THE DAY OF the winter solstice arrived, and with it the start of the wolflen’s Solstice Games. As the sun began to rise, activity filled the town of Bralden, more than it had since the cold season had settled upon it. The humans and the few other more human-like races that lived within the town gathered on the sacred grounds. Some were eager to test themselves against their wolflen neighbors. Others, like the wolflen leaders, wanted to see what Tiwaz herself was capable of. The tales of the incident in the market had already garnered wild exaggerations.

For the younger folk, it was a relief from the boredom of winter. Children both wolflen and human played together while their parents were distracted with the numerous contests. Most of the adult wolflen eyed the humans gathering for the contests dubiously, the humans doing much the same in return.

With only Kerk and Doom by her side, Tiwaz maintained a thoroughly aloof expression devoid of all thought or emotion while standing apart from the various clusters of Bralden’s denizens. Doom, with a scarf wrapped around his lower face to help keep his visage hidden beneath the shadows of his cloak’s cowl, considered the various competitors. “These contests don’t seem like much of a challenge. Nor do most wolflen or humans.”

“This is not my art. I will not do as well as you are anticipating. Or anyone else is expecting me to.” She flicked a glance up at him. “This is your world, not mine.”

“I was not invited to participate,” he told her pointedly. He noticed a peculiar smile on her face. He and several humans looked at her in surprise when she barked much like the wolflen. Without hesitation, Pack Leader separated himself from the group he stood with and trotted over to them.

Kerk chuckled at Doom’s reaction. “She’s been learning wolflen. Been a quick study, it seems.”

“Of course she would be,” he said in a soft voice, drawing the first true smile from his friend in weeks. After a brief, growling discussion with the woman, Pack Leader returned to the group he had been standing with. He returned with an elderly wolflen wearing a considerable amount of decoration.

The gathered townsfolk began to fall silent to watch this unusual meeting, humans and wolflen alike. “Ask your question of Shaman, Tiwaz,” Pack Leader stated evenly in common. “He is the keeper of traditions for the tribe.” A murmur of surprise ran through the human population; no one had ever bothered to try to learn the growling language of their neighbors.

Despite being stooped with age, Shaman still carried himself with pride, a venerated elder of his people. The white of age on his hands and muzzle marred his dark grey fur. His eyes, though not as clear as they had once been, belied the ferocity of his youth. “What is it you wish, Warrior?”

She put a hand on Doom’s arm, replying in wolflen, “This is my pack-brother. I am grateful to be permitted to run with the tribe for these tests of prowess, and deeply honored. But I beg that he be allowed to participate as well. He is more the hunter than I in our pack.”

Shaman walked around the gromek, looking him over. Stepping near abruptly, he stared up into the cowl before stepping back with a grunt, turning back to return to the group he had been standing with. Pack Leader nodded to Tiwaz before following.

“What was that about?” Doom asked finally.

“I asked him if my pack-brother could participate in the games as well.” She looked up at him. “He said yes.” Shocked briefly, he squeezed her shoulder, unable to find the words to express his gratitude. She simply covered his hand, returning the squeeze lightly.