Some things changed at Wail's house after the birthday party.
One by one, Drog took his children to meet Mrog.
All of them.
Except for Wail.
Although, to the surprise of anyone watching, he didn't seem to mind much. He didn't ask questions. He didn't complain. He simply went about his day.
After a while, old Mrog made a decision. He would choose Growl and Grul as his apprentices.
According to Lass, their mother, their grandfather had been something of a legendary hunter in his youth. A wolf who had survived countless battles beyond the wall. An existence that even the current hunters respected.
The rest of his siblings were sent to train with other veteran hunters. They all had a path.
All except Wail.
At first, he felt something strange.
Loneliness.
It was odd.
For a long time, he had sought solitude. But now that his brothers weren't around, the house seemed too quiet. However, Drog wouldn't allow his son to be bored for long.
"Come here." Wail looked up.
His father called him and sat him down beside him.
"Repeat after me."
Then he did something that left Wail completely still.
"Aurë."
The word came from Drog's mouth with perfect pronunciation.
Wail's eyes widened.
His father...
He had spoken.
Not using the Language of the Forest.
Not through gestures.
He had used words.
"It means good morning." Drog explained the meaning through his body language.
Wail tried to repeat it.
"Ab... abu... au..." The words stumbled over each other. Not because they were difficult. But because the surprise prevented him from concentrating.
Drog repeated it again.
"Aurë."
His face was still the same as always. Serious. Calm. Expressionless.
But Wail noticed something.
Something he'd never seen when his father watched him.
Expectation.
That day, his Elvish lessons began.
To Wail's surprise, he wouldn't be the only one learning.
Mrog would be teaching Growl and Grul.
Clak and Drok would be taught by their uncle.
According to Lass, Drog's older brother had married her cousin.
Moreover, he was considered a living legend.
A hunter on Drog's level.
Meanwhile, Bru and Quek had been sent to a tutor.
The mission was to correct their...
Peculiarities.
Wail wasn't sure what that meant exactly.
But he hoped they wouldn't be too harsh on them.
------------------
"Listen carefully." Drog walked beside Wail as they headed toward Bracas Pass.
"Elves are weak." Wail turned his head slightly.
His father continued.
"They're also strange." He paused.
"And they smell odd." Wail couldn't help but think that last observation was rather significant for a gray wolf. Drog looked at him.
"But they're useful." His expression didn't change.
"That's why it's forbidden to harm them unless they try to harm you first." Wail repeated the sentence mentally.
Elves were weak.
Strange.
They smelled different.
But they were useful.
It was a very gray wolf way of describing someone. Drog explained all this because that day Wail would meet elves for the first time.
The Farunt family was one of the wealthiest families among the gray wolves.
As hunters, they didn't need to trade.
They had strength.
They had territory.
They had prestige.
But many generations ago, one of their ancestors made a decision that many considered absurd.
He decided the family would trade.
The reason was simple.
Fear.
Not of an enemy.
Not of a beast.
Of stupidity.
That ancient leader had watched entire families disappear with the passing generations.
Strong families.
Proud families.
Families that had dedicated everything to raising warriors.
But they forgot something important.
The world was changing.
And they weren't.
First, they tried to trade with other wolf races.
But they discovered they weren't reliable partners.
Then they looked south, to the land of cattle.
But what they could offer wasn't worth the effort.
Then they tried to approach the Taurus of the northeast.
But the differences between the two cultures made any agreement impossible.
Finally, they looked west.
To the dragonkin.
But so few remained that trading with them was almost like trying to speak to ghosts.
They needed a different partner.
It was then that their ancestor sought out the Sage of the Mountain of Mist.
An ancient wolf.
One of the few considered truly wise.
He gave him an answer.
The elves would listen.
And it would be worth it.
It was the first time a family of gray wolves had attempted to trade with a race outside of the Black Forest.
The gray wolves had always considered the outside races weak.
"They pride themselves on their goodness and their reason," Drog explained. "But true goodness can only exist when you have the strength to protect it. And true reason is born of experience."
Even so, their ancestor decided to listen.
He traveled to Bracas Pass.
One of the few exits from Mirkwood.
The Sage of Mist Mountain had revealed the location because he knew the gray wolves.
He knew they weren't trying to escape.
There, the elves had built a fortress.
A supposed defense against the creatures of the forest.
"Which is nonsense," Drog said. "If a true beast of the Black Forest were to pass through that place, not even all the elves together could stop it."
Drog continued walking.
"But they believe they are the guardians of the pass."
He pause.
"Our ancestor saw no need to correct them."
Since then, the Farunt continued trading with the elves.
Not because they needed them.
But because they understood something.
