A Kinrowan Estate story: Bad Wolf

Some of the, errr, visitors we get here would rival anything from the Inn called World’s End. Such was The Crooked Man, as he called himself. Again I stress that only those with The Sight, the ability to see the weird shit that blissfully escapes the notice of nearly all of humanity, would know he was more than a queerly dressed man. Oh, they might find him making them uneasy but never know why …

He was oddly assembled — his face not quite right, his eyes a colour that couldn’t be discerned, hair like a hedgehog, skin more rough hewn than humanly possible and a physique that struck me as just wrong. He was dressed in a suit that fit no era I had known down the centuries and he wore it badly. Add in lack of any accent what-so-ever and even my hackles were raised. I who had been hanged on That Tree and still bore the scars from battles long forgotten just didn’t feel comfortable near him.

Reynard offer a whisky, nothing special I noted, and turned his back on him. He turned to me and said that I might be able to help him. Help with what, I asked. Finding The Nightmare (yes I could hear the caps) that had kept him from sleeping for time beyond counting anymore. The Nightmare that kept him awake, unable to sleep for fear it’d catch up to him.

Why me, I queried. Because I think it’s the Bad Wolf. Ahhh, Fenris, I said. Why is He haunting you? Because I know how to chain him up. That caused me to shut up. