Laughing mirthlessly, Ahnorr sheathed his swords in the scabbards strapped to his back before brutally punching the unsuspecting Wolf pack leader square in the face. Conerth staggered from the blow, dropping his cask to the snowy ground. Holed by the jagged tip of a pointy rock left uncovered by the light snowfall, the punctured cask bounced and rolled away, leaking its boozy contents. A warning glance from the Grizzly chief persuaded those warriors accompanying Conerth to do nothing about the unprovoked assault. Wordlessly, they backed away.

“I told you not to get drunk, you mangy boozer,” Ahnorr coldly berated him as Conerth straightened up.

Wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, he stayed submissively silent. Politically the weakest of the four principals, his clan needed the allegiance of Grihaloecke to keep at bay their mortal enemies, the Elks.

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