A family too proud to adapt was a family destined to disappear.
Wail was surprised.
He never imagined that his family's wealth came from dealings with another race. Nor did he know that there were exits from the Black Forest.
Apparently, many of the comforts in his home came from the elves.
Even some tools he still didn't understand.
Then he remembered something.
"That explains the stove." Lass cooked using a device that didn't require wood or a traditional fire.
Wail had been trying to figure out how it worked for a long time.
The exchanges took place in a building near the elven fortress.
Two groups met.
Hunters from the Farunt.
And elven soldiers led by a nobleman.
Only four members of the family were officially in charge of these arrangements.
Mrog.
B-rok.
B-rum.
And Drog.
They took turns making the journeys.
But there was a rule.
All the young people had to learn.
Because crossing the wall always involved a risk.
If one of those in charge died on the other side…
Someone had to take their place.
That's why many young Farunt learned Elvish.
They also studied mathematics. Geography. History. Wail had been learning these subjects with Drog and Lass for weeks.
The math was easy.
At least at the level they were teaching him. Probably thanks to his memories of his past life.
Although he was sure that one complicated equation would be enough to destroy his brain. He only remembered that they existed.
Geography was different.
It fascinated him.
He had no idea that the Black Forest was so large.
In fact, he began to suspect that it wasn't just a forest.
It was almost an entire continent.
History was interesting.
But there was a problem.
It was transmitted primarily through stories.
Stories passed down from generation to generation.
And for Wail, it was difficult to distinguish where the story ended…
And where the legend began.
--------------------
They advanced in formation.
In the center of the group traveled the servants in charge of transporting the goods.
At the front marched the younger hunters, guided by a more experienced one.
Behind them came Drog, Wail, and the best hunters of the family.
Until that moment, Wail hadn't grasped the true magnitude of the journey.
That changed when he saw the cargo.
Dozens of carts advanced alongside them.
They carried colored stones that Wail was certain were some kind of precious gem.
Diamonds.
Rubies.
Sapphires.
Or something like that.
There were also enormous bones, some larger than his own father.
Hides.
Plants.
Wood.
Vases whose contents he didn't know, but which emanated a strange energy that even his senses could perceive.
It was much more than he had imagined.
After many days of travel, he finally saw it.
The great barrier.
A wall of rock that seemed to reach the clouds.
A gigantic natural formation that separated the outside world from the Black Forest.
Beyond it lay the Empire of Skyrel.
The empire of the high elves.
And then…
The cursed lands.
Wail had heard stories of kingdoms beyond those lands.
But most seemed to belong to legend.
As they drew closer, Wail noticed something.
There were fewer and fewer animals.
"As part of the agreement with the elves, we keep this area free of beasts that could harm them." Drog spoke without pausing.
"The most dangerous thing you'll find here is a libiro."
He pause.
"And they only appear occasionally." Wail observed the hunters who accompanied them.
Something seemed strange to him.
They had been kind to him.
He hadn't seen contempt.
No pity.
No uneasy curiosity.
Nothing.
"They're part of my hunting party."
Drog answered before Wail could ask.
"None of them are family." He continued walking.
"They're the best of the best." Wail was surprised that his father had understood what he was thinking.
"You're too expressive." Drog looked at him.
"Easy to read." Wail immediately tried to put on a poker face.
Drog simply kept walking.
-----------------------------
The building where they would rest resembled a barracks.
An enormous room filled with beds and bunks.
Designed to accommodate as many people as possible.
It contained only the bare necessities.
Nothing more.
Small lakes were scattered throughout the area.
The proximity of the great barrier brought frequent rain, and the water collected, forming small bodies of water.
Between the barracks and the fortress lay the market.
When Wail saw it, he recalled images of the ancient human markets he had seen in his past life.
A massive circular structure.
Pillars supporting a roof.
Carved decorations everywhere.
Though here, everything was made primarily of wood.
"It was the elves' idea," Drog said.
"Our ancestors thought it unnecessary." Wail couldn't help but notice a hint of embarrassment in the way he said it.
They wouldn't begin immediately.
There were protocols.
First, the representatives would greet each other.
Then there would be a ceremony.
Something Drog didn't question.
In the short time he'd been among the gray wolves, Wail had learned something:
They liked ceremonies.
Then would come the toast.
And finally, the exchange.
When the time came, Wail walked beside his father.
Behind them advanced several of the best hunters.
First came the scent.
Then the sight.
Wail knew he would meet an important member of the elves.
His father had explained that the Farunt traded directly with the royal family.
But even so, he hadn't expected this.
He was tall.
Almost as tall as Drog.
But much thinner.
