Chapter 9 - Cold Trail

"Don't you ever say I didn't warn you." Ransom called over his shoulder as he shouldered his rifle by the strap and used his off-hand to tug his suspenders up.

"You've been warning me for days. I'm tired of waiting," I replied, grabbing my own things and bounding up towards him before he took off. For a man with a limp, the coyote could move fast.

"I've been warnin' you because it's worth warnin' about," Ransom replied, finally turning to regard me with a lowered brow. "Trading post ain't no place for women."

"You mean to tell me there are no women in this settlement?"

The coyote actually seemed to consider that a moment, then put up a finger. "Only one that ain't a 'workin' woman' that I know of, and she's a bear who can put most men on their ass if they make trouble. Manages the kitchen at The Black Pot. Makes a mean stew."

He went back to readying his things for the day's trip and I moved towards the edge of camp, ready to go and looking his way, expectantly.

"If she can handle herself there, so can I," I said firmly.

"She's three times your size and twice as big as mosta' the men at the post, Shivah," Ransom remarked with a raised eyebrow. "And she's nearly forty. You're a wee bitty thing with perky li'l tits and not an ounce o'worldly wisdom in you. The men a'this post are traders and travellers, a lotta which haven't seen a woman in months. And thanks to your. . . stunt. . . last month," he grunted as he straightened his leg, wincing. "We're goin into town later than I would've liked. They been floodin' into the post fer weeks now from over the pass. Which we ought to have been on by now," he reminded me more than a bit irately, making my ears droop. "Post is gonna be overrun with'em. You ain't ever seen one Otherwolf, and you barely know how t'ask where the outhouse is in Amurescan. What d'you honestly think you're gonna learn from these men?"

"I. . . " I stammered, then remembered my resolve from the night before. I wasn't going to let him talk me out of this again. "I have to try," I stated. "And I've been practicing speaking Otherwolf. Puck's been teaching me."

"She's catching on fairly fast, actually," Puquanah commented from his seat near the fire. Though he generally ventured into town with Ransom as well, he seemed in no hurry to do so today. I know he had more to sell, he'd been bundling tea all night, but the fox usually headed towards the post later in the day, presumably to avoid the crowding Ransom had been describing. Morning was always a busier time in a settlement.

Of course, all I had to go on in imagining this place were tribal settlements, which Ransom kept insisting couldn't be more different. He seemed extraordinarily hesitant to allow me to go. But at the end of the day, he couldn't tell me what to do, and I wanted to go.

The Trail Head Trading Post was the settlement near Jack's cabin, which I'd once been near, but never seen for myself. And back then, it had been after the pass had snowed in and the place was all but deserted. It was where Ransom, Puck, and men like them did their trading and stocked up for the journey over the mountains, or if they'd just come over, into the valley. It was built along the river, right near where the trail towards the pass began, thus the name.

That also meant it was a hive of information and crawling with travellers who may have seen or heard of the men I was pursuing. Methoa'nuk and this Rourke had left the valley before the winter, likely by the river. That much we knew. Any more than that I could only guess at. With the warmer weather coming in slowly and the pass beginning to clear, I was running out of time on determining what my next step would be. My trail had gone cold. I needed to catch scent of my prey now, or I'd lose them entirely.

My companions' path, of course, was not my own. They were focused on making up for the trading season they'd lost, heading over the pass to offload Ransom's furs, then making it back into the valley with enough of the warm season remaining to make their living for the year once more. There'd been some argument between the two of them about going over the pass at all, which had briefly worried me. Puquanah was in favor of remaining in the valley for the whole year, being as they were already there, and simply trading some of the furs here at the post so they could re-supply, rather than taking the difficult journey twice and losing valuable hunting and trapping time. But apparently fur didn't sell as well here in the valley as it would in the Otherwolf settlements over the pass and Ransom had put his foot down on the matter. He was determined not to sell his wares for less than they were worth, even if it meant journeying over the pass twice.

On this point, I'm glad Ransom had won out. I needed to get out of the valley to pursue Methoa and the pass was the best way to do so. I didn't want to travel alone, both because of the danger in doing so and because I simply didn't know the trail, or the Otherwolf lands, well at all.

I was going to have to part ways with my companions eventually. That much was certain, but I didn't want to think about it any more now than I had months ago. I could at least accompany them to the nearest Otherwolf settlement. I had until then to figure out how I'd survive on my own.

But I needed to start planning now and the first thing I really needed to know was. . . where to go. I could simply follow the river, of course, and that was my plan if all else failed. But Ransom had told me that past the valley the river began to fork and I had no way of knowing which direction this Rourke and his boats may have gone. I needed information.

