The Boar’s Bane Chapter Fourteen: Old Wounds and Open Pens

You press the innkeeper for tales—Old Man Hemlock’s sheep gone missing last week; Hemlock swore he heard a guttural growl unlike any wolf; young Elara’s dog went barking mad at the old mill pond and wouldn’t go near it for a day; a burly farr confirms his traps up near Whisperwind Gully were torn apart, “Not a bear… Too clean. Too deliberate.” You gather directions to the three places, promise to co by that evening, take a long bath, rest the day, and prepare to explore the sightings.

As dusk falls you and Theron slip from the inn by a quieter path that skirts the village and crosses fields. A single lantern glows in Hemlock’s window; a dog’s barking grows loud as you approach the farmhouse and its outbuildings. You pull a strip of jerky from your pouch and toss it to the scruffy hound; it snaps the at up and goes from alard to content, tail wagging. Theron questions the origin of the pork; you tell him it’s from the boar that caught you in the snare. He admits he’s felt uncommonly robust since sharing your rations on the road—aches dulled, mind sharper. You’ve noticed less fatigue yourself after eating much of the boar. The thought forms between you: the boar’s flesh is potent.

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You cup your hands and call, “Hale the house!” The barking cuts off; a lantern is lifted; the door creaks open. Old Man Hemlock peers out, gaunt and clutching a gnarled walking stick. He asks warily who goes there and what brings you at such an hour. You step forward, Theron nods, and tell him you heard of his troubles at the inn and have co to examine the attacked beasts and the site. You add that your companion is of the Scholars’ Guild of Oakhaven and that you are a scout of the Rex Huntsman clan, who barter for wool with the village—you are the next eldest to your brother, Heyshem, the clan chief.

Hemlock’s wary expression softens at the clan na and kinship. He opens the door wider, gestures you in, and says it’s cold and he’ll tell you all he knows. “The beasts… they were slaughtered. Not like wolves. Too much… savagery.” He leads you out; the poor things are still out in the pen.