo had made an appearance at the
Sacred Grove during the Rites of Passage in the past. In fact, the south witch had actually told
Silverwing that the wendigo ventured there every cycle during the Rites, which was why Ash`s
mother didn`t want either of her sons to go. It wasn’t just a minor peril that he and any
attendants would be facing, and for what purpose? The Owls allowed him a voice, since there
was no Council of Elders to stand before anymore. Anyone capable of hunting was allowed to
make a kill, if they could manage it, or the tribe would be risking starvation. And the only
females in his tribe included Sunbeam, already mated to Sure-Point, Ash’s mother, his sister, and
his niece, only four cycles old. There was no potential mate for him, so why should he concern
himself with proving himself an adult?
Of course, their arguments, as sound as they might be, didn’t offer the young man any
solace. He was still a boy in the eyes of his tribe, and unhappy with this status. Sly-Trick, a
little disgruntled at losing out in the battle over Sunbeam, and no longer able to turn to Verity as
some sort of consolation, would goad Ash over this fact on a regular basis. He would often refer
to Ash mockingly as “man-boy” and suggest he should stick to fishing and foraging instead of
going out to hunt with the real men. It didn’t seem to matter to him that Ash was the best hunter
in the tribe.
Not that he had earned that title entirely on his own merit. Crag-Climber had been the
best once, until he had lost the use of his left arm, or rather, Ash thought, the wendigo had taken
it from him. The veteran hunter still managed okay, as agile as ever with his right, but he could
no longer use a bow, and that did limit him somewhat. That was the only reason, however, that
he was no longer considered their best, and it didn’t slow Crag-Climber down any. He still
burned with a drive that none of the others possessed. He had rebuilt half the tents in the village
on his own. He was getting them ready, he would claim, for the day that he would be bringing
the Wolves home.
Ash tried to concentrate on his task at hand, knowing how important it was to remain
attentive while watching for the wendigo, but the idea of Crag-Climber and his damaged arm
drew his thoughts back to the day that Crag-Climber had appeared alone in the Owls old
settlement, on that fateful day when he had taken Wave-Wader and Thrum out for training at the
hunt. The veteran hunter had informed the tribe of the Black Talon raid on the Ice River Tribe,
and of the signs that the more passive tribe had been fighting back against their aggressors, with
at least some success. Crag-Climber had glanced back as he had spoken, expecting Thrum and
Wave-Wader to follow him into the settlement. They had, after all, been right behind him when
he had abandoned his hiding place and had set out to bring his news to the other Owls. The
concern in his face had seemed to grow as he had continued his tale, and the young couple still
had not made an appearance in the encampment. When the veteran hunter had gotten to the part
about the large group of Black Talon hunters and warriors, in all their tattooed glory, fleeing in
fear from the direction of Ice River Tribe, Silverwing had tensed and grown pale, as the other
Owls had stared at Crag-Climber in confusion. What he had been saying had not made sense.
This was not the type of behaviour that anyone would ever expect from the Black Talon.
Ash remembered the expression on his mother’s face when she had demanded Crag-
Climber where Wave-Wader and Thrum were. He had insisted that they had been right behind
him, and he had assumed that they had just fallen behind. It had been clear, at that point, that
this had not been the case. That was when a panicky Silverwing had begun arguing with the ex-
Wolf, accusing him of being irresponsible, and suggesting that if anything happened to the
younger couple, she would hold him accountable. Spear-Thrower had not understood the nature
of his mate’s irrational reaction, and pointed out that their daughter and her mate were adults,
and perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, while Crag-Climber had become defensive
and countered that it was not his fault that they had been raised to be so unruly and to not respect
the instructions of those with more experience. The argument had continued until Wave-Wader
had stumbled into the settlement alone and breathless, barely able to stand.
Ash paused in his reveries as he saw his sister exit her tent, and he felt inclined to admire
her. The edge that she had always seemed to wear on her face, that tension that knotted her
shoulders and hardened her features, had gradually fallen away since they had come to live at the
village. She glowed, as she moved amongst the tents, motherhood definitely agreeing with her.
A small form, a mass of dark curls and giggles, followed Wave-Wader out of the tent, skipping
after her. Ash smiled. Foxglove had brought new life to the tribe, and new hope – a precious
gift that they could all appreciate. She was pampered by all within the tribe, and was a
precocious child, spoiled beyond belief. No one had ever been quite so welcome. But of course,
she wouldn`t have been there if things had ended differently that day.