Ransom had known that Rourke was in the Valley the season before. It was therefore logical to assume that others might know when he and his raiders were near their communities. Men like that couldn't go unseen or unheard of for terribly long.

I needed to learn as much as I could now from whatever travellers were about. The more people I asked, the better chance I'd stumble upon something useful. We'd moved our camp to within a mile of the trading post and we'd been here nearly four days already while the boys readied for the trip over the pass. It was a bit of an undertaking apparently, even with a mule, so they wanted to be well-supplied. Puquanah had assured me that the trip itself should take no longer than two weeks, even if we hit bad weather or portions of the trail that were still snowed in, but if you weren't prepared, it could be a very unpleasant or even deadly journey. Still, it was a comfort that they'd done this twice a year for five years now, Ransom for longer even before.

The warm season was coming in early, but the weather had been shaky. Some mornings we would wake to blue skies and the snows would melt, only to be replaced by a fresh powdering the following day. Some days the water would freeze, others I'd have to shed my cloak or spend the entire day panting. Spring wasn't exactly upon us yet, but it was trying.

Still, the pass had clearly melted enough to be safe to traverse, we could tell that much from any vantage point from which you could see the mountains. Ransom had actually wanted to head to the pass several weeks earlier, but he'd still been recovering. Even now, he had a minor limp, but he insisted he was well enough to travel. The man was more stubborn than our mule.

He'd also been stubborn about allowing me to venture with them into the trading post every day. Even Puck had cautioned me not to go, although he was more allowing with me than the coyote generally was. He seemed to respect my desire to be more independent, whereas Ransom was not above insulting my intelligence to make his point.

I had made a lot of mistakes in the past. . . I knew that. And Ransom had often known better than I, especially where outsiders were concerned. It wasn't my fault I was sheltered, even naive at times. I'd been raised in isolation and kept away from the world beyond, like some possession to be safe-guarded. But I couldn't always be at the coyote's side. Very soon now, we would part ways. I would never be experienced in the ways of the world unless I. . . experienced it. And I needed to learn how to make my way and deal with Otherwolves and outsiders to complete my quest.

Puck had managed it and he'd been blind. If he could be thrust out into the world and had survived as long as he had without Ransom, so could I. That was a valid point I could bring up, I supposed.

"You don't stop Puck from going into town. Without you, even," I said. "And he's blind."

"Puck ain't an idiot," Ransom muttered, proving my point from just a few thoughts earlier about insulting me. "And more importantly, he ain't a woman. Much as he'd like it."

"Oh. . . " the fox paused for dramatic effect, ". . . no barb about my 'breasts'? I'm almost disappointed."

"You would look fantastic squeezed int'a bodice, fox," the coyote said with a snarling smile.

"I really would."

"I don't know that word," I said with an exasperated sigh. "Do I want to?"

"Oh, they're a sort of garment the Otherwolves brought over that sort of," the fox made a gesture with his hands, cupping his chest, "lift, and squish your chest together."

"Mmnhh," Ransom rumbled appreciatively, looking skyward as though recalling something. Or multiple somethings.

"Alright. So no, then," I muttered.

"Oh, don't put yerself down, darlin'. I think you'd look right fetchin' in one."

"I bind my chest," I said pointedly. "That would serve the exact opposite purpose. I'd rather they not be. . . lifted, and squished, purely so you can ogle them, Ransom."

". . . I'd try it," the fox admitted.

"Damnit, stop putting ideas in his head, woman," Ransom snorted.

"Me?!"

"Ransom's right, you know," Puck interjected out of nowhere, probably to diffuse the argument between the canine and I that was brewing. "About the men in town. Women are uncommon on the trail and a lot of these men spend months at a time alone or in camps with nothing but other men. I don't mean to demean you at all, Shivah, but. . . it really isn't a place for women. Not unless you think you can handle a lot of unwanted attention and assumptions about you."

"Assumptions?" I questioned.

The fox cleared his throat. "Most of the women who come through the trading post-"

"-are whores," Ransom finished for him. "Only reason for a woman to be out this far alone. They come over the pass in groups sometimes, or hitch a ride on caravans. They know there's a lot of 'business' to be done places like this."

"What about the wives and daughters of the men who work at the post?" I asked.

"It's a seasonal trading post, sweetheart," Ransom said, "there ain't really families that set up shop there. It's all traders and seasonal craftsmen. Not many men risk bringin' their families over the pass. The only one I know of is Beatrice and 'er husband, uh. . . what's 'is name?"