His clothes were perfectly arranged, decorated with embroidery and embellishments that Wail didn't understand.
He seemed calm.
But his senses told him otherwise. He was alert.
Behind him marched soldiers in plate armor.
They all wore cloaks.
White for the prince.
Black for the soldiers.
The cloaks had a strange smell.
As if they weren't quite normal.
Then Wail noticed another scent.
Different.
Even stranger.
Drog stepped forward.
"Maratuldë, anda lúmello." "Welcome, it's been a while."
"Valde len, Drog Farunt." "Happiness to you, Drog Farunt."
The prince replied.
Then they both took each other's hands.
Both hands.
Drog had explained that it was an elven tradition.
He didn't understand its meaning.
Mrog said it represented trust.
Wail thought it probably had another purpose.
To check that neither of them was concealing a weapon.
But he couldn't explain how he knew that.
He didn't even know how to explain what a concealed weapon was.
Gray wolves didn't use things like that.
---------------------------
The conversations began.
News.
Rumors.
Information from inside and outside the Black Forest.
"Strange things have been happening." Drog spoke in his usual tone.
"Beasts that normally kept their distance have begun to approach." To anyone else, it would have sounded like a trivial observation.
But Wail knew it wasn't.
The prince spoke next.
He mentioned problems with the dark elves.
Demands.
Conflicts.
But Wail noticed something else.
His words said one thing.
His scent and his body language said another.
There was contempt.
And something akin to hatred.
Wail felt a chill. If his father could read others like that…
Could he read him too?
Later, Drog would explain:
"It's different." Wail would remember that conversation.
"Reading your body language is like reading a hundred words."
He pause.
"But only ten of them have meaning."
Wail was confused.
"Then how do you know what I'm thinking?"
Drog replied,
"Your face says it all." That didn't help much.
-----------------------------
When the conversations ended, the elves set a table.
Two chairs.
A bottle.
Drog did the same.
Each poured a drink for the other.
And they both drank at the same time.
Drog took the elven wine.
The prince took the Farunt liquor.
"May our friendship endure with this cup of trust," said the prince.
"Or may death take us to the hell of traitors," replied Drog.
They drank.
Then the prince looked at his companions.
"You may begin."
Drog did the same.
Without a word, he gave a signal.
Soon the place was filled.
Elves and gray wolves exchanging goods.
The elves offered tools.
Clothing.
Unknown metals.
Objects that made daily life easier.
The wolves gave raw materials.
Furs.
Resources.
Medicine. Perfumes.
Wail recognized some of the oils.
The same ones Lass forced him to use after bathing.
Just when he thought they would leave, he noticed something.
Drog was still sitting.
As was the prince.
They were drinking quietly.
"I didn't know you had children," the prince finally remarked.
Drog looked at Wail.
"Introduce yourself."
Wail hesitated.
He didn't want to disobey.
But saying his name aloud…
It was something he hadn't expected to have to do.
Before he could find an answer, Drog spoke.
"His name is Wail."
He pause.
"Wail Farunt."
Then he looked at the prince.
"Excuse him. He's still learning to talk."
The prince watched him.
Then he burst out laughing.
"Hahaha!"
It was a genuine laugh.
The first laugh Wail had ever seen from someone in this life.
"There's nothing to apologize for."
The prince smiled. "If you were his age, you probably would have tried to kill me by now." Drog remained serious.
But his tone changed slightly.
"I was young." Wail noticed something strange.
Warmth.
"You were much bigger than Wail." The prince looked at the cub.
He noticed how he clenched his fists.
And he understood.
"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
"Nice to meet you, Wail Farunt." He introduced himself.
"My name is Fan-Ron, son of Die-Ron of House Essiqueros." Wail nodded.
He was too focused on controlling himself.
Because as soon as he heard his name…
A part of him had wanted to attack.
Fan-Ron watched him for a few seconds.
Then he made a decision.
"Come closer."
The soldiers stepped aside.
And then someone appeared.
A girl.
Wail froze.
He had never had any contact with a girl.
The only female he had ever truly lived with was his mother.
And from his past life…
He didn't remember any interaction.
Even so, he was certain.
It was a girl.
"Introduce yourself," Fan-Ron said.
"My name is Silven, daughter of Fan-Ron of House Essiqueros."
She gave a small bow.
Elegant.
Controlled.
Fan-Ron showed pride.
And so did Silven.
She wore a cloak that seemed made from the colors of the night sky.
Underneath, she wore strange light armor, decorated with details Wail didn't understand.
At her waist rested a sword adorned with gems.
A sword that emitted a strange energy.
If Fan-Ron had seemed extravagant…
Silven was something else entirely.