“Thrum!” Wave-Wader had managed to gasp, on that day almost five cycles past.
“Wendigo...river...help!” Then, without giving herself so much as a few seconds to recover her
strength, she had headed back down towards the river, not waiting to see if the other Owls were
following. Ash had been one of the first to race after her, Crag-Climber and his father not far
behind. What had happened next still brought Ash great shame. He had been the first to catch
sight of the monster in pursuit of his sister’s mate, as he had charged past the fatigued Wave-
Wader, and Ash, still only a youth, had frozen dead in his tracks, paralyzed by fear. The soul-
devourer had gained on Thrum in the stretch between the Ice River Tribe and the place where the
Owls had caught up to him, but not to the point where the beast could manage to tear into him
with his blade-like claws
Thrum had been fortunate that the wendigo’s size had hampered the monster, having to
more slowly force its way past obstacles that the slender young man could easily slip past.
However, they had eventually reached a clear stretch along the bank, and the exhausted Owl had
been barely staying ahead of the beast. Ash had wanted to be there. He had wanted to play the
hero, especially as he saw Thrum stumble and fall to his knees, but his fear-locked limbs just
wouldn’t obey him.
A pair of dark blurs had flown past the unmoving youth, as Crag-Climber and Spear-
Thrower had hurtled down the hill to Thrum’s aid, weapons in hand. The two older men had
blocked off the wendigo’s path and had thrust at the monster with their spears, both landing a
successful blow on the unsuspecting beast. It had retreated momentarily, unaccustomed to the
physical pain, but once the initial hurt had subsided, it had surged forward, enraged. As the bold
pair took a second jab, this time the soul-devourer had countered the attacks, barely missing
Crag-Climber but carving into Spear-Thrower’s thigh, slicing through his flesh like a stick
parting the water. The force of the blow had knocked the veteran warrior off his feet, launching
him backwards into the bushes, and the wendigo had inched forward, turning his full focus on
Crag-Climber, as Thrum had finally started to regain his footing.
Ash shook himself free from his memories again, first eying Sanctuary and then scoping
the full surroundings of the village. No sign of the wendigo. He breathed deeply, catching sight
of his father, hobbling towards his sister at the centre of the village. Five cycles later, and the old
man was still plagued by that wound, despite Silverwing’s repeated efforts at healing it. His
father had never been quite the same after that incident either. Spear-Thrower had become more
placid, and less stern, as if the beast had sucked some of the fight from his soul. Of course, that
could have just as well been a symptom of his age, and the acceptance that he was a grandfather
now, and a proper elder. Crag-Climber had suffered at the claws of the monster as well, but if
anything he had become more determined after the fact, not less so. There was a fire that raged
in that man, and nothing as simple as a tribe-slaughtering monster was about to stand in his way.
Ash still remembered that moment, where he had been unable to act, and barely able to
breathe. Crag-Climber had faced down the wendigo fearlessly, the only thing standing between
Thrum and a likely demise. The soul-devourer had not waited for the veteran hunter to strike a
third time. As Silverwing had rushed to her injured mate’s side, the bleeding beast had slashed
at his only standing opponent. Crag-Climber had managed to parry the attack with his spear, but
the monster’s claws had not stayed in place. Their blade-like edges had slid along the haft of the
weapon, causing the wood to shave away in curls, until the points of those metallic talons had
buried themselves in the veteran hunter’s left shoulder. Those claws had driven in deep,
severing muscles, tendons, cartilage and even bone, and Crag-Climber had screamed from the
agonizing pain. It was that sound that had actually jolted Ash from his paralysis. He had lurched
forward, grappling the newest addition to his tribe, and had pulled the damaged man free from
the shiny barb penetrating his shoulder. As the youth had dragged Crag-Climber away, he had
felt the monster’s claws catch and scrape inside the man’s body, and the ex-Wolf had gone limp
in Ash’s arms.
Ash paused in his reminiscing. He didn’t like thinking these thoughts without Crag-
Climber being present, but he was out on a hunt, still the least fearful of the wendigo, despite the
damage that it had done to him. Seeing the man always reaffirmed Ash’s memories as being
real, and not hopeful fantasy in the face of a worse reality. Ash hadn’t been completely useless,
in spite of his cowardice, and his actions that day might have preserved Crag-Climber from a
harrowing fate beyond death. The man had survived, and while just like Spear-Thrower, his
injuries had never completely healed, even after many sessions of Silverwing’s healing magic, he
had never been disheartened by this either. Ash had learned a solid lesson from Crag-Climber’s
courage and endurance. He hoped that it would make him a better person, in the long run.