"Tovuk," Puck filled in for the coyote.

"Yeah," Ransom nodded. "The two bears tha'run the Black Pot. They've got a family and they're here year-round, I think. But Tovuk's a kodiak from up north, he's got a lotta friends with the local tribes and I think they send their daughters off to his tribe once there'a age. Only women who come through here is lookin' to sell themselves."

"That's awful," I said, disgusted.

Ransom shrugged. "Don't judge 'til you've walked that road, darlin'. A lotta them would say they'd rather be whorin' than killin', and you've got your heart set on that. 'Sides, they're supplyin' somethin' men out here need, just like any other tradesman. Ain't nothin' wrong with peddlin' your wares if you got 'em. Better than starving."

I still found the idea of women selling their bodies to be revolting, but I said no more on the topic. If I saw those women in town, I'd simply avoid them.

Instead, I steeled my eyes and looked to the coyote, saying with as much finality to my voice as I could muster, "I'm going, Ransom. I can take care of myself."

"I ain't worried you can't defend yourself, kitten," the coyote's muzzle twitched as he rubbed at his injured leg, "I'm honestly more worried yer gonna try. I can't be dealin' with no ruckus right now. We don't need trouble. I'm not at my best, fer one. But 'sides that, traders talk, words gets 'round. If folk know I'm travellin' with a crazy witch cat-"

"Since when did I become a witch?" I demanded, confused.

"Since you've been runnin' your mouth off about seein' spirits and magic birds everywhere," the coyote narrowed his eyes. "I know it don't seem strange t'you, darlin', but the Otherwolves get thorny about talk like that. They'll think y'ain't right in the head, or that you're usin' bad magics. They ain't too fond of tribal religion. They got their own god and apparently he don't like us, or our gods," he lifted an eyebrow at me, regarding me for a few moments. "And I gotta be honest, sweetheart. I was brought up with the old ways, but even I think yer crazy."

"So I won't talk about Crow," I insisted, "I won't talk about my quest. I'll just ask about this Rourke and about Methoa. That's all."

"You ain't gonna get much outta a bunch of drunk traders, except groped," Ransom said, rolling his eyes. "And if you start shootin' up the trade post, I won't be backin' you up. I ain't gonna save you from your own antics, Shivah. Not here. Not surrounded by the people I do business with an' gotta see year after year. If you get into trouble this time, you're on yer own."

"That's fine," I said insistently. "We don't even need to speak to one another. I won't make trouble for you. I swear."

Ransom was silent for a few moments, then put up a hand. "No trouble. None. If you get yourself in a bind, you handle it yourself. I ain't gonna fish you outta the river this time."

"That's not fair, Ransom," Puck interjected.

"I don't give a damn whether it's fair or not," the coyote snapped. "This ain't the middle o'the wilderness. This's the only trade post in the valley and these're my stompin' grounds. Unless I wanna uproot my life, I can't be makin' enemies here. And she's got a way of makin' enemies."

"That's fine," I nodded. "No trouble. I swear."

"You don't know you'll be able to avoid it," Puck said from behind us. "Ransom was right, some of these men-"

"The woman's willing to take the risks, Puck," Ransom said, hefting his pack. "It's her life. Let her do what she wants."

"I can't travel with the both of you forever," I said with a soft sigh. "Eventually, I'm going to have to make my way in the world on my own. No better time to start than now."

Puck's expression had shifted to one of concern as I'd spoken, and he furrowed his brow, murmuring, "Well. . . I don't see why you couldn't-"

"Puck," Ransom interrupted. "We've gotta go. You comin' to the post later?"

"Ah. . . yes," the fox said, brushing off his knees as he stood, "I've got a few traders and some independent buyers to visit, but I'll meet you at the inn for lunch."

Ransom smirked in my direction, "Told you. They make a mean stew."

"It is hard to pass up," the fox admitted.

I could smell the trading post before it was even in sight. It was exactly as Puck had described so many times. The scents of woodsmoke and livestock predominated, but I'd smelled that before when we'd been near Jack's place. Now I was catching on to the varied and more numerous scents created by any community. Leathers tanning, meat and other foods cooking, including many I couldn't identify. And of course, many, many people. The difference was, they all smelled. . . different.

I'd only ever been amongst bobcat tribes in the past, my own village and others, and though we'd had visitors from other races from time to time, I'd never seen so many different people in one place as I did the moment we stepped onto the main 'street' of this community.

Amongst the strange, tall buildings that lined the muddy road were peoples too numerous to count, and some of them too strange to name. Throughout, of course, were tribal folk from the valley. Raccoons, whose tribes moved frequently and who tended to mix a lot with the Otherwolves and their kind. . . they were everywhere, doing what they did. Peddling what they could find and cleaning up the scraps left on the outskirts of the tannery and other businesses. There were also rodents here and there, one or two felines whose pelts were unfamiliar to me, and many, many canines.

Or at least, that's what they resembled. I'd only ever met coyotes and the occasional wolf. . . of which there were none here that I could see. Hardly surprising, wolves tended to be isolationists and if any tribal nation was least fond of the Otherwolves, it was theirs.

And I was beginning to see why. I'd never met an Otherwolf before, only ever heard about them. The name we'd given their kin in and of itself seemed to say a lot about them, though. They were wolves. . . but not the wolves we knew. Every person I'd ever spoken to, Ransom and Puck included, had said there was just something subtly off about them. And they'd been right.

The Otherwolves. . . at least that's what I assumed they were. . . resembled the wolves I'd met throughout my lifetime in some ways. Some more than others. They all had roughly canine faces and roughly canine builds, but they all looked. . . different. Most different from one another, even. Their muzzles were of varying lengths, some pushed in like they were almost feline. Some of them had ears that looked almost mutilated, or damaged, some of them had short fur and others long. And their pelts!

I tried not to stare.

I saw one or two other coyotes, their tribes were common travelers, as well. One of them appeared to be working at the tannery in fact, and that was where Ransom came to a halt, looking back at me. "This's my first stop, darlin'. Got business with Leeroy."

He pointed down the road a-ways, gesturing I think to a sign near the outskirts of the settlement. All I could tell from here was that there was some sort of black blot emblazoned on it.

"That there? That's the Black Pot. That's where y'wanna go, if you want to chat with traders and the like. It's jes a waterin' hole, though, so don't go interrogatin' folk. Most've the men there wanna put their feet up and get drunk."

"That should serve me well, then," I said, "if they become as loud and talkative as you do when you drink."

"Yeah, best o'luck with that. Glad I ain't a part of it," Ransom said, chuckling. "You have fun, though. I'll join you fer lunch in a few hours."

He headed off, leaving me alone on the small side road that lead out onto the main street. I took a deep breath to ready myself. . . then immediately regretted it, choking on the stench from the tannery.

Alright, then. Lesson one learned.

I resisted the urge to stalk as I headed towards the main road, certain that would just make me stand out more than I already did. And it's not as though there were many places I could hide in this place. At least without looking like a fool.

When I reached the main street, however, I found the easiest way to blend in here was simply to move with the crowd. Most of the people on the road were busy working, talking, or intent on getting somewhere, and no one seemed particularly interested in me. I caught a few of the men I moved past taking notice, but only briefly.

This wasn't looking to be what Ransom had described. Perhaps he'd simply overstated. Everyone here was too focused on going about their own lives. Other than being bumped into once or twice (primarily due to my not paying attention, the buildings were distracting) or having to move out of the way of men with carts or herding goats came down the road, no one was bothering me.

I was humbly dressed and had never been considered a great beauty, even amongst my own people when I'd still worn dresses and been far more groomed and concerned about my appearance. I was wearing leather breeches now and a tunic that was primarily warm, it hardly revaled much of my figure. Most men would only know I was female by smell, or because of my stature. Perhaps the women that had so much trouble in these towns presented themselves more blatantly.

With far more confidence, I headed towards the large building Ransom had pointed to. Sitting at the very end of the road, where the packed dirt began to turn back into rocky, less trod-upon earth, and also situated quite near to the river and the 'Mill' Ransom had pointed out the last time we'd been near the trade post, the building was easily the widest and tallest in town. What's more, while the upper half was made of wood like most of the other buildings here, the lower half seemed to be made from stone. I took a few moments to just look upon it in wonderment. I'd heard the Otherwolves could make buildings out of stone. I'd never actually seen one before.

As I stood transfixed, I didn't hear the man approaching me from behind. I was briefly startled when the large boar moved past me, grunting an annoyed growl in my direction. I felt myself bristle and was about to go for my bow, when I realized I was. . . standing in the way of the staircase inside.

"I-oh. . . " I stammered, quickly stepping out of the way. The boar snorted at me, shoving his bulk past and heading up the stairs.

I took a deep breath, trying to relax. I'd been standing around staring gape-jawed at a building and blocking entrance to it, and I'd nearly shot a man for trying to get inside. I needed to calm down.

Taking one more breath and trying not to hold it, I headed up the short staircase towards the door and pushed it open.

I was immediately assaulted by a fierce array of smells, sights and sounds. How the doors had kept all of this noise and activity sealed behind them, I didn't know. It was utterly overwhelming.

I stopped briefly in the doorway, then remembered I was again blocking it and moved out of the way quickly. A bit too quickly as it turned out, because I backed into someone and felt myself step on their foot. I jumped forward when the man gave a grunt of surprise, apologizing quickly and quietly in my own tribal tongue before my eyes swept up to take the perturbed canine in.

I was again struck by how exotic these men were. This one almost looked more wolf-like, but his markings were striking and bold, clay red fur like a fox cutting down his brow-line into an odd pattern against stark white. And I'd never seen a wolf with blue eyes.

"I'm. . . sorry." I said, trying the words out in the Amurescan I'd been learning. They sounded more clumsy when I spoke them than the natural cant of those around me, which all seemed to flow together in patterns so intricate and fast, my still basic understanding of the language couldn't sort through any of it. It didn't help that there were also men about speaking in several different tribal dialects, many of which I could understand and were just further confusing my attempts.

Gods, could I stop making a fool of myself for a moment today? I'd thought all my practice over the last few months would have made me a stealthier, more sure-footed creature, but I was stumbling all over myself in this place like a newborn kitten. I'd never been anywhere so crowded before! How did these people live this way?

The man's expression had shifted from annoyance to curiosity, and he began to open his muzzle to ask something, but I remembered at that point what Ransom had insinuated most men here might be asking, especially from a woman who'd bumped her rear into them, so I chose that moment to retreat into the crowd. I'd come here to talk, but best to start with the tribal folk. They at least would speak a language I might understand and might be more respectful.

I slipped through the crowd towards. . . well, I wasn't sure. The place was bustling near the door, but further inside it began to thin out into more sparsely-placed lone patrons and clumps of men gathered around tables. The stench of the tobacco Ransom was so fond of was everywhere, as was the distinct tinge of that poison water. . . alcohol, he'd called it. Beneath that was an undercurrent of the many people here, the range of natural if strong to just outright unpleasant musks, mixed with leather, dirt and the occasional hint of gunpowder.

It was actually when I emerged into the less crowded area of the tavern that I began to feel more eyes upon me, and a shiver of discomfort worked its way up my spine. Ransom had been right about one thing, at least. . . I saw no women here. Not even the bear he'd spoken of, although he'd mentioned she was a cook, so she was probably in the back.

I made my way hesitantly towards the only bear I saw, whom I could only assume was one of the men who ran the place. He was massive, his brownish blonde bulk dominating an area behind a long, wooden table of some sort. Shelves behind the table were stocked with more bottles than I'd ever seen before. . . more even than at Jack's place, and there were many chairs pulled up to the side facing the dining area. Some of them were empty, so that's where I headed.

I pulled up one of the tall chairs, having to hop to sit in it. The bear gave me a long look for a moment, then just nodded his muzzle in my direction.

"Morning, miss," He said, knowing to use the valley tribal language. He looked tribal himself. . . perhaps the man Ransom had been speaking of, the kodiak from the north.

"Good morning," I said, feeling mildly comforted by the familiar greeting.

"What'll you have?" The bear asked, reaching under the table to produce a glass. I stared at it for a little while, trying not to be amazed by how the light reflected on the smooth surface. I'd seen glass before, but all of Jack's glass had been old and clouded. This one looked a bit worn and scratched, but it was still as clear as ice.

I was staring again. I cleared my throat, looking up.

"Do you accept trade?" I asked shyly.

The bear only smiled. "Of course, miss. This is a trading post. I prefer coin, but if you've got something of value. . . ."

I reached into my mane, tugging free a small bead I'd woven specifically into the ends of one braid, so as to be easy to remove for just this purpose. I'd known I'd need to start trading what little I had to make my way in the Otherwolf lands and I was prepared to part with every bit of turqoise to accomplish my goals.

The bear looked momentarily surprised as I held the turqoise bead up, so I assured him. "It's turqoise," I insisted, "It's valuable."

"I know, little one," the bear stated, reaching an enormous, clawed paw out to mine. I tried not to be intimidated by the man's sheer size, but he could have crushed my skull in that paw.

However, when his paw settled over mine, he had a remarkably soft touch. And he closed my hand around the bead and pushed it gently back my way.

"Do not trade your heirlooms," the large man said quietly.

"I-I have nothing else-" I murmured, despairing.

"What is it you wish to buy?"

"Just. . . just milk, if you have it," I said, trying to keep the dismay from my voice. Of all the things I'd missed having at meals since I'd lost my tribe, goat's milk was the one simple comfort I'd hoped I'd have again. I'd been looking forward to it all winter.

The bear only gave a long-muzzled smile and turned, gruffly rumbling something towards the kitchen in a northern tongue I couldn't make out. A few moments later, another bear, this one smaller and brown-furred, peered out from the open door behind him, looking to the kodiak.

"Milk," he stated simply, handing her the glass he'd taken out for me.

It was then I realized that the bear leaning out from the kitchen was likely the woman. . . this Beatrice. . . Ransom had been referring to. She looked my way for a moment, then took the glass from the man I could only assume was her husband and headed off.

". . . thank you," I said, a bit mortified.

The bear only shook his head. "Don't concern yourself. We'll get you something to eat, as well."

"I couldn't-"

"A woman shouldn't go hungry," the bear stated, simply. "Not when there is a man about who is capable of providing for her."

I dismissed my pride for the moment and just nodded, not wanting to disagree with the bear's well-meant kindness, even if it did feel a bit patronizing. I was certain he didn't mean it that way. Ransom had, after all, mentioned the man was a father to young girls. He was probably just thinking like a father.

Besides, the food here smelled amazing and I'd had nothing but dried meat for weeks. I wasn't going to turn down fresh, hot food. Let alone milk.

"I'm sorry. . . sir?" I spoke up, as the bear took a bottle away from one of the other men sitting at the long table, replacing it a moment later with a fresh one. The canine thanked him. . . I think. He was slurring and his jowls were thick and loose, making his voice hard to make out as it was. The bear looked back my way.

"A-are you Tovuk?" I asked, uncertainly.

"That's right," the bear nodded, removing another glass from where a rat had just gotten up and left and beginning to wipe it down with a wet cloth. "I've got a good memory for faces, and I can't say I know yours. . . ."

"We've never met," I assured him, "I just know some people who travel through here often."

"Ah, so you're not traveling alone," the kodiak said, seeming satisfied. "That is good. I was going to ask what your business here might be. Your tribes. . ." he paused, clearly trying not to offend me, ". . . prefer their solitude. I've rarely even seen your warriors at the post."

"I'm. . . not traveling with my tribe," I admitted. "Just a few other men."

The bear once again looked concerned, but I stated quickly, "Good men. They're both good men."

The man only nodded, the expression of concern not leaving. But at that point, his wife returned with a brimming glass of milk and brought it directly over to me, giving me a sweet smile as she set it down. . . along with a bowl of what had to be this famous stew Ransom and Puck spoke so highly about.

"Thank you," I said with an earnest smile. The woman patted my shoulder comfortingly, like one might a young child (I suppose to her, I was about the size of a child), then leaned over to her husband and said something close to his ear that I wouldn't have been able to understand, anyway, seeing as it was in the wrong dialect.

"I told Arquoa to stock the stove pile last night," the larger bear rumbled, displeased, not bothering to change his dialect when he did. "That boy is lazy," he grumbled, then simply nodded. "Alright. I'll handle it once I'm done here."

Beatrice nodded, then smiled once more to me and headed back towards the kitchen. I had to admit, the woman's bulk was impressive. If I'd been her size, I might have stood a chance against my husband's rages over the years. But then her husband was enormous, so. . . I guess all things were relative.

Still, it was comforting to watch a husband and wife who, from what few interactions I'd seen, seemed so at ease with one another. I wondered why they weren't a part of a tribe. . . and wondered too if their independence was why they were able to be happy. If I'd met someone on my own, rather than being arranged, would I have had a happier marriage? I'd like to think I would have chosen slightly better, at least.

Tovuk continued cleaning glasses, going about his remaining chores in no big hurry, although he nodded to me again. I was midway through my glass, greedily gulping down the thick milk. . . it tasted different than goat's milk, but I didn't care.

"So, what brings you to the post then, miss?" he asked.

"I'm. . . I'm looking for someone," I eventually admitted, seeing no reason to hide the fact from the bear. I was, after all, here to talk to the men here about precisely that.

"Mnh?" the bear grunted, not looking up.

"An otter," I said, swallowing, "and his. . . men. His name is Rourke."

The bear stopped at that, looking up slowly. His dark eyes assessed me for a few moments, before he dropped his tone and murmured, "That is not a man you should be seeking, miss. For any reason."

I realized at that point that the bear wasn't the only one staring at me, now. The jowly canine further down the bar was giving me an odd look (or maybe he just looked odd. . . it was hard to tell) and the thin, ragged-looking feline who'd been two stools over shifted a bit uncomfortably in his chair, then reached into his pocket and hastily put a few coins down on the table before finishing the remnants of his drink and heading off.

