The smell of oats cooking in milk and honey hung thickly in the air. Karolus woke up smiling, scratching his stomach. Pulling on a shirt and woollen trousers he winced at the shallow cuts on his thigh and cheek. The sticky congeal blood fell away as it caught on his clothes. 

“Next time.” he whispered as the memory of the night time sparring session with Glencora washed through his mind.

He threw the blanket from the floor back onto his bed cot and stretched. Out his room and straight into the main room of the home he shared with his mother and younger brother. 

Who of which was already sitting at the slanted wooden table digging into the steaming bowl of oats, apparently with no care for how hot it might be. 

The pot sat above the cooking fire, smoke rose out the hole in the thatched roof, some escaped the rest and flicked about the inside. Karolus sat heavily next to his brother and nudged him hard but playfully.

“Morning short stuff, how's the grub?” asking as he grabbed a wooden spoon and sat waiting for his mother to serve up a bowl.

“Oi ya big spud, I’m trying to eat.” Connor righted himself on the bench before punching his big brother in the arm, he knew it wouldn’t shift him but also enjoyed this as a good reason for freebies. 

Karolus took the hit as if it were nothing, but it would leave a bruise. The boy was heavy handed and already big for his age. 

Connor took after their father, mucky blonde hair and massive shoulders. Its the two things their mother focused on whenever she spoke about him

Karolus had been nearly eight summers old and Connor a babe in arms when he died. Taken by illness that had sapped his strength and weight. 

It was a long time ago and though Karolus remembered the weakened state of Bryan he only ever shared with Connor the stories of their father lifting giant boulders and hauling thick logs.

Connor had taken it on himself to be the strongest in Grey Rock Village, stronger than any before. If he kept eating and lifting as much as he did it would likely become true before he reached adulthood. 

The door to the back of the house swung open on creaking hinges and the winter breeze that came through was devastating, both Karolus and Connor rubbed at their skin as their shoulders hunkered up by their ears desperately trying to hold onto any heat they had enjoyed from the fire.

Connor instinctively grabbed his bowl of oats and protected it from the hurricane coming through the house. 

Karolus laughed long and loud at the scene and made a monster face whilst clawing after the bowl. The younger brother was not amused. 

As the door closed and fire was again the master of temperature in the home. In walked Meegan, jet black hair hanging loose, piercing dark eyes and wearing her usual moss coloured dress. The remains of snowflakes were fast dying around her shoulders.

“Well the winter Sidhe have definitely taken over. It's as cold as a dead horses ass out there.” She dumped the basket she was carrying on the makeshift counter. Root vegetables sat frosted within.

“Morning Ma. You should’ve woke me.” Karolus nodded towards the basket.

She walked past to the cooking pot and clipped him over the head. “I did, twice. But I've no doubt you were up all night messing about?”

Connor laughed at the scolding his big brother was getting. Waiting for the coming argument that Karolus had no chance of winning. He sat back in his chair spooned in more oats. 

“I wasn’t messing about, I was sparring with Glencora.” He instantly dug into the oats his mother put in front of him realising his voice had gotten louder than he had planned.

“Gave that to you did they?” his mother gestured at the cut on his cheek and bruising around the eye.

He nodded, shovelling more of the oats in. The exercise of the day before had encouraged his appetite. 

“But you should see the bruise they are gonna have this morning.” This was more for Connors ears than his mothers. 

She tutted and went about sorting a place for the basket of veggies to stay, no doubt being stewed with whatever meat they had left. To then become pottage for the next few days.

Connor had finished and was helping his mother with whatever chores she needed help with before being told to run over to the Hogans and see about getting more firewood.

He had grabbed his sack of rocks that he wore as a backpack, his oaken Naomh and ran out the door. 

“He's going to be twice the size Paps was if he keeps at it.” Karolus smiled genuinely to his mother who returned the same look.

As he rose to begin his morning chores, starting with pot washing his mother looked him dead in the eyes and nodded at the bench. He sat back down working out what trouble he had got himself unknowingly into.