 There had been several possible outcomes at that moment in time. The wendigo had five
potential targets within immediate reach. There had been the prone Spear-Thrower who had
been groaning loudly as Silverwing prepared his leg for healing. There had been the matron of
the Owls, too preoccupied to act if the soul-devourer would have chosen her as its next victim.
There was Ash, who had been burdened by the unconscious form of Crag-Climber, who was an
incredibly easy mark as well. And last but not least, there had been Thrum, who had only then
finally lifted himself fully erect. Unfortunately for the young man, the wendigo preferred to
finish a hunt, once it had selected its prey. It had turned on the barely recovered man, preparing
to gut him with his fearsomely sharp claws. Before it could complete this objective, however,
there had been a red-topped flash of movement, and suddenly Thrum had been no longer there.
Instead there had been a large “splash” and two human-shaped forms had disappeared into the
rushing waters of the Ice River. They had been carried away by the raging currents, and were
soon completely out of sight.
Before the wendigo had been able to select a new target, as it had stood there with its
claws dripping in blood and its own stab wounds closing over at a supernaturally rapid pace,
Silverwing had finally started the spell that she had hoped would seal her mate’s wound and at a
minimum, stop his bleeding. As her magic had begun, the wendigo had recoiled, its whining
growl growing shriller and less menacing. In a gesture that had suggested fear more than
anything else, it had veered about on the river bank, and had crashed back in the direction of the
Ice River tribal village. Disappearing from view, there had been a resounding sigh of relief from
all of the members of the tribe of the Owls who had been still capable of speaking.
As Silverwing had completed her spell, and moved forward to treat the unresponsive
Crag-Climber’s wound, she had glanced over in bewilderment at the place where the wendigo
had last been standing.
“It was afraid of my healing,” she had murmured, gently assisting Ash to lower the fallen
hunter to the ground. “We have a way to deter it, at least. It will be back, if it gets hungry
enough. We won’t be safe when that happens.”
“It went back in search of more friendly food, no doubt,” Sure-Point had stated, standing
over them as the older woman had prepared Crag-Climber’s shoulder for his share of her magic.
“Whoever’s left back at the Ice River Tribe, after battling it out with the Black Talon, likely
doesn’t have much fight left in them to offer it any real resistance. Any dream that Thrum and
Wave-Wader had of joining up with them is as dead as the tribe is.”
Silverwing had cringed at the mention of her daughter’s name, not wanting to face the
possibility that she might not see the young woman again. Her mate did not react as quietly.
“Wave-Wader,” he had moaned loudly, while first trying to sit up, and then struggling to
his feet. The shamaness had succeeded in closing his leg wound over, but it had been far from
healed. The veteran warrior had been wracked by agony, and there had been profuse bruising
around the area where the monster’s claws had penetrated, the injury continuing to bleed to some
extent internally. Larch had moved over to support his father and had been quickly joined by
Sure-Point, assisting his elder from the opposite side. “Where did she go,” the suffering man had
grunted. “Where is Thrum?”
“They went into the river,” Larch had replied quietly, trying not to waver under his
father’s weight. “I saw her fling herself at Thrum, to keep him from being slain by that creature,
and knock him into the water. Her momentum carried her with him. She was trying to keep him
safe.”
 “Keep him safe?” Spear-Thrower had snarled mournfully. “Keep him safe from the
monster, maybe, but those waters can be dangerous where the currents run this rapid. Who
knows what has become of them? How did this happen? Someone please explain to me, how
did this happen?”
“Fawn warned us of this,” Silverwing had responded tearfully. “We had known it was a
possibility, once she had stopped pursuing it. She wanted to stop it, and we should have been
able to – we would have been able to if the splinter tribes weren’t still at odds. We had all the
shaman strength that she needed. Once Badger took her mark, we would have had the six.
There was Fawn, Earth-Breather, me, Viper, Kit and Badger. We could have bound the
wendigo. We could have avoided this if we could have only stopped fighting long enough to
save ourselves from this misery...”
