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“Kenyak’s Saga” by MikasiWolf (part 1 of 2)
30th September 2020 • The Voice of Dog • Rob MacWolf and guests
00:00:00 00:21:33

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After being chased out of their home in Europe, Kenyak and his impromptu boat companions were blown by a storm to the New World. There, they discovered the natives were especially interested in the male members of the party.

Today’s story is the first of two parts of “Kenyak’s Saga” by MikasiWolf, a Singaporean Wolf Mercenary writer. “Kenyak’s Saga” have formerly appeared in the What the Fox anthology, published by Thurston Howl Publications. His works have been published by FurPlanet, Rabbit Valley, Goal Publications among others. You can find links to more of his stories on his FA or WikiFur page.

Read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.

Transcripts

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You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.

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I’m Khaki, your faithful fireside companion,

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and Today’s story is the first of 2 parts of

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“Kenyak’s Saga” by MikasiWolf,

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a Singaporean Wolf Mercenary writer.

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“Kenyak’s Saga” have formerly appeared in the

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What the Fox anthology,

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published by Thurston Howl Publications.

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His works have been published by FurPlanet,

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Rabbit Valley, Goal Publications among others.

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You can find links to more of his stories

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on his FA or WikiFur page

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Please enjoy“Kenyak’s Saga”

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by MikasiWolf, Part #1 of #2

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We had first set out to the vast seas of our world,

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not knowing what the turbulent waters of Ægir would bring.

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Nomads in our own way, always wandering;

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always searching.

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Some say that we fair wolves of the Northern Coasts

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were born of the ice floes themselves,

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and as such destined to be carried

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by the immemorial roads of the sea.

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Yet others say we sail the seas merely in search for new lands to call our own,

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lands we drift upon the shores of.

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That the reason we conquer and pillage is to obtain what riches of the land we lacked,

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with each settlement’s destruction our gain.

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For as hardy as my people were,

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the lands of our birth

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were much too harsh for any kind of existence.

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Some even called us

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the Terror of the North.

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I admit that a number of us were fighters at heart;

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but allow me to explain why I,

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Kenyak the Unproven,

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am sailing the Seven Seas with but a pawful of companions.

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Not in a longship,

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but a fishing skiff we pilfered just as our own village fell to its invaders. #

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Vikings being invaded?

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What a laugh! I hear you growl. Har

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-har-har. Thanks, but no thanks.

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It’s presumptuous of you, or anyone else to assume

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that the fiercest of warriors

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would never be routed from their lands.

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After all, for every powerful civilization, there exists others

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happy to see it fall.

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One reason why no one truly knew

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why we invade the lands of others

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was that our endless pride and honor refused explanation.

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On that note, it was also far more pleasing and awe-inspiring

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to speak of having to leave due to poor agricultural conditions,

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than let slip that our good neighbors decided to take up arms against us.

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That said, there was only so long we could stay before their realizing

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there were so many more of them than us.

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You didn’t have to be skald or chieftain to weigh those odds.

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Sure, we weren’t the best of guests when we first arrived, pillaging their villages and killing their kings.

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But that was all in the past.

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Besides, my father’s father and his men did it, not Father Dear, so it was highly uncalled

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-for when the local Picts charged into Rarkshirg as we were drinking our health to Odin.

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While we were being good hosts to our guests from the Thaneship of Skerrig

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while a storm raged outside the hall, the Picts set upon us with antlers and spears.

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Were it not for the fact me and my buddy was in a storehouse swiving away with two gals we got to know better,

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we wouldn’t have lived to swive another night.

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I had always told Rorik he never fully concentrated on whatever he did,

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and so it was he who stopped us in the midst of our private merrymaking. “Kenyak!” he’d whined. “We’re under attack!” My leggings came back up faster than it ever had, unless you

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counted that one time alone in the armory when Father almost caught me. Now, my father the Jarl and his warriors

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weren’t in any shape for a counterattack,

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and it was as much fear as poor combat skills that drove Rorik and I along with the two beauties

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to the nearest boat.

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I heard that casting off during a full-on gall was a far worse way to die than in battle,

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but just you try thinking straight with one paw on your leggings, and an unfinished tankard of bloodmead in the other.

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Not to mention the war cries of our attackers to give impetus.

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It wasn’t often that we had the best of Sherrig bloodmead to drink, so you’ll excuse me if I didn’t get my priorities straight.

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That was the last time

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I had any mead to drink.

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I regret nothing.

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Rorik and I cast off just as the attackers came round the storehouse and spotted us,

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and it was inasmuch as the force of the gale as our own doing

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that set our boat at the mercy of Ægir,

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almighty Jötunn of the seas.

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I was never much of a sailor,

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fighting between the sails and the tiller,

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but believe me when I tell you that sailing a boat with little experience was exhausting,

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not to mention backbreaking.

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This, along with the fatigue of our prior activities,

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led us all to sleep the night through,

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leaving us at the mercy of the storm. #

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Father had decreed that someday, I shall travel far beyond the reach of our current expeditions,

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alongside the best of his warriors.

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I was to be the first to board,

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and the first to stake our claim upon new lands.

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But he could never have imagined his son setting out on his first voyage

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in a fishing skiff.

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With the most unseeming of companions, no less.

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First up, Rorik the Bewildered,

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the Thaneship’s slow-wit.

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There was little point calling him a warrior;

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we all were, like it or not.

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He could spend the entire day learning how to master a simple sword swing, only to slice through his own footpaw.

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Till today, he lacks the foresight to wear paw protectors.

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But the other females seemed to like him for some reason, and his easygoing nature was one of the reasons why we were such good friends.

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For every suggestion I make,

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he would nod with a dazed, fangy smile.

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On his left, beside the rotting fishnet,

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was Velka Good-Swallow,

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daughter of a high-ranking thane from Skerrig.

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A she-wolf whose name bespoke either a calm demeanor,

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outspokenness, or skills best left unmentioned.

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Greda the Slow was the only other survivor of our village,

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and were one of the few bear Karls in our settlement.

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She was also Rorik’s preferred companion on nights such as yesterday.

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It was either through weary attrition,

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or the impossibility of getting him paired with the other wolves,

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that the Thaneship let it be.

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Not unheard of, but every warrior was expected to sire cubs nonetheless.

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Just like Rorik,

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she was similarly slow-witted, yet another example of birds of a feather flocking together.

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Loki’s whiskers!

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It was no picnic when we awoke to the sight of

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the featureless sea all around us.

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Even if it were night,

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my rudimentary knowledge of Astro-navigation

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addled by the best of blooded mead

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wouldn’t help in finding our way back.

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Besides, we all knew the Thaneship was lost when our delightful neighbors paid a visit.

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“By Odin’s eye, Kenyak, we’ve got to get to Skerrig!” rilled Velka. “My people need to know what happened!

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Only they can right this affront on our honor!

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We have to sail back at once.”

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I cast a half-lidded amber eye at her.

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“And how do you propose we do that, sweetie?”

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I asked, gesturing at the open expanse of sea.

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There was no visible land around, as far as the eye could see,

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and the only indicator of direction was the sun already halfway to the apex.

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It’s all very good to know where the East was, but it meant little

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if we were off the coast of somewhere we hadn’t been.

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Velka folded her arms

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and huffed in true Viking fashion,

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her tail flicking agitatedly.

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Did I ever say I found that cute?

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Especially when it kept doing that in the storehouse last night…

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“Besides, with the way our luck’s going, your people may already be food for the crows,”

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I said as I flapped my arms.

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Velka glared. “It’s not likely the Picts would have beef with just my Thaneship.

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We’re all carnivores, after all.

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Just stating the facts, sweetheart.”

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I waggered my ears at her. “Kenyak, there’re gulls that way,” spluttered Rorik, pointing his paw behind me.

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“Maybe we aren’t so far from the Thaneship after all!

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We’re saved!” He laughed in relief,

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throwing himself into the wide arms and ample bosom of Greda.

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Oh well. Looks like my fantasy of sailing into the uncharted lands of Those Who Dare were dashed.

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I bit back a scowl

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as Rorik and I set about maneuvering the sails and tiller in the right direction.

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A more difficult task than it looked,

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with my best friend doing mostly the opposite of whatever I was.

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The girls weren’t of much help,

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naturally, what with their merry dance that rocked the boat from side to side.

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A longship, this wasn’t.

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In my heart, I was more worried what awaited us back on land.

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But do we really want to spend the rest of our lives on this tub?

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Granted, we had two beauties on board, but even the most outgoing of sailors needed food and mead every now and then.

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And as embarrassing it was to admit,

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a lot more variety.

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I couldn’t fish that well, anyway,

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and Rorik wouldn’t have a shred of my competence.

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Besides, that net looked like it could come apart any moment.

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Our arms and backs were sore by the time we beached,

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and I stepped out gingerly onto the coast.

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No telling how far we landed from our recently-razed Thaneship.

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From the shape and appearance of the trees in the nearby forest, I could tell that we’ve

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never been to these parts.

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Besides, the air smelt way different,

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though I couldn’t pick up any other scents.

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It wasn’t much colder than my old home was, so our clothes and fur were still good enough to keep the draft out.

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“Where in Valhalla are we?”

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I muttered. The thing about trees were their universal appearance; no matter where you were,

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they looked much the same;

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green and brown. It wasn’t like I knew my plants;

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foraging and lumber gathering weren’t my strong points.

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“Kenyak?” said Rorik, his voice quavering.

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“I don’t think we’re alone.”

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Fenrir’s arse, I almost capsized the boat in my haste to get back inside.

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“What do you mean?” I hissed,

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eyes scanning the trees,

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one footpaw out in case we needed to push off.

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Velka and Greda had their ears up,

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quivering where they crouched.

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Far as I could tell, neither feral nor biped could be seen.

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And given our current state,

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either one could prove dangerous.

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“There’s something moving in the trees.

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And I don’t think we’re anywhere near home.”

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Well done, genius.

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To prove his point, a group of figures burst out of the trees, axes and spears in paw.

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They also gave a long drawn-out whooping as it did,

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which sent the fur all the way down from my neck to tail fluffing out.

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I made to push the boat off,

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but then noticed something about the warriors dashing towards us.

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Unlike the native people back home,

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these were wolves.

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Very feminine, unabashed wolves, if their bare rippling chests were anything to go by.

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As far as I knew, my Thaneship didn’t have any women in our shield wall.

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There were sagas that spoke of “shieldmaidens”,

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females who took up arms, but I had

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always figured out those sagas as a kind of comic relief.

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But even they tended to don some form of armor or clothing.

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Not that I was complaining, with my eyes taking in the wonderful sights before me.

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Problem was, this contributed to the delay in my pushing off, and the attackers quickly had us surrounded.

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Velka and Greda screamed as two of the wolves pulled them to shore,

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my ears flattening

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as they landed muzzle-first in the sand.

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I reached for my waistband, only to realise just

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then we were seriously unarmed.

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Weapons tended to get in the way of what we had planned last night.

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The wolves forced us into kneeling positions,

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spears pressed against our backs.

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I couldn’t help but risk a glance over to the ones holding us,

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and realized their grins meant ill intent.

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Rorik, Velka and Greda

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shivered where they knelt.

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One of the wolves stepped forward.

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From her loincloth

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she drew a knife,

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and though it was of stone, I had no doubt it did its job well enough.

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She took a long look at each and every one of us,

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then pulled me upright by the front of my tunic.

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I got a good look at her whatchamacallits, right until I felt the edge of her blade

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against my neck. She looked to the rest of her clansfolk,

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and muttered a string of syllables of a language I didn’t recognize.

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It didn’t sound anything like the language the natives back home spoke,

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but then, they looked nothing like them as

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well. With fur of a tawny hue,

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and paint markings of reddish ochre,

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this was unlike the blue woad the Picts preferred.

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Several of the natives shrugged or otherwise replied,

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and one of them stepped forth.

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Despite the fact that she’s got to be far older than any of the others,

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with grizzled fur around the neck and ears, this one

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carried a certain grace

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and authority for her stature.

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Her tail was raised higher than the rest,

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and the markings upon her fur were far more elaborate.

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The wolfess holding me stepped away from me as her Chief (?)

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approached. To my great surprise,

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she pulled Rorik upright as well,

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and otherwise paid Velka and Greda no heed.

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The Chief walked around me

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and my friend, who looked more curious than scared.

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That’s Rorik for you.

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The Chief sniffed us

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each and every other way, and it was all I could do not to giggle when it started to get ticklish.

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Velka stared at this in aghast,

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and all I could do was give her a

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“What did you expect?” expression.

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After what felt like a long while,

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the Chief stood up,

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licking her lips.

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She barked several commands to her people, and as one,

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they surged forth.

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I was about to defend myself when I realized they were all smiles,

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tails awagging as they led us by the arms.

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I looked back and saw that Velka and Greda were also being likewise led away,

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though their captors didn’t afford them more than a second glance.

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The way several of my captors ran their paws down me

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and Rorik’s arms and backs had me realize what lay in store for us.

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“Kenyak, what going to happen to us?”

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asked Rorik, clueless as ever.

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“It’s gonna be fun, my friend!

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Just wait and see!”

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I barked back. One of the females drew her fingers through my ruff and growled. #

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When we got to the village, which consisted of skin huts nestled around a stream,

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I first had my misgivings about our living conditions.

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All of us were used to sleeping in properly constructed wood and stone houses,

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which gave reasonable warmth

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if it had a properly-lit hearth and everything.

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None of the huts had any fireplaces within,

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but it was soon apparent that there would be no shortage of warmth to be had.

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As soon as we arrived,

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and the other villagers heard what their grinning chief had to say,

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the wolves were practically fighting to get me and Rorik into their own tents.

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I couldn’t say I didn’t expect that; what with my good looks and all, but what they saw in Rorik was anyone’s guess.

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It was only after the flap of a tent belonging to a group of sisters closed

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that I wondered why we haven’t seen any male natives so far.

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All thoughts of that were soon forgotten as they practically tackled me to the floor of the tent.

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If this was how the natives treated their newcomers,

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I felt very welcome indeed. #

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The first month was exceptionally enjoyable for Rorik and I.

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Velka and Greda was delegated to another part of the camp,

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where they helped the villagefolk with whatever needed to be done, such as

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preparing recently-caught game for the fire.

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I saw them occasionally in between

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sleepovers with different villagers.

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The villagers were far from negligent;

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in fact, they kept Rorik and I well-fed.

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Over time, we learned some semblance of their tongue.

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Not that it was required during sleepovers;

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that was itself a language that transcended

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cultural boundaries.

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“Willow, why are they no other men around?”

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I asked my latest conquest after we were done.

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Flexing-Willow claims to be no more than about my age,

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though she smelled far older.

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She had several war scars of her own that I hadn’t noticed in the heat of the moment. No pun intended.

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“The men are no more.

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They went to fight the enemy of our people, and didn’t return,”

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Willow snuffed into my ear.

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“But the women of the Ruikuk fight well enough on our own.

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You and your friend are

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our men now.” She bared her fangs in what could have been a playful gesture,

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and nipped me on the nose.

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I was flattered, but I was too tired by then to reciprocate in kind.

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Then she got out,

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and the next in line came in.

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If I and Rorik were all that’s left to take good care of them,

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then that’s what we’ll do. #

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By the third month

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I was exhausted, though Rorik didn’t admit it.

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Even the brews by their local healer couldn’t keep up my strength.

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At least the tribesfolk weren’t as demanding as they were during the first two months.

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I sat warming my paws by the fire,

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and just then, Rorik came up.

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“Having fun, Rorik?”

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I asked tiredly. Rorik seemed surprised at that statement,

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as if he hadn’t just come out of the Chief’s tent.

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In our three months here,

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not once had she invited me to her bedroll.

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Again, what anyone saw in Rorik I didn’t know, but there’s really no accounting for taste.

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“Fun? It’s exhausting!

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So many people insist on me moving much more vigorously,”

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replied Rorik. He sat at the fire,

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bringing his head near to warm his ears.

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I gave up warning him not to do that after the first fifteen times back at the Thaneship,

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with the charred fur of his ruffs testimony to undying habits.

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“Aye, Rorik. It feels much better that way.

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Well, for the other party, at least.”

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I replied. “What I was doing was meant to be fun?”

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wondered Rorik.

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I opened my mouth to reply that,

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yes, the main reason why anyone did what we were doing was for fun.

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Then I realized that explaining would do as much good as the last fifty times,

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so I kept silent.

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We sat in companionable silence,

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the only sound being the crackling of the flames,

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tinged with the scent of burnt fur.

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Lately, fewer and fewer of the villagefolk did hunting, or any of their other duties, but I figured they already had a lot of food stored up.

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“The villagers are all getting fatter.”

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commented Rorik.

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“They had seemed so slim when we first arrived.

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Did their diet change?”

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“No, Rorik. Ours’ did.”

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I replied. I spied several of the beauties walking towards the healer’s tent,

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bellies swollen through our efforts.

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“It appears that you and I are going to be fathers.

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Or rather, fathers of many.

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I always wondered what parenting would be like.”

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“I always wondered where cubs come from.” Rorik’s left ruff was sufficiently singed, so he angled his right ruff closer to the flames.

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“I don’t wonder, Rorik.

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I know.” A great commotion could be heard at the Chief’s tent,

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with a crowd having gathered outside.

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Not having anything better to do,

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I dragged a smoking Rorik to where the crowd was.

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Velka and Greda were already there.

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On seeing Rorik,

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Greda hugged him

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as if they didn’t already see each other every day.

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Velka narrowed her eyes at me before turning away with a huff.

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“Nice to see you too, my love.”

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I said to her. Velka

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had been green with envy ever since my suitors dragged me into their tents on Day One,

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so I tried making it up to her a couple of weeks later.

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To my great surprise,

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she resisted my good looks and charm,

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something the people in this fine village can’t seem to get enough of.

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You could chalk it up to cultural differences if you like,

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but it had me wondering if she’d felt left out.

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But it wasn’t like the Ruikuk gave me much time or energy left

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to let her in on the action, so she’s going to have to wait her turn.

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Or at least after we hear what the Chief had to say.

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I’m sure we could find an empty tent soon enough.

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Chief Gushing Water stood at the mouth to her tent,

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paws resting upon the bulge of her belly.

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She carried a smile as she spoke,

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her voice carrying across in the open air.

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“The Healer has wonderful news to share,” said Chief Water.

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“Ever since our menfolk travelled across The Great Water to right the affront to our people,

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and in doing so failed to return,

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we had been beset with a dilemma on how to continue our lineage.

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For it is our duty as the People to carry on what had been started

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By She Who Births All,

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our Guide and Creator.

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Just as She had created The People, so shall we create cubs to carry forth her legacy.

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“Just as The Great Water took our menfolk away,

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so did it give us a blessing of two men in Her image.

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Through them, our legacy lives on.

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The Healer has confirmed that all womenfolk are now with cub.”

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“Honored to be of service, Chief!” I spoke.

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But Chief Water carried on like I hadn’t spoken.

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“But as a People, we have to be independent, lest external influences threaten our ways,”

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said Chief Water.

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“Just as we had found true freedom when our menfolk oppressed us no longer,

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we have to cast off the bonds that would tie us to the point of reliance.

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Within your bellies lies the key to your future.

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Our future.” The Chief’s eyes narrowed,

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her jaw set in a smile.

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“Just as She Who Births All had sent her emissaries through the sea,

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so shall we return them to it.

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Enforce Her will!”

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“Enforce Her will!” roared the Ruikuk womenfolk.

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Axes and knives appeared in their paws,

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and I turned tail and fled.

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This was the the #1 of #2 parts of “Kenyak’s Saga”

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by MikasiWolf, read for you by Khaki,

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your faithful fireside companion. Tune in

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next time to find out what happens to Kenyak and friends?

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Do the natives want their pelts for supper?

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As always, you can find more stories on the web

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at thevoice.dog,

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or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.

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Thank you for listening

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to The Voice of Dog

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