Takes place several years before canon
To wander through the old man's house was dangerous. Bjorn Holt was infamous amongst the villagers for his vast array of vicious-looking dogs. Yet, when Noak ventured past the frosted pen, he found that the loose dogs only regarded him wearily. One ventured close, and sniffed him, then returned to its earlier business of burrowing under the ice. He had been warned that Bjorn was an old, bitter man, although such a warning was unnecessary to a native of Ledas-Hafn. Everyone knew - the oldest man in the village was little more than a hermit. A war veteran, but a hermit.
And yet Noak felt he owed the man some gratitude - it had been Bjorn's dog who found his younger sister, Bjorn who abruptly ended his hunting trip to take her home. She might have succumbed to worse than frost, left alone in the frigid Glacien evening.
As Bjorn put it, he was going on a long hunt, and would not be back for several days. Many of his dogs had come along, but the remainder needed caring for.
He fumbled with the cabin door - it had no lock. It did not need one. The second Noak opened the door a large, shorter-haired dog bounded out and tackled him to the ground. For a moment he saw his life ending - the dog would surely rip out his throat - and then the beast bent down and ran his tongue along Noak's face.
"Off," Noak commanded, through an unathoritative squeak. The dog did as asked, bounding between his new "pet" and the doorway excitedly. He rolled upwards to a crouch, and stood from there. He entered the house uncertainly - as a younger boy he had always been warned away. Bjorn Holt was crazy. Bjorn Holt raised not dogs but wolves. Bjorn Holt ran away on such long hunts to transform into the bear he was named for, and returned only after slaying any bear unfortunate enough to cross his path.
All rumors, Noak supposed, not to be taken seriously.
The dog led him into the house, and Noak was slightly surprised by how sparsely Bjorn lived. He had little furniture. The center of the room bore a firepit, the corner a bed. Furs hung along the walls, piled in the corners. One, he realized, was an entire, living dog, resting amidst the furs.
Bjorn had promised to leave instructions on the desk, and Noak supposed he must have. He ambled nervously through Bjorn's house, as though he did not belong, and sat at the desk. Sure enough, there sat a list of things he would need to do.
Release the hounds."What?" Noak coughed, glancing at the letter.
The meat is stored in the icebox behind the barn. It's made of steel. Wear gloves.He glanced back at the spotted beast who had tackled him before. "Why are you in the house, then?"
He continued reading.
Lay out five strips of meat twice - once in the morning, once in the evening. The dogs won't eat it right away.No objections there, Noak thought. He reached behind him to scratch the bulky creature, grimmacing as a bit of drool hung over his glove.
Several of the dogs will be in the house when you arrive - they are mostly older dogs and should not be much trouble.He glanced at the dog behind him. "You don't look too old."
Before you go, make sure they are back in the house. If they have not eaten, take another strip of meat from the icebox. Leave half in the house.Which meant Noak had to watch the dogs, and to his knowledge there were only two. Brilliant.
Call them:
Morgon
Iavin
Grahund
Blahund
NejsynFolded haphazardly beside the initial list of chores was a second list, and Noak unfolded it so hastily that the corners ripped.
He stared, aghast at the list of names. There were twenty dogs. Twenty.
"Oh dear Creator..."
A little side note warned him that one dog, Vanya, would not come when called.
Vanya has a bell on his harness, so he shouldn't be too hard to find.Which meant he was
flighty.
"Every day for two weeks," he groaned, exasperated. And then, glancing over his shoulder at the dog who had tackled him. Now, Noak realized, his eyes were a cloudy blue. "Nesjyn?"
The dog sat, which the boy took as confirmation. "Right. Good to know."
And then it was time to get to work.
--------
Bjorn stepped off of the sled once they reached his gate, and, one by one, he began to unhook his dogs. Jagare darted about excitedly, nipping at the other dogs as Bjorn shrugged them out of tack.
The man raised a hand stiffly into the air, stood upright, and barked, "
Sit" in the stiffest voice he could muster. The wolf shook and wriggled, but eventually did as commanded.
Glancing at his cabin, he wondered if the boy was still around. He had to pay the lad for the time - he had promised 50 bronze, but might well have offered 60. It had been quite a good hunt. "Boy?"
There was no answer. He shrugged and continued removing the dogs from their harnesses - a few here, a few there, and then the dogs were loose and waiting by the barn. Jagare, however, waited by the house, Dreki in tow. Bjorn shrugged and opened the barn. Aside from the usual swarm of excited dogs, there was one freckled teen, brown eyes wide with relief.
"Oh thank the Creator you're back here," a thin, adolescent voice called.
The boy looked up to Bjorn in exasperation, his face red and sweaty. "Were you chasing them, boy?"
The lad grimaced, then nodded. "I had to get them in the barn."
The older man paused, as though considering this, and then snorted. His good eye crinkled in the corner. Then, his lips pulled apart, and he flashed a yellowed smile. "Boy, these dogs are built for speed - you're best off letting them come to you."
"Look, I want to go home," the boy said, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I got your dogs in--"
He glanced behind Bjorn, and recoiled.
"Wolf!"
Bjorn snorted at this. "Boy, he's little more than a doggie. Jagare," he motioned with his hand, raising it out and then snapping it back to his side. The aforementioned 'doggie' padded forward, stopping somewhere behind Bjorn. He motioned again, and the wolf remained. "Jagare."
This time, he came a little closer, just enough to stand beside Bjorn. "See? A stubborn doggie, but a doggie."
The boy stared between Bjorn and the wolf. "You're..."
"Crazy."
"No, just--"
"Senile."
He was not offended - Bjorn was rather used to those sorts of insults flying the second people
thought he could no longer hear them.
"Boy, I could explain all about why Jagare won't bite you unless you deserve it, or how to catch a dog, but you should get home to your parents before it gets dark," he finished, opening his coat and digging through an inner pocket. "Let's see..."
At this, the boy straightened up. The old man could sympathize - he had often taken odd jobs as a young boy, hoping to save money to buy his own things. Extra snacks here and there, a twine braided necklace for a girl he once fancied...he did not know what this boy wanted it for, but he could imagine.
He began to count the remaining coin. Five bronze, two bronze, and then a silver. He stared into his hand.
A silver was a little much for a dog sitter.
A silver was more than most people could bring home in a month.
"You can pay me later," the boy said unevenly, unable to hide his disappointment.
Bjorn shrugged his shoulders. "I probably have something in the house."
The boy nodded, and the two exited the barn. Jagare followed happily enough, expecting to get inside and overtake Bjorn's bed no doubt. He cracked open the door, stepped inside, and marched to his desk. He pulled a drawer out, sifted through it, and was pleased to find a stash of bronze coins. He began to count them out, several at a time, and though he was certain he had added an extra he dropped it in the boy's hand.
"All yours," he said, looking down at the teen. He always wondered if his own sons would look so pathetic in their adolescence - or if he himself had looked to frightened.
And the boy could not seem to leave quickly enough.