“When are you planning on leaving us then?” She sat opposite her eldest son wiping her hands on the cotton apron tied at the waist.

“How’d you..?” he began, caught off guard.

“You might be a dab hand with your fathers sword but you ain’t no Beith. Hiding your words in the shadows doesn’t work lad, if you carry a candle.” Meegan kept her all knowing motherly grin hidden. 

Karolus looked at the strands of hay on the floor of broken stone and mud. Maybe she had heard him speaking with Colin, or Bucky even. Looking up he remembered his mother had asked him a question and was now staring through him.

“A few more days, I just need to speak with the Douén first. Glencora says they can get me an introduction” he waited for the usual sigh and shake of the head from his mother, she didn’t disappoint.

“Travelling with them will be the death of you lad. They go places we normal folk shouldn’t.” Meegan threw her hands up in the air. 

Karolus went and stood by her, grabbing her in a bear hug, being a foot taller and considerably broader than his mother he engulfed her. The embrace wasn’t as long as it felt. He nuzzled into her and squeezed.

“And don’t be thinking you can hug your way out of this lad.” She hugged him back.

“I won’t be dying on the road with them Ma, I'll be home to your perfect pottage and Connors’ loving arm digs every breakfast.”  

Mother and son shared the moment before she shrugged him off. 

“Go on then be off with thee, I have things to do.” she smiled and pushed him away as he tried to kiss the top of her head. 

Meegan watched her eldest leave the family home with a broad smile across his cut and bruised face. Filled with the imagination of one seeking adventure beyond the life of the village and farmland.

Sadness hit her. Bryan had been one for adventure, how he loved to wander the forests nearby looking for it. She remembered the story he had told her the first night they spent together. How the Drydakka had turned him into a Bear to fight off a Forest Drake.

He had been so passionate in its telling, she hadn’t the heart to call him out on it. Connor might be the image of his father but Karolus was his heart.  

Karolus had left his mother grinning,  which faded as soon as he had turned and made it back into his room to finish dressing, throwing on a thick woollen shirt and fingerless woollen gloves. 

Boots on and tied he stepped out into the winter day grabbing a cloak as he left. The breeze from earlier was but a taste of the temperature that lay before him. Instant ice clung to his face and facial hair. His breath blew out in front like a cone of deathly ice. 

He blew into his cupped hands and shook his arms before trudging through the snow that rose above his ankles. It was easily a foot deep in some places. Banked up against the dry stone walls of the village.  

Grey Rock was still bustling despite the weather, folk of the Toan Highlands couldn’t  stop because it was chilly. Most had animals to care for, ovens to keep warm and any form of crop they could manage. Coin was all but a myth around these parts. Most of the merchantry was resolved through bartering.

Folks outside of the Highlands used it as a way station between other nations. Those travelling enjoyed the company of the drinking halls and seasonal festivals. Historians and myth chasers came to seek out the place Tomlin brought the first light after the Age of Gloaming. 

The time of ancients rested deep within Toa, the humans, halflings gnomes that lived here had long family trees among the hills and valleys. Even the forests held the magic of bloodlines and fairy tales. 

Laughing at these simple notions Karolus made his way along the winding snowy pathways, crunching his way through already trodden snow, it was desperately trying to turn to slush where it could but the freezing air held it back from doing so. 

The usual waves and nods of greeting from folk that all knew one another reached him, Karolus returned the etiquette. Passing pigs and sheep in the streets as they were led to warmer standings. 

He passed the massive rock at the centre of the village and gave a nod to the hundreds of tally marks put there, one for each birth that took place in Grey Rock . 

“They go places we normal folk shouldn’t..” the words rattled about in his mind, he couldn’t deny that those that travelled with the Douén didn’t farewell.

Those that had in the past had come back changed, some lost to their own mutterings, regular nightmares. On the odd occasion he had seen one old gnome come back with no legs. 

