(2082) tl;dr. Inferni gains its first Pack NPC.

The coyote hunched over the reindeer, working quickly but efficiently to deal with the kill. Viggo was nearby, snorting steam into the snow and waiting impatiently. He had been out long enough, and Ezekiel had to agree—it was freezing despite his thick pelt, due largely in part to the wind and its ability to cut through and chill to the bone. Such weather had made the hunt easy, as had his bow; while his first shot had not been fatal, it had slowed the doe enough to allow the massive horse to catch up to her. A second shot, this one taken through the eye, had killed the thing.

He had chosen the doe because she was young, not a mother yet, and obviously starving. The antlers had given away her age, and upon felling her, he had been startled by exactly how thin she was. While not able to accurately judge the weight, he knew that the doe was much lighter than he was. For this reason, carrying the entire carcass back to be processed inside was appealing to him.

Viggo was less than thrilled about the arraignment, but remained still enough for the coyote to lash the corpse onto his back. Ezekiel carried only one length of rope for such purposes, and it was wearing through. He made a note to find more as a peculiar howl rose above the wind. Both horse and coyote turned to it, and saw that a figure was hurrying towards them. While not on Inferni’s borders, Ezekiel was close enough to be wary and straightened his posture to meet the approaching stranger.

It was a dog, he noticed quickly, seeing the familiar looking shape of the head. A short-furred dog with high, coyote ears and dark eyes, clutching a coat around him and carrying a staff nearly as tall as he was.

“Ooh dis ‘ere be one hell of a storm!”

His peculiar accent made Ezekiel’s ears rise to an impossibly high point, startled by such a thing. He must have looked surprised because the dog laughed and held out his hand. “Mo chagren, I mus’a forgot my manners. Rémy Lebeau, hailin’ down from Louisiana.”

The blonde shook his hand, familiar but finding the gesture strange, and felt a plastic smile creep onto his face. “Ezekiel de le Poer. I’m from Inferni, just south of here. You picked a bad time to be out.”

“Fuh shore. Weather ain’t nothin’ like dis where I come from. Where you say you’re from again? Inferni? That a town ‘round here?”

“We’re the only coyote clan for miles,” Ezekiel explained, a single tooth gleaming from under his lip as he did so. “Why, you looking to settle somewhere or just get out of the storm?”

The dog laughed, a barking sound that suited his peculiar appearance. “I might just be lookin’ for both. Might not look like much, but mes pattes and I have come a long ways n’I ain’t no bon rien.”

Though he did not fully understand the words used, Ezekiel gathered the context of such. The dog (though he was a hybrid, obviously) was from a long way away and had some sort of skills to offer. Behind him, Viggo snorted loudly, demanding to go. He scratched under the stallion’s jaw and gestured to the man. “Come on, we can talk out of this storm.”

They headed into the wind, moving quickly and silently towards Inferni. Ezekiel noticed that the man nodded smartly at the skulls, but he did not speak. This was understandable; the weather soured quickly and by the time the Mansion was in sight even Ezekiel was glad for it. He quickly led Viggo into the stable and shook the snow from his pelt. Behind him, the dog did the same, though he kept respectfully away from the other horses.

“Oh dis is nice, Ezekiel. You didn’t tell me y’all lived in a big ol’ mansion like dis,” Rémy quipped, grinning. He was certainly a talker, that was for sure. The blonde man cut the rope from Viggo and slid the corpse down. To his surprise, Rémy approached quickly to help. While obviously taller than Ezekiel, he was surprisingly strong and between the two of them carrying the reindeer was hardly a task at all. They made it into the main area of the building through the connection in the garage and from there, to the kitchen.

The caribou was put on a sturdy, human-made oak table. Ezekiel had been using this for his butchering area and it showed; the wood was stained a deep, dark brownish red. “Thank you,” he offered to the stranger, who waved his hands and dismissed such a thing. The blonde man leaned against the counter behind him, amber eyes darkened and calculating.

“So why are you this far north? You aren’t built for it.”

“No no, you’re right about dat. I come lookin’ to make my own way. Run into some trouble back home ‘n wound up getting’ lost once I lef’ Freetown. You the first podna I seen in days.”

“What sort of trouble?”

“Oh a bit o’ dis, a bit o’ dat. Nothin’ t’follow me here, if dats what you askin’ about.”

He was quick; Ezekiel would give him that. The corners of his mouth pulled back smartly. “If it did, we’d mount them on our borders. Come clean with me; you’ve got some sort of talent or you’d have been caught before.”

The dog laughed again and pulled off his trench-coat. A large bag rested comfortably against his side, clearly heavy and filled with goods. To Ezekiel’s surprise, the hybrid pulled this off and showed him—it was a myriad of items certainly old, many human-made, and some odds and ends he was sure had curious stories behind them. “Takin’ things other people don’t need seems to offend ‘em.”

Ezekiel watched the bag, and then lifted his eyes to the man. Rémy seemed confident, but he was certain there was a nervous anxiousness in the way he refused to stay still. A thief in their house would certainly be more welcomed than having him run off to any neighbors…especially Salsola. The blonde man snorted bullishly and flicked one ear.

“You have any skills beyond that?”

“Moonshinin and stick-fightin’. If’n any gators come dis way I make a mean caimon stew,” he added, toying with the tooth necklace around his throat. The Aquila rose and the dog’s hand stilled, dropping nervously to his side.

Amber eyes bored into the very soul of the hybrid before him. Well built and stocky, he was certainly strong. Smart enough to steal, escape, and flee when in danger—whatever the hell moonshine encompassed might be better put to use elsewhere, but time would tell. Ezekiel spoke again, his voice turning stronger than it had; Rémy responded to the sound subconsciously, his ears folding back and his posture shifting slightly. “I will give you protection from those who follow you if you swear your loyalty to me, and to Inferni. We are a clan strong of number and of blood, full of warriors. If you follow our laws and are willing to fight for a home, Inferni will grant you welcome among its ranks."

He saw a flicker of doubt pass in the eyes of the dog, but they lightened (turning a peculiar reddish color, he noted) and burned against a tanned face and a man well-worn from the length of his travel. Home; a new home, one without the fear of capture, without the terror of sleeping in open ground—Rémy looked at Ezekiel solidly and set his jaw.

“On my honor, y’have my loyalty.”

The blonde smiled thinly and turned to the caribou. “Go find yourself a room and rest for a bit. I’ll come find you when I finish here, and we’ll talk more. ”

As he drew forth his hunting knife, the dog gathered up his things and moved out of the kitchen. Ezekiel heard him move down the main hallway and towards one of the nearest rooms, as if afraid to be seen by anyone else yet. The blade plunged into the belly of the reindeer and so began his gutting process.

Ezekiel did not often cure meat, but he did harvest it regularly. With the weather as it was, storing food outside made for a fast way to freeze it and keep it from going bad. Canine stomachs are hardy, but infection (or even something as simple as indigestion) was not a thing he wished to suffer. The choicest pieces he kept; the liver, for example. The heart was put aside; while he could not bury them in this weather, he would burn the thing. Fire was an equally important part of ritual, and easier when winter came.

Every part of the animal was used. He separated the meat from the skin by ripping this from the body, cutting only where it was needed. To tan the hide he would use the brains, which kept inside the now detached skull until this first and more important process was concluded.

Meat was hacked away from bone, and separated into a large pile. Ezekiel fed not only himself but Kaena and Enkiel as well; while the latter was capable of hunting, winter so badly damaged him that there was a need for assistance. The majority of the meat was left for the residents to pick and choose; they all hunted, of course, but it never hurt to do so on a full stomach.

Ezekiel braved the weather to cross back to the guest house. His cousin met him at the door and they spoke briefly about the newcomer, as well as Enkiel’s report on the condition of previously wounded members. He mentioned that Ana, the girl with the broken wrist, was healing. The Aquila gave him a large portion of the meat and returned to the Mansion with a bundle of herbs as his reward. Satisfied by the condition of the hide, he folded this up and placed it under the still-furred head. When he left he would take it and begin the process in the den next to his, intending to teach Max the skill as best he could.

The Aquila again stopped to speak with his grandmother, and deliver the liver and finest cuts to her. While most of the clan ensured she was fed, as Aquila, he imagined the duty was also largely his. Kaena was not very talkative, but thanked him before huddling back under her moose pelt to eat.

A few more doors down he found the Cajun dog. He asked him to follow and they returned to the central room, where over sections of the reindeer and before a crackling fire, Ezekiel explained the laws and ranks of the clan. Rémy did not interrupt much, though seemed curious about the neighbors mentioned. As he had with the others, Ezekiel cautioned him about those he deemed dangerous, and then dove into what brief history of the clan he cared to share. They spoke long into the evening, when Ezekiel finally excused himself to let the dog sleep.

The hide was gathered up and carried back to the barn, where Viggo waited impatiently. He disliked the Mansion, and knew a longer ride was ahead of them. With the snow dying down despite the wind’s howl, the Aquila and his steed rode westward and towards the caves. Ezekiel was satisfied with this newest recruit, and hoped that he would prove as useful as he seemed to think he was. A thief could do them well, even if he talked too much and used a peculiar accent that boggled the blonde’s understanding of the language.

When he reached the caves, he dismounted and allowed Viggo to run off and find Oblak. The two often holed up together in the barn near Myrika and the sheep, and he imagined that the stallion would do so tonight as well. The hide and head were placed inside as Ezekiel went about preparing tea for himself, smoked a single clove cigarette, and cast occasional glances to the howling wind outside. Once or twice his ears would raise high, as if hearing something, and he would mutter under his breath and shift his position within the den.

An hour after he had drunk his concoction Ezekiel was asleep, dark and dreamless. Outside, the snow whipped across a white stag that flickered, shimmered, and faded into the night.