Rynel was growing on her, both figuratively and literally — the pup was getting undeniably bigger, though he still barely weighed anything in Ljota’s lap. She was actually starting to look forward to having him and Breon in the hut, but for right now the shed would suffice. Scritching his little belly made her happier than she would have guessed some sennights ago, and she always smiled at the way his tongue lolled out the side of his mouth when she did it. All things considered, she was content. Well, she felt… decent, anyway. Or alright. One of those.
There was still that battle coming in a few days. She’d been trying to keep her mind off it, but the camp at the stockade made that difficult from here. The Chetwood clan was beyond lucky to have the other Vales contingent, she knew, but they made things more difficult for Hildegund, and therefore Ljota wanted them gone. One way or another, she guessed, they will be soon.
She silently chided herself for thinking that way, and then again for ruining her good mood by focusing on the topic to begin with. There was nothing she could do about their situation just now, or… at all, really, so it didn’t deserve all the headspace it was taking. With a sigh, Ljota flopped on her back in the dirt, pushing the camp out of her vision in favor of the clouds. She pulled Rynel up to her chest and mumbled, “That one looks a bit like you.”
The man whose head was just beginning to poke into the corner of her vision glanced skyward, but made no comment. Ljota sat right back up and blinked at him. “You’re quieter than you, err... look.”
He was tall — taller even than Ljota at her full height, though not by much. His age was harder to place, but she guessed he was a bit younger than Heriwulf. By any standards he was a great big beast of a man, but well-kept, with an angular face. He’d painted three distinctive red streaks down the left side of it. Ljota thought he seemed vaguely familiar; perhaps she’d spotted him in the crowd at some point or another. She hadn’t done much mingling among the reinforcements. “It wasn’t my intention to sneak up on you,” he rumbled, pausing as he sniffed the air with a single deep breath inward. “I thought it was a skin-changer I smelled.”
Ljota frowned up at him. “What, uh… What should I call you? Cousin?”
“Kelsig, but cousin will do.”
“I’m Ljota.” She put Rynel down, got to her feet, and brushed the dirt off her back. “Can I, uh, help you?”
Kelsig squinted at her a moment. “No. Your scent is faint — masked by that of hounds. It is difficult to discern the bear in you. How long have you been among the Woodmen?”
Ljota frowned deeper. “At least… a year and a half — they’re my clan. And anyway, you’re here, so I don’t see why you’re so concerned about my scent being contaminated.”
Kelsig shook his head and smiled rather softly. “I don’t fault you for choosing a home or family apart from those you were born into, Ljota, but if you ignore your Gift, it could atrophy. When was the last time you changed?”
“Ignore? You think I’m ignoring it?” Ljota scoffed without answering the question. “It’s always on my mind. I wish I could just ignore it.”
“Why are you getting angry?” Kelsig asked, knitting his brows. “I’d like to understand, but I’ll leave you be if you’d prefer. If not, will you walk with me? I think you’re making the pups nervous.”
Ljota looked down at them, hesitated, and sighed. “...Right. Fine. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to get angry, but I keep doing it. Just... don’t assume I don’t try, because I do. It never works. It's been since... well, since before I joined the Woodmen.”
Kelsig stroked his mustache for a moment, then nodded once and turned to lead the way. He was headed toward the camp, but at a slow pace. “I apologize,” he started, “though I’m not surprised. Do you dress like that all the time, all bundled up the way you are?”
She flushed a bit, but started after him grumbling, “Well, not when I’m trying. But… umm... I don’t try when it’s cold.”
Kelsig frowned. “If you can’t free your body quickly, in the heat of the moment when your wrath is at its peak, you aren’t giving it a fair chance to change. A more experienced skin-changer may be able to work the enchantment in such a way, but you? Hmf.”
“Probably, uhh... for the best, then,” Ljota muttered. “I only ever seem to feel ‘wrathful’ around my, err… the people I love. Then again, they’re the only ones around me to begin with. Hound-Friend offered to help me see how I’d respond to an orc, but I don’t… think that’s going to happen before the battle. In any case I should have plenty of chances then.” She paused a moment, frowned, then added, “But don’t, uh, expect me to strip mid-fight on the slim hope I’ll be able to change. Leohna is going to make me a gambeson and intend to wear it.”
Kelsig nodded. “I don’t blame you for putting your protection first. Using evil things as an outlet for the frustration you’ve built up could be beneficial whether it helps you change or not... though even when bear-minded you should be able to tell friend from foe. I wouldn’t worry about your loved ones.”
Ljota furrowed her brows and opened her mouth, but after some hesitation withheld what she’d been about to say. Kelsig looked over and quirked his brow at her, but didn’t pry. Instead he asked, “Did you know anger isn’t the only feeling that can help fuel your change?”
“What are the others?”
Kelsig looked thoughtful, then just shrugged. “Well, I suppose… just about any if it’s strong enough? Though good, primal emotions make for the easiest starting points — fear, anger, happiness, sadness. Nothing too complex.”
Ljota frowned. “One good one out of four. I’m, uh, not liking my options so far.”
Kelsig chuckled. They’d made it to the camp and he was going for one tent in particular, presumably his. “...I have something for you, Ljota,” he said as he stooped inside.
She heard some rummaging while she waited, and shortly Kelsig reemerged holding a small clay pot. “What’s that?” she asked.
Kelsig gestured to his face. “Paint,” he said, grinning. “Like mine. May you terrify your foes in the battle, and in many more to come.”
“Me, terrifying orcs?” Ljota couldn’t help snickering, but she took the vessel when he held out his hand. “I’ll try. Thank you, Kelsig.” She paused, glancing at her shoes. “Is, uh… Is that all?”
He laughed again. It was almost musical, in a gruff, hearty sort of way. “What, you want me to give you more? I have some; if I fall, you are welcome to it. Not that I plan on falling, mind you.”
Ljota flushed. “No, I meant… do you still need me?”
Kelsig thought about that for a moment. “I wouldn’t say I needed you to begin with. Quite the opposite, in fact.” He sighed. “You may go, or you may stay. You may also come back again if you’d like.”
She took her turn to think, then nodded. “Maybe, uh, I will... later. You can, err, catch me up on the happenings at home.”
He smiled at her. “As you command.”