But as with all youth, sooner or later curiosity grips the heart and until it's prodded, cannot be ignored.  

If the bardic tales were true though, it meant they went to the places in the highlands that were said to be cursed, deadly, and with no chance of return. The Douén always returned though, every single time.

His friends had arguments that non-Douén were used as bait on their trips, adventures; he had corrected them. No matter how much passion he put into his sales pitch. Bucky and Colin had no interest in coming on guaranteed death, adventuring or otherwise. 

Karolus was completely in love with their mystery and the romance of adventuring in the places far out of reach. To fight drakes, and dark spirits. To find starlit treasures and have wishes granted by the Sidhe. 

It was that, or, feed pigs and chase wolves for the rest of his life. No, he wanted more, there had to be more. All he had to do was prove it to his friends and they too would want to come along. 

“Morning!” a thick snowball more ice than snow smacked him upside of the head.

He growled as his duck was vastly delayed. But knowing the voice feigned pain bent over, whilst grabbing a handful of snow. Coming up fast, his aim true, he launched the icy projectile at his best friend Glencora.  

They knew it was coming and the wooden shield they had ready deflected the attack easily, powdered snow and small flakes of ice exploded into the air.

“It’ll take more than that. How's the wound’s softie?!” They called as they stepped closer to Karolus and shoved him with strong hands.

“They ain’t wounds, just scratches from lucky shots.” he pushed back with his own strength and the pair shared a young bull meeting another young bull moment.

“Lucky shots, lucky i didn’t kill you!” They laughed loudly and pushed one another with less effort this time. 

The pair fell into walking side by side heading to the north western edge of the village. Karolus in thick winter wools, broad of shoulder and slightly taller but yet to earn the thickness of hard work around his muscle. 

Glencora however trained constantly and it showed, more so in the ease they carried the broadsword on their back and the now placed shield.

“You off to meet them then, the Douén?” Karolus asked excitedly.

“I am, are you not?” Glencora took a deep breath as baked bread managed to meet their nostrils despite the cold.

“I am, but Ma aint happy about it.” he chuckled nervously.

Glencora stopped and turned Karolus to face them. His sea green eyes met the copper of their own. A gentle hand on his shoulder and they smiled sweetly. 

“She's your mother, if she didn’t fear for your life I’d claim witchcraft. Fear will keep her going, and us too when crap hits the windmill. Fight to your last breath and you’ll see home every time.” They squeezed his shoulder before pushing him forwards.

Karolus slipped from the push and tumbled into a heavy drift of snow. Glencora was immediately on him, scooping handfuls of snow as fast as they could all over him.

“Hey! Hey! It's down my shirt! Shit thats cold!” he rolled and waved his arms, failing to defend himself. 

Glencora pulled him to his feet laughing uncontrollably.

“It’s down my shirt!” They danced and mocked.

Karolus was grumpy for a heartbeat then fell into a fit of laughter himself. 

Following the rising gradient of the immediate land was like seeking out the coldest part of Grey Rock. 

Karolus pulled the woollen cloak tighter about him, his fingerless gloves seeming to do nothing. The snow fight from earlier hadn’t helped but he wasn’t wet just feeling the bite of winter. 

With narrow eyes he looked at Glencora who wore no winter cloak and was embracing the weather as if they were born from it. No thick robe, no gloves, just thick auburn hair brushed back with half a dozen thin braids.

Their trousers were baggy, striped blue and black, a grey tunic that stopped at the forearms. The rest of their attire was a thick leather belt with a coin purse and two vials of green liquid.

“Are you ever going to tell me what's in them?” Karolus asked, giving them a nudge and watching as they swayed like solstice decorations. 

“I’ve told you a thousand times, they turn me into a giant.” Glencora winked and mimicked being bigger, standing on their tip toes and groaning.  

“Whatever.” Karolus trudged ahead.

The pair reached the peak of the village and looked out across rolling hills spreading away from them towards forests and valleys filled with tales of danger and warnings to stay out.

Campfires of the Douén on the outskirts of the village, dotted on the northern hillside. The Douén never entered the village. Glencora had said it was due to some old agreement from a time before the pair were born.

A few keen villagers were already within the camp of the Douén. Most likely begging to be taken along or shown how to be all powerful. Karolus did short mockings, as they approached, of what folk would be asking for and Glencora laughed as they always did at his impressions of what they pointed out were his own wants.

It soon shut him up which caused Glencora to laugh even more. 

“You really got to see this stuff coming. You are so easy.” Glen made a snowball amidst their laughter. 

“You wish.” Karolus countered.

They let it fly, it was true until Karolus dropped flat. He heard it hit something though. Looking over his shoulder he saw a huge bipedal wolf holding an ornately carved staff.  

“Morning to you Glen.” The voice growled, a massive clawed hand dusting the snow from their grey fur.

Karolus took in the Douén, a braided mane of darker grey fur crowned the lupine head. Bright sky blue eyes. A thick layered leather skit held by a belt of green stained leather and corded red rope sat at his waist. 

The staff was humming with power, there was no mistaking it. Knotted and gnarled it was six feet in length, branching out at the top. Green leaves seemingly made of glass hung from it and a spirit of air sat in those branches.

“And to you Galwyn. This hero in the snow is Karolus.” They called back.

Glencora was known among the Douén, some might go as far to say they raised them. No parents, they lived off the land where they could. Sneaking into the village to offer work for food and water. 

If turned away they would likely return at night and steal what they needed. If that was the case Glencora would always return a day or two later and pay for what they had taken. 

A couple of times a home was offered. But they turned it away and always returned to the Douén. Even Karolus had managed to convince his mother to give Glencora a place but they had turned that away also. 

It was just their way.

Galwyn, the wolf, looked through Karolus, reading his soul. There was a growl and then he turned. Heading back into the canvas camp that could easily be mistaken for a hamlet. 

Glencora for the second time this day held Karolus to his feet. 

“Nervous?” they asked.

“Aye, more than I thought I would be.” Karolus was in awe as he was led around the camp. 

Patchwork canvas made up the majority of the tents, most of them big enough to share. Only the odd one was built for solo sleeping. A massive tent had been erected for storage. 

The elemental affinity the Douén had was blatant. Every flame had fire spirits nearby, the snow was a playing field for the water spirits. 

Galwyn had already shown the air spirit that swirled above his staff and there was more dancing around the camp. A nudge to his leg made him look down to see an earthen spirit, a cluster of rock with an aura of green flecks bobbled about his feet. 

“Beautiful, aren’t they.” Glencora’s question was rhetorical.

He nodded watching the magic of the elemental spirits interact with the Douén in the camp.

“Embrace them and they will look after you.”

“What are they?” beneath his shirt across bare skin he felt a warm breeze, it was homely.  

“Spirits of a sort, fey and elemental in nature. They surround the Douén constantly and have a friendship with them.” Glencora crouched and grabbed a clump of ice before stepping closer to one of the fires.

“And if you show them respect they will befriend you too.” holding out their hand, open with the ice on the palm Glencora made a courtesy to the flames. 

Karolus, his mouth ajar, starred as the flames shaped into the silhouette of a fairytale noble from stories of monarchs and romance. It reached out a hand and melted the ice for Glencora with a nod of thanks for the courtesy.

Glencora let the water fall through their fingers onto their other palm. They continued to do it, the water never hitting the ground. Karolus then saw it had a life of its own. A movement similar to that of a cat playing with its owner.

“Would you like to try?” Glencora gestured the playful water towards him.

With an impish grin he reached out to catch the water. Instead of the playful pet experience he thought was coming it instead soaked his head and was no more. Glencora laughed loudly and slapped his back, almost knocking him from his feet.

“Come on, I'll make introductions.”

The rest of the day and late into the night was spent with Glencora shoving and mocking Karolus where they could. Telling him the names of many of the Douén in camp. He was not interested in Glencora’s words, only what he saw.