The bear interrupted my confusion, asking, "Why are you looking for that man, miss? If you don't mind my asking? He left our valley months ago."

"I. . . ." I paused, remembering what I'd promised Ransom. No matter how affable the bear was, he didn't need to know my personal quest, even if he might understand it more than an Otherwolf would.

"You're not with the husky, are you?" the kodiak asked, knitting his brow.

"I-what? No," I shook my head. "I don't even know what. . . who. . . that is."

The bear nodded, slowly, then glanced aside once before looking back to me, dropping his voice. "Then you ought not to be asking around about the otter. You're going to get yourself in trouble, miss."

And with that, he finished up his glass and headed into the back to do, presumably, whatever he'd told his wife he'd handle. I blew out a soft sigh, frustrated, and began to eat my stew. I was reflecting on the fact that if the bear wouldn't talk to me, it might be that no one here would, when someone slid into the chair right beside me, one of his elbows pressing into my personal space as he leaned over towards me, looking me over.

I knew by the scent alone that he was a fox before I looked up. When I did, I found myself face to face with the red-furred, slender traveler. He was dressed similarly to Ransom, worn cotton shirt with leather breeches and a coat that stunk of horses and the road. He was almost entirely missing one of his ears, but I was trying not to judge by looks around here. Ransom had turned out to be a decent man, after all. I tried not to shrink away from his breath when he spoke.

"Milk, hnh?" he asked, eyeing what I was drinking with a slippery smile. "Thas'cute. Like a kitten."

My fur bristled, but I turned my attention towards him. The man had a poor grasp of the valley language, but he could clearly speak it and most people here probably wouldn't. I'd known some of the men I spoke to here might be unpleasant, but it didn't matter so long as they had useful information.

When he slid an arm around my shoulder, however, I couldn't stop myself from shuddering. I did not want to be touched by this man. I tried to make that evident by shrugging his arm off my shoulders, but he only persisted, returning his grasp to me and leaning in closer. I decided I'd bear it for now, reminding myself I didn't want trouble.

No trouble. No violence. You've dealt with worse. This is to pursue Methoa.

"C'mon now, kitten," the fox murmured, the term of endearment sounding so much more unnerving coming from him than from Ransom, "don't be like tha'. I heard you was lookin' for someone."

I blinked, looking his way.

"I just came over here t'see if I could help," the fox coaxed, rubbing his paw against my shoulder. "Woman like you. . . alone? T'shame." He paused, glancing around us, then looking back to me. "You are. . . alone. . . yeah?"

I wanted to say no, to tell him I had friends. . . but Ransom had clearly stated he wanted nothing to do with my dealings in town today, and this was just the sort of man I could see him not wanting to get involved with.

I straightened my back, mustering some strength in my voice. "I can handle myself just fine on my own, sir."

" 'Course, 'course," the fox said with a smile, "but. . . you said you was lookin' for someone. What sorta. . . ah. . . man is it. . . you're looking for?"

"A particular man. An otter."

"That's. . . specific," the fox muttered, rubbing his chin. "Any wiggle room there?"

"No," I said, confused, "I'm looking for a particular otter. His name is Rourke."

Unlike the bear, I saw no recognition in the fox's features when I said the otter's name. He just gave me an odd, blank stare for a few moments, then shifted his hand down to wrap it around my arm, tugging at me.

"Can't say I know him, but I got a few friends tha'might be able t'help you," he said, "they know a lotta folk 'round this area. How's about I take you to go talk to 'em?"

I put a paw to his and worked his hand free from my arm, finding the sensation of him having ahold of me highly unpleasant. I helped myself up from my chair instead, looking around the room.

"Where are they?" I asked. "These friends of yours?"

My eyes swept the room, but the fox spoke up from behind me as he stood. "Upstairs," he said, "we've got a room."

I hesitated, turning back towards him. "Upstairs?" I repeated. My mind raced for a few moments. The fur on the back of my neck was prickling. This felt wrong, somehow. "So. . . ask them to come downstairs, and I'll talk to them here."

"Now that's mighty rude," the fox snorted. "Here I am doin' you a favor, and you wanna inconvenience my friends? Just come upstairs with me, kitten. You won't regret it."

"No, I don't-" I stammered, trying to decide what to do. I didn't feel safe leaving the main area with this man, let alone if there were truly other men upstairs. But he might honestly just know other travelers who might have information for me.

