The day the news reached the forest was not unremarkable. The news itself would have made it a remarkable day regardless, but the day was also remarkable. It began with winds so strong they howled through the trees and broke slender limbs and scattered leaves and twigs everywhere. It was not a day to venture outside one's den for anything but the most dire emergency.

Skjoldr was not out of his den because of any emergency. He just had bad timing. It wasn't easy to read weather signs in the forest, since you can't see the sky. His uncle Odd could sense changes in the weather from the air or from some sort of sign that Skjoldr could not see for the life of him, but Skjoldr had never learned that trick. So he was caught out when the winds began to blow.

"Season of the changing winds, indeed," a voice called to him.

It belonged to a lion with a celestial coat in blues and greens with a white crescent moon curving around his left eye. His name was Skydas and he had only been among the Stormborn a relatively brief time. As a merchant he had traveled extensively and learned to be adaptable, but no one had warned him about the weather. In the past few days he had come to a new appreciation for why the pride called themselves the Stormborn.

"I don't suppose you know of anywhere we can take shelter from this blasted wind, do you?" Skydas asked the other lion, whose eyes had grown very large and then narrowed quickly in an unmistakably aggressive expression. Skydas hastened to add, "I'm not looking for a fight. Just shelter. Temporary shelter."

Skjoldr had never spoken to a lion outside his family, amazingly enough, but he knew that was what he was doing now, and his entire upbringing had been to teach him that anyone who wasn't family was an enemy, especially if they were one of the pride. He knew that story so well he would be able to repeat it when his eyes were white and his fur was grey. He had not expected them to sound so very different to his family, as far as they way they spoke.

"Are you one of the Stormborn?" Skjoldr asked warily.

Skydas sighed. In the howling wind it wouldn't be heard. It was sometimes incredibly tiresome, he attitude these lions held toward anyone who wasn't one of them. Clearly, if he didn't give the correct response, he would be denied shelter. At least the correct response was obvious in this instance, and with a flinch as a small airborne projectile struck him he replied: "Of course I am."

As it turns out, Skydas had actually guessed wrong about what answer the lion with the wing markings on his back was looking for. His only saving grace was that he didn't really sound much like Skjoldr imagined one of the pride would. His accent was quite alien, and he spoke the common tongue instead of Old Myrsky.

"It looks like I'll have to kill you then," Skjoldr shouted over the wind. Even though the stranger had an accent and might not actually be one of the Stormborn, he was still not family, and that meant he was still an enemy.

"What?! It may be a good day to die, but I'd really rather not, if it's all the same to you," Skydas protested. "I just want to get out of this ******** wind before I'm blinded by a grain of sand or something just as stupid."

Skjoldr frowned and Skydas squinted back, wondering how he wasn't bothered by all the flying debris. Probably all that ridiculously thick fur was also keeping the wind from getting things in his eyes. Maybe that's why the Stormborn thought they had the corner on the market on superiority. They were furry enough to withstand extreme cold and ridiculous wind.

"I will agree to a truce for the duration of this wind," Skjoldr said finally. "But after that I will probably have to kill you. It's nothing personal. You're just not family."

"Yes! Great! Let's go!" Skydas said. He figured he could worry about that not-family, must kill thing later. He had the whole storm to persuade his new companion otherwise, after all, and Skydas had always been very persuasive.

"My name's Skydas, by the way. What's yours?" He still had to shout to make himself heard over the wind.

There was a long pause. It lasted so long that Skydas decided his reluctant companion wasn't going to answer. They were already past the treeline and moving into a cluster of dense shrubbery and bracken that seemed to function as a rough windbreak. Good enough, he supposed, although Skydas had really been hoping for something more carved in stone. As it was, this shelter was only good if the wind kept blowing from the same direction. Skjoldr was satisfied with it. He doubted the wind would change, despite the name of the season.

"Skjoldr," he answered finally. Now he didn't have to shout.

"Skjoldr. It's good to meet you, Skjoldr. While we're stuck here, do you mind telling me why you have to kill me?" Skydas got to work quickly because he had no way of knowing how long the winds would last, or how good a fighter Skjoldr was. He wasn't willing to risk his life on the chance that Skjoldr was better.

"I did tell you: you aren't family."

To be honest, Skjoldr was a little thrown off by meeting someone outside his family. Usually he was less gruff. Usually, though, he was dealing with family. Apparently that made a difference. Who knew? Well, his mother knew. Why hadn't she told him? Probably because she doubted he would ever get into a conversation with someone outside the family. He couldn't really blame her.

"Yes, I got that. But lots of people don't kill other people for not being related to them. If everyone did as you do, there wouldn't be many lions left." He sincerely hoped he wasn't dealing with a lunatic.

Skjoldr sighed, regarding Skydas as if he was an idiot. Probably if Skydas didn't know he was an exile, he shouldn't be telling him, but he was going to kill the other lion anyway, so what difference did it make, really? "You can see my coat. It marks me as one of Aesir's line."

Skydas frowned. That name was familiar, yes. But... "But the new warlord repealed the old warlord's rules about Aesir's family. You didn't know?"

Clearly Skjoldr hadn't known. His eyes went wide and his jaw went slack. Skydas was disappointed in himself for failing to gauge the value of that information and leverage some sort of exchange for it. Oh well. If it would keep him from having to fight for his life at the end of the wind storm, it would have been a worthwhile investment.

"If you're lying, I will kill you very slowly, over the course of several days. I might even skin you first, and stake you out," Skjoldr warned Skydas. His mother had once threatened to do that to him when he was being particularly annoying. The threat had stayed with him for the rest of his life.

"I'm not lying," Skydas assured him. "A captain who had been on a long viking returned and challenged the old warlord. Ruzski, his name is."

He opened his mouth as if to say something more, then seemed to think the better of it and stood up, exposing the top of his head to the wind once more. Shortly the rest of him was exposed as well as he stepped away from their shelter and took off at a trot. He needed to speak to his uncle. They had to decide what to tell his mother.

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