His mouth was nearly fixed in a slightly open position, his eyes bright with wonder. Exactly how every one else reacted when first meeting these magical folk. 

The Douén were fascinating to behold, Karolus had always thought the stories of their animal nature to be embellished, tales of monsters wearing animal pelts.

But it was not true, they were humanoid in form, bipedal. Each and everyone had a powerful aura radiating from them. None carried a Naomh from what he could tell. If the Drydakka blessed them they did not carry symbols of it.

Their forms were of beasts such as wolves, bears and hounds. Even birds of prey like the owl and hawk he could see sat at fires eating and drinking. 

Each had markings. Like tattoos, swirling around their bodies. They dressed in less clothing than the local highlanders but still of a similar fashion.

Glencora had explained to him the markings were part of their elemental affinity, and a link to the realm they were born of. That of the Sidhe.

Karolus watched keenly, trying to mimic their hand movements when he saw them interacting with the elemental spirits all about them. He thought he was getting the hang of it when the flames flicked towards him, but alas it was nothing more than an actual breeze mocking him.  

During introductions he felt like a child, shy, staring at the ground kicking his feet. Blushing when his name was mentioned.

Other villagers who had been in the camp several hours longer than he also showed awe and wonder when they interacted. Most were there for nothing more than curiosity, maybe looking for a trade or two. But like him a couple were looking for the dotted line on the parchment.

He had thought he knew Glencora like the back of his hand but seeing them interact with the Douén was eye opening. 

Never had he questioned them about their time with the Douén, he knew from the training and care they gave Glencora it was personal.  

Instead he had pushed for the truth in the stories, could the highlanders go with them on great adventures, slaying dark fey and finding the treasures of the dead long gone. 

Truth was a thing of etherealness. The only strength in it from the belief of one refusing to accept it could be anything else. 

Glencora had always talked down the tales, often with a lot of mocking laughter. But Karolus was like a child clinging to a favourite toy, the tales had to hold truth and he knew from his friends jesting that it was all deflection. 

The massive wolf, Galwyn, was carrying large sacks from a long cart to the storage tent. 

Glencora had nudged him to head over. After an hour of nagging Karolus plucked up enough courage to approach the wolf.

“Need a hand?” 

Looking at Glencora, then with hungry eyes at Karolus, the wolf nodded. Galwyn threw the sack at him with a toothy grin. Karolus adjusted for the weight and caught it. 

The wolf had definitely put a bit behind it to try to knock him unsteady. It was filled with something very fine, there were no bumps of textures to the sacks, sand perhaps. 

Putting it with the rest under the roof of the tent he made his way to the wagon. Now standing next to the Douén he felt his presence. Galwyn owned the space he was in. The air spirits that accompanied him were as a royal guard to the monarch before them.

“Names Karolus.” he held out his hand.

“I know.”

“Of course, the snowball.” Karolus hoped to lighten the mood.

The wolf dumped another sack in his direction before picking up one and hefting it on his shoulder with ease.

Karolus nodded and fell in behind. There were scars upon Galwyns back, visible where the thick grey fur didn't grow. There were many like he had been whipped or some such in the past. Who would even be able to detain such a creature to manage it.

“How did you get the scars?” he regretted the words as soon as he spoke them.

“Keeping a promise.” Galwyn did not turn to give his answer.

An hour passed in silence between the pair. Karolus was sweating hard and his muscles aching. The snow was not helping, it didn’t seem to stay trodden. He was convinced the water spirits were trying to sabotage him. 

He thought of himself as strong and fit. Granted he was the one that tired first when sparring with Glencora but he still felt he held her respect. 

Working with the wolf felt like trying to impress a parent with the same trick over and over again. 

“Don’t you tire? Surely you must drink now and then?” Karolus rested against the fourth wagon they were emptying of these sand filled sacks. Take long breaths. Soaked with sweat.

“The spirits keep me hydrated. Why, you thirsty boy?” the wolf nodded in the direction of the camp fires. 

“Go, rest, drink, recover your strength.” He took the sack directly in front of Karolus, staring at him.

Karolus stood back, as if he had been shoved out the way. The fire in his muscles was intense, he was soaked through with sweat and feared if the fire spirits wanted to keep their heat from him they would and he’d freeze to death.

Watching the wolf walk away he took several deep breaths. If he quit now the wolf would never forget. Standing upright and stretching he stared at scars on Galwyn's back, not for the first time today. 

He grabbed a sack and dragged it into his chest and with a half squat and using his shoulders pushed it up to rest across his back. He continued.

Glencora watched from the fire drinking mead and listening to songs of lost Douén over the last seasons. They weren’t sad or merry, they were simply musical memories that accompanied the mead. 

They stared at Karolus, knowing he would likely fall over before quitting. They had seen this when they spared, raced, or simply held their breath underwater. He would push until he failed. 

Not a smart move when survival was on the line, one needed to know when it was time to rest and when it was time to push through. Galwyn would teach him.

“He’s picked a harsh mentor Glen, that old wolf is gonna put him through it.” the Douén of a mastiff bloodline scratched at their ribs, the tan hair flicking between dark and light with each movement. 

“You are not wrong Tarl, not wrong at all. Are you getting bigger?” Glencora drained their tankard and returned to staring at the dance performance the noble fire spirits were putting on.

It was a dance of two locked into a chore. One waiting for the other to break. Glencora smiled and let their copper eyes stare at Karolus. The mead making their mind fuzzy. 

Karolus didn’t notice his friend watching him. He was focused on each step. His legs were burning, having to raise them high enough to get through the thick snow. 

Winter was his favourite season, it was the darkest time of the year. When one needed the light of the hearth more than ever. The battle of making it through, sickness hung on every breath waiting to cling.

Livestock had to be cared for, the biting cold had to be fought off. It was the time of the year he felt he had to fight the most. To be his strongest. 

It was when the wolves came looking for easy prey. He laughed that here and now, as winter clawed at him, so did the judgement of a wolf.

“We are done for the day.” Galwyn passed the boy a filled water skin. 

Karolus ignored it, finished his last trip with the sack on his shoulders then strode back to the wolf. He took it and nearly drained it in one go. It was perfect, cold enough to be refreshing but warm enough to not make him cough. 

He was more tired than ever before in his life. Doing nothing but moving filled sacks and he was ready to die. 

Smiling at the thought of falling asleep, maybe forever was enough time to recuperate.

Glencora passed him a tankard of mead as he joined them around the fire. A tired smile met the tankard and Karolus took small sips, failing to hide the look of pure joy on his face with each sip.

“Well that was an experience. He’s immortal I’m sure of it, look at him now, absolute madness.” Karolus raised his tankard, wincing, in the direction of Galwyn who was fifty feet away chopping wood.

“Sometimes the mentor we choose….” Glencora held the gulp of mead in their mouth for a little while, just enjoying the taste.

“Mentor?” he paused the tankard at his lips.

“Aye, mentor.” The Douén Tarl shouldered him. “It’s what your lot come to us for. Dreaming of our magic and knowledge. Wondering about our adventures. Sounds about right eh?” Tarl laughed and drank more.

The mastiff Douén was a giant. Heavily muscled and casting a shadow as a mountain would.

Karolus said nothing, the words were not far from the truth he supposed. Hearing it said out loud and with obvious sarcasm made his cheeks warm with embarrassment. 

Glencora was laughing at the look on his face. He laughed back but it was fake. The aches and sores of the day sat heavy on him but the mead was sweet and warming. He felt stupid.

He didn't know when it happened but at some point during the night he was sitting alone by the fire, wrapped in woollen blankets. 

The noble fire spirits danced around him in a circle. His head was swimming. Everywhere he looked there were beasts moving slowly, making noises, akin to speech but it was mono and slurred.  

He raised his tankard.

Darkness took him.