After a few weeks of being the nominal Chieftain of his tiny clan, Heriwulf still hadn't had a moment when the weight of that position fell upon him suddenly, startlingly, uncomfortably. On the contrary, he'd settled into that position quite easily, because it had really had very little effect on anything. He did the same things as before, save only that he sat on a chair instead of a bench (not a very comfortable chair, and it was harder to pass scraps of food to his hounds, but if this was the worst discomfort from his chieftainship, he was doing quite well indeed), and he didn't have to hesitate in asking people for their reports and topics at the clan moot. But as yet, there had been no decisions that had to be made; as before the clan seemed comfortable without such leadership. Few things came up that weren't immediately settled by whichever person was involved. And those few that did were settled by consensus. There might come a time where disagreement forced him to make a decision that would make someone unhappy (and if so, it would almost certainly be one with Faron at its center, he felt sure), but it hadn't happened yet.
Faron did seem displeased by his leadership, slight as it was, and continued to jab at him and undermine him whenever she could. Calling him "your majesty," for instance. Disappearing for long periods of time, pointedly having nothing to report and giving him guff when he asked, and more besides. Then again, that wasn't really different from before. Perhaps she was happy that he'd gotten the position. It certainly made it easier for her to rail against him. So far, all her bites felt mostly toothless; in fact, some of them made him laugh. But he still gnawed over what it would be like when her attitude became a problem for the clan, the kind a chieftain had to deal with. He tried to look the other way at how she, and she alone, kept her business to herself, setting her needs ahead of the clan, kept her secrets. Refusing to share the honey she raised, for instance, even though Hildegund must by now be suffering from her scars growing tight. (Though she did offer to make salves for Hildegund, so perhaps this was less about being selfish and more about her territoriality about her areas of expertise. As always, he could never be sure.) But no one could doubt that she kept the larder full, and thus, served the clan as well as anyone. They already had enough put by, even if not a single more hunt were to be done for the winter, to make it until spring, albeit a bit hungrily; and if they supplemented with fish, not even hungrily. And she would surely bring in more. What were a few barbed words here and there, if that's all it was?
As for Hildegund, she'd shared a lot of words about her struggles, at great difficulty, and while he felt eager to find ways the clan could help her with it, he'd thought of nothing of much use to her. Allowing her to start the moot, while the words were still clear in her head, was about all, and even that had seemed like a token gesture. How brave it had been for her to speak so about herself. He'd never really opened up like that, and his hurts were so humdrum. As Faron's hurt did, barely-glimpsed bits of Hildegund's past, before she'd come to Far-Scout's clan, made him clench his fists; the idea that some clan before had made her feel unwelcome, a burden -- that's not how clans worked! How to make her know that her work for the clan was greatly valued, and her place amongst them assured? He felt sure Far-Scout would have a wiser idea than he. After Brunan had weaned her pups he could send to Radagast for advice, but he doubted the wizard would have anything to offer on this particular point.
Ljota, also, seemed to undervalue her part in the clan. He could understand her not feeling as much part of the clan as he himself felt she was. She was, after all, a skin-changer of Beorn's line, and not born to the Woodmen. As far as he was concerned, though, that changed nothing. She had chosen to be part of the clan and that was that. Was it any different from when someone married into a clan? No one doubted they were full members after that. He'd hoped that the discussion of getting some sheep and goats would help; no one in the clan knew of the care of such beasts but her, so it would give her another way to contribute. Her work keeping house in the lodge, perhaps, seemed to her replaceable -- anyone could do such work if they had the time. Perhaps she felt (unfairly, he thought) that this reduced its value. Hence, something the clan could greatly benefit from (a source of milk and wool, at very least; perhaps even meat, in time) that only she could contribute, might help her feel like a full member. Again, he yearned for an hour to speak to Far-Scout about how she would handle things, make people feel like they belonged. That this clan was their family and home. Something he had never doubted (and certainly Aelfrida, ever-cheerful and down to business, didn't either), so he didn't know how to convince Hildegund or Ljota.
Perhaps when they both got new hounds it might help? Brunan had, much to his relief, returned from Radagast safe, if a bit hungry. Her litter was due in less than a sennight now, and he spent a lot of time watching over her, making sure she was healthy and comfortable. She'd had many litters and this would certainly be her last one; even this might be a little more risk than was wise, but he had no other options, at least until they could tame another wolf or two. Two or three of this litter would go to Ljota and Hildegund, after he'd trained them.
Thinking of the growing of the pack, Heriwulf wondered if any of the hounds ever felt like they weren't really full members, valued and appreciated by the rest. It didn't seem likely. If there were a hound, or wolf, that was too weak to be part of its pack, they would simply kick it out, unambiguously. No reason for any wolf to worry about being tolerated, but not welcome, then. As with so many things, hounds seemed so much wiser than men. Everything was stated clearly and certainly. Everyone knew exactly where their place was in the pack. He wished Niht or Brunan could tell him how to lead his pack the way they led theirs. But even if they could speak, it probably wouldn't help. They would simply say that everyone should stop worrying because if they were unwelcome, they'd know it.
He found himself looking forward to his next journey into town, doing ordinary things, simple things, understandable things. To speak to Leohna, if he saw her, about songs and salves (the latter no longer needed since Faron could provide them). To buy hay for keeping the sheep and goats. To seek blankets, and a cart and driver for kegs, and other trade goods the clan could use. Such everyday concerns, comprehensible, completely free of any worries about how to make a clan feel cohesive, its members feel valued.
Perhaps the weight of leadership had found its way to fall upon him after all.