What risks was I willing to take for this? I'd known I'd have to be brave to pursue Methoa. If I didn't start now. . . .

The fox was visibly growing impatient with me, so at that point I began to say something-

-and someone interrupted the both of us, cutting through the tense moment.

"Come on now, Benny. Has that line ever worked?" A smooth, masculine voice questioned from behind us, a hint of amusement in his tone.

"It's Benjamin," the fox growled, turning to regard the canine interrupting us. I looked up as well, blinking.

It was the man I'd accidentally stepped on when I'd stumbled my way into the tavern. Amongst the dizzying sea of Otherwolves, it was hard for me to sort one out from another, but this one. . . he was hard to forget.

He was a bit shorter than Ransom, but stockier in frame and built like he was an active man, like a warrior or a hunter from my tribe might be. His features, as I'd noted before, in some ways resembled a wolf, except for a subtle softness to them that might have been due almost entirely to his thick, well-groomed fur. His pelt and his eyes were what was most striking about him. Red and white fur, although I primarily saw white along his paws and over most of his face, the red seemed to curl over his brow in a fascinating, diamond-like pattern. And his eyes were shocking blue, almost white in their intensity.

I tried not to stare. Again. He seemed to notice, however. . . and smiled.

He was wearing Otherwolf clothing that looked far more fine than Ransom's, and certainly cleaner and better kept. It seemed comfortable and functional though, and I could smell the distinct scent of a horse on him, suggesting they were his traveling garments. I didn't see a bow or rifle. . . .

Despite that he didn't seem in the least intimidated by the fox, who was armed. I could see a hunting knife on his hip. And he was growing defensive and irritated.

"The lady and I were talkin', dog. Back off," the fox snarled.

"Miss?" the canine looked my way. "Apologies if I'm wrong, but. . . were you not wanting this man to leave you be? You looked uncomfortable."

I paused for a moment, considering. I'd yet to make up my mind on that. But the way the fox was twisting up his muzzle now made me feel as though I'd been right to doubt him all along. And the man who'd interjected made for a good excuse to end this awkwardness now, before it escalated.

"Yes," I finally said. "Yes, I'd rather he leaves me alone. I don't think I want to meet your friends. I'm sorry."

The fox gave me a derisive snort, spitting at my feet. "Your loss, woman! You can just piss off, then."

"Benny," the canine warned, "now that's not particularly civil."

"Benjamin!" the fox exclaimed, angrily. "And don't you act like you own me, dog! You ain't my keeper!"

"Now, calm down. Tovuk will toss you if you keep this up, Ben," the canine commented with a raised brow and the hint of a smile. "You know how much he hates fighting."

The fox spouted a stream of garbled profanity in Amurescan, a fact which I only knew because Ransom often shouted the same colorful medleys, and trudged off. I felt the tension in the air dissolve as he did, then realized I had a whole new problem, now.

The canine wasn't leaving. He still looked easy and unconcerned, his posture relaxed, although I did notice his hand rested at his hip as he watched the fox go. It was hovering over something odd strapped to his thigh by a leather holster. It was hard to tell what it was, all I could see was the handle. But it looked too bulky to be a knife.

I wasn't going to thank him for his interference. I could have handled the fox on my own. In fact if anything, I was a bit annoyed by yet another patronizing gesture and felt the need to say so.

"I could have done that without your assistance," I muttered, heading back over to the bar.

If my lack of gratitude bothered the man, he didn't show it. Instead, he followed me towards my chair and unlike the fox, gave me at least two body-widths of space, so I couldn't even complain and ask him to leave. He leaned on the bar, that mild smile still there, begging me to follow the curve of his muzzle up towards his eyes again. I resisted, but only because I still had milk and stew waiting for me.

"Apologies, then," he said, his voice still that smooth, confident tone from before. "I misunderstood the situation."

I gave a noncommital 'Mnh', digging my spoon into the thick stew of meat, potatoes and carrots. Puck and Ransom had been right. . . it was pretty amazing.

"I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself," he said, running a hand through the fur along his neck.

"No one asked you to," I mumbled, not certain why I wanted the man gone so badly, but I did. His grasp of the Katuk language was admirable, he even lacked the twang Ransom had and he seemed polite and clearly wanted to talk to me, for whatever reason.

But he'd hurt my pride. I hadn't asked for his help in dealing with the fox.

"Ah. . . alright. . . ." the man paused, that confidence drooping for all of a second or so, before he actually pulled up the chair and sat, clearing his throat and donning that easy smile again. "Listen, we got off on the wrong foot. My name is Grant. Grant Wickham."