Erik's days were spent studying with his head buried in books, and a pen, glued to his fingers. He was learning at a tremendous pace, studying day after day under the tutelage of Scholar Godfrey, but he would not remain all year round, returning to the city upon the fall season. Erik grew up healthily and fast, with the months going by as quick as a momentary breeze.
In the fall season, it would be often that he would be taken out to go hunting with his father and brother, learning more about traps and hunting prey. The first night, the men would return with game in the form of a large antlered buck to feast, with the antlers being sawed off to become a trophy. The meat would be cut and stewed, and the pelt would be panned in house by Vindor himself. Erik would watch his father at work, curiously paying attention at his knifework.
His father laughed upon seeing Erik's focused face.
His father took him and his sister into the city the next morning to sell the pelt. The long carriage ride into the city was far from comfortable, making the long ride even longer in comparison to the brief moment they were there. The city of Novergracia, Highland's capital and the city of guilds, as it was called. It of course had the Scholars Guild, but it also had many others: the Knights Guild, Mages Guild, Hunters Guild, the Clergy, Carpenters Guild, and so on.
The city was sprawling with mostly man, but occasionally, one would make out the distant foreigner by their pointed ears or stature. The realm of man was not so inviting to the other races, but those who resembled them more often than not, were allowed into settlements without discrimination.
In the carriage ride back home, they passed through the city square, a large and busy section encircled by temple like buildings on the edges, one of which had a large, robed figure of stone, standing at the entrance and between two stair cases that circled both sides onto the elevation. The statue was well crafted out of a white stone, with the robed figure holding a stave, adorned with a large crystal at its top. The crystal was actually the only part of the statue that was not made from the same material as the rest, even glowing blue.
"Father, what is that?" Erik asked, his face pressed against the window.
"Hm?" Vindor turned his head. "Ah, the Mages Guild. That is the Archmage, Cadius Vermillion. He was a very powerful magic caster from long ago."
"What about that light?"
"Light?"
"Yes, the blue light in the rock."
Vindor looked out the window, his eyes darting with each blink as he looked for the light. "I am afraid I do not see what you do, Erik."
"I don't either." said Noesse.
Erik was uncertain of how to speak any further, unsure of what he saw or why they did not.
Upon their return home, Vindor was gleeful to round up the many estate's workers to show off a new toy he'd purchased in the city. They gathered outside at the entrance of the estate where Vindor revealed a long, wooden barreled weapon. It was the earliest invention of the rifle, still in the early stages of development. It had a long reload time, with terrible accuracy, difficult to hold steady, a short range due to the weak material of the pellet, and was subject to destroying itself. Still, Vindor, after a few minutes of trying to load the weapon, fired it once in excitement before the whole family and staff. He aimed at a plant of wood, pulling the trigger and igniting a loud explosion that seemed to deafen those closest to the firing. Birds in a nearby tree were frightened, but the crowd clapped in excitement.
Vindor laughed as he and a few other men ran to the board to see the damage. They found the pellet had been shattered, leaving two holes relatively close together in the wood. "Fascinating!!"
Some weeks later, they would attempt another hunt, a means to find pleasure in the otherwise dull passing of time.
The stable hand finished securing the straps on the lone estate horse—its packs filled with rope, blankets, and provisions. He stepped over to Nomay just as she finished straightening the collar of Erik's coat. The two exchanged a warm smile and a few quiet words. Erik watched them closely, unable to decipher why they looked at each other that way.
"Come on, Erik." Oliver caught his sleeve and pulled him away before he could stare any longer. "We're leaving."
Vindor stood at the front of the small hunting party, joined by four estate guards in leather and mail. The packhorse was brought forward, led by one of the men. Erik and Oliver fell in beside their father, each flanked by a guard for safety.
They set off from the estate and rode through the open fields, the packhorse trailing behind the men until the forest loomed. After some time, Vindor lifted his hand.
"We camp here."
The guards dismounted first, forming a perimeter while unpacking the horse. They set down the gear—bundles of firewood, blankets, and a small iron pot—before tying the horse to a low branch. Two guards remained with it, standing watch.
Vindor pointed toward the deeper trees. "From here, we go on foot."
He took the lead, two guards following behind. Oliver nudged Erik forward, keeping him between the men for protection.
"Stay close," Oliver murmured.
They found nothing for a long while. The forest was quiet—too quiet—and each snapped twig beneath their boots echoed more loudly than it should have. Vindor raised his hand several times, listening, but no game stirred. Eventually, he exhaled in mild frustration.
"We will scout farther in," he said.
The guards shifted formation, and the group pressed deeper through the undergrowth. After several minutes, a low growl finally broke the stillness.
Ahead, a lone wolf stood in a patch of clearing, its fur bristling, its stance tense but unmoving. It did not advance, nor did it flee.
Vindor narrowed his eyes. "Wolves don't wander alone," he muttered.
Despite the unease that tightened his jaw, he slid the long-barreled rifle off his shoulder and motioned for the boys to stay behind him. One of the guards stepped forward with powder and pellet, helping him reload, as the weapon was still too new and fickle for smooth handling.
Once loaded, Vindor took aim. The wolf held its ground, staring directly at them. The rifle thundered, a burst of smoke clouding the air. When the haze drifted, the wolf lay collapsed in the brush.
"Come," Vindor ordered.
They approached carefully, the guards checking the treeline for movement. As they drew near the carcass, Vindor crouched, studying the wolf's body. Fresh milk clung to its underside.
The realization struck at once.
"It was guarding something."
A soft whimpering came from beyond the ridge of roots behind the clearing. The group moved around the fallen tree, and there, concealed beneath a hollow in the earth, lay a den. Inside, a female wolf lay collapsed, her breaths shallow and fading—torn by some earlier struggle. Against her belly were newborn pups.
Vindor exhaled heavily, lowering the rifle. "So that was why he stood alone. Well, there is no point killing the mother or its pups. We take the corpse back and call it a day." he ordered, thinking for a moment before reaching into the den to the mother's unwelcoming, but faint growl, and taking one of the newborns. "Lets make trail."
Upon their return to the estate, they were welcomed back by Celia and a handful of servants. Celia was less than pleased at the sight of the animal being carried on the horses back, a disappointed look upon her face. "Now, now, dear." Vindor began. "It was a good hunt! Its pelt will make a fine trophy, and also, look I brought back a gift!"
"A gift?"
"Yes. We came across a litter of pups. The eldest two both have dogs, I thought this one might be a good pet for Erik." he showed her the wolf pup in a satchel.
"My lord. It is a wolf, not a dog."
"They are all the same. It is young enough that it can be raised."
"I see. Well, if that is what you have decided, then all right. Come inside and wash up for dinner. We stewed geese."