She had halted in mid-thought, staring down at Crag-Climber in frustration. He had not
yet regained consciousness. “Why is this not healing!” she had cried, with a pained expression.
“It works to some extent, and then it just seems to trickle away.” She had not given up, however
and Crag-Climber had eventually come around.
Back to current day, and the man chose that moment to appear before Ash in the Snowy
Barren village, as if thinking about him had summoned him back from the hunt. He wandered in
from the forest, with two rabbits dangling from his one good hand, and a wide grin on his face.
The hunt had clearly been successful.
“Is that all you brought us?” Wave-Wader complained, teasingly. “Foxy and I could
make short work of those on our own, and this little one has me ravenous,” she chuckled, patting
her belly.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing that we have this to offer as well,” Thrum added,
breathing heavily, as he followed Crag-Climber into the centre. He carried a small deer
straddled over his shoulders, across the back of his neck. “I would have had it here sooner, but
Crag-Climber wouldn’t help me carry it.” Ash couldn’t help but chuckle as well. There was
nothing timid or reticent left to his sister’s mate anymore. He had proven himself many times
over, and he had embraced their new life as much as Wave-Wader had. He allowed his burden
to slide to the ground.
“What?” Crag-Climber retorted. He lifted the rabbits. “My hands were full.” He joked
freely, despite the fact that his left hand hung slack at his side.
“So you claim,” the younger man snorted. “Now where’s my little rosebud? Somebody
owes me some kisses?” He crouched, stretching his arms out to Foxglove, in greeting. The little
girl had been a fortunate consequence to their brief encounter with the wendigo, and strangely,
one of several positive side-effects.
Ash recalled that for a moment following their plunge into Ice River, he had been just as
worried as his father that he might never see his sister or her mate alive again. His mother had
continued to struggle with Crag-Climber and Spear-Thrower’s injuries, straining her magic to the
point of exhaustion before she had finally stopped. She had welcomed the distraction, not
wanting to consider her daughter’s potentially tragic fate. Much to everyone’s relief, Wave-
Wader and Thrum had emerged from the brush that hid parts of the river bank from view, just as
the other Owls had been preparing to rise and return to their encampment, fearing the worst.
They had clambered past the brambles there, hand in hand, and they had looked oddly flushed,
somewhat flustered and seemingly breathless. They had also been sodden and covered in dirt
from the river bank.
 What happened next had always puzzled Ash, and he still could not make sense of it, to
this day. Wave-Wader had walked up to her father, who had been still supported by Larch and
Sure-Point. She had looked Spear-Thrower in the eye, as she had stood before him, dripping.
“Now, I understand,” she had declared, her tone unwavering. The veteran warrior had
smiled subtly and had nodded in acknowledgement. He had seemed to know exactly what she
had meant, even though nobody else seemed to, and Ash had never had a clue what significance
that there had been behind this statement.
The Owls had returned to their settlement, hoping that they had seen the last of the
wendigo, but unfortunately, that had not been the case. Two days later, the soul-devourer had
made an appearance at their encampment, and they had been forced to abandon it, taking to the
woods and hiding like scared little animals. It became a daily effort to keep ahead of the beast,
and to create enough of a distraction for the monster, without anyone getting harmed, to allow
Silverwing to make her newest attempt at healing either Spear-Thrower or Crag-Climber,
frightening away the monster in the process.
“We can’t keep going like this,” Silverwing had insisted, her magic exhausted yet another
time. Their bizarre new lifestyle had been taking a noticeable toll on her. “We have to head
towards the general area where the Bears and the Wolves are located. We have to track down
Fawn, and find a way to rid ourselves of this constant threat. I can’t do this much longer. I’m
running out of the herbs that I need for my healing, and we just don’t have the opportunity to
forage for more.”
Ash was thankful his mother had come up with this suggestion. That was why they had
been passing through the ruins of the old Snowy Barren village when the wendigo had caught up
with them again. It had managed to use a certain amount of stealth and was almost upon
Sunbeam before the Owls had even realized that it was there. She ran, with a squeal, but had
barely gone a few hurried strides when her foot caught on something unseen along the tree line
and she had fallen, unable to rise before the monster should have been upon her. But it had
never gotten that far. Instead it had come to a screeching halt as though colliding with an
invisible barrier a few feet away from her. Then, it had reacted much the same as it had when
encountering healing magic. With a roar of fear and frustration, it had turned and bolted back
into the forest. That had been when the Owls had found Sanctuary.
Silverwing had not been able to explain where it had come from, nor why there was a
divot in the ground at its centre, the one that had tripped up Sunbeam, but there was a miraculous
combination of magic in that spot, at the edge of the village, that had warded off the wendigo.
The mixture of spiritual and natural energies had served to deter the soul-devourer, as it still did
five cycles later. The enchantment was a permanent one, unlike the temporary effects of the
shamaness’s healing. As long as they were within reach of Sanctuary, the Owls would be safe
from the wendigo.
Crag-Climber had seized on the situation, making claim that this was a sign from the
spirits. It hadn’t taken much for him to use this as an excuse to settle there and to rebuild the
village. The veteran hunter had gone as far as building a tent around Sanctuary, using
Silverwing’s knowledge and spirit-sight to help him mark out the specific area, so they would
have shelter from the elements as well, if they ever had to wait out the wendigo there.
Within the reforming village, he had also insisted that they construct many more shelters
than the Owls would need. The Wolves would require protection from the wendigo as well, he
had pointed out. When the village was ready, when everything was in place, he would set out
and do what he had to in order to bring them all home. However, he wouldn’t go fetch them
until everything was absolutely perfect. He wouldn’t give them any reason to refuse them this.
He wanted everything to be just right.
Ash glanced around the village. They were almost there. By the following spring,
everything would be ready for receiving the Wolves back into the fold. Every time he
considered this fact, the young man’s breath would catch in his throat, and butterflies would
swirl through his stomach. Crag-Climber’s enthusiasm was contagious. Ash now longed for that
moment as much as the older man did.
They had been living there for less than a full cycle when Foxglove had been born –
another sign, Crag-Climber had claimed. During that time, the wendigo had made a few more
attempts at feeding off of them, appearing sporadically and unexpectedly. They had not yet
established their watch for the soul-devourer, and that was why, on one occasion, Verity had
been caught too far from Sanctuary, and had not made it back there in time. The monster had
carried her off, victoriously, and it was decided that from that point onwards they would have to
live with more vigilance, ready to race for Sanctuary whenever it was necessary.
Ash couldn’t help but grin as he watched his niece wriggle happily in her father’s arms,
pretending to try to avoid his kisses. Thrum had been trying to be more attentive to her lately,
knowing that she might feel put out once her new sister was born, or so Silverwing had claimed.
The tired hunter teased her a little longer before lowering the squirming girl to the ground. Ash
chuckled to himself when he remember how determined his sister had once been, dead set
against having children before the tribe was reunited, or a proper alliance had been formed with
the Ice River Tribe. She had obviously changed her mind. Foxglove had been the first to prove
that the Owls would not sink into extinction after all, and then Sunbeam’s son, Bulrush had
reinforced this notion.
Ash watched the blond woman chase the curious toddler in the direction of Sanctuary,
and sighed. He was envious of Thrum and Sure-Point, and longed for a mate of his own. That
was one of the reasons why Crag-Climber’s plans appealed to him so much. The Tribe of the
Wolf was flush with women of various ages, and could easily provide a potential mate for Ash,
Larch and Sly-Trick. He prayed to the spirits every day that the veteran hunter could make this
work. The older man certainly wanted it badly enough.
Crag-Climber had become very attached to Foxglove himself, missing his own three
daughters desperately. Ash observed as the ex-Wolf handed off the rabbits he carried and then
playfully advanced on the little girl, threatening her with tickles with his good hand. She
squealed happily and ran from him, her giggles reverberating amongst the tents. This was a good
moment for the older man, but Ash knew it was not always like this.
Over the last couple of cycles, watching Crag-Climber obsessively battle with the
construction of the additional tents, Ash had seen him break down on more than one occasion,
when he thought that there was no one watching. The man had lived for his family, while
residing with the Wolves, and that much hadn’t changed. He was still doing that now, even if it
meant being separated from them temporarily, and suffering for it.
That wouldn’t last, however. Last night, Crag-Climber had pulled Ash aside and had told
him to make ready for a trip to the Sacred Grove of the Ancients next spring. They would
convince Silverwing and Spear-Thrower of the necessity of it, if only Crag-Climber and Ash
were to make the trek, and on the way back, Crag-Climber had promised it would be time to
make their appeal to the Wolves. And Ash would be dreaming about that moment, until it could
finally be made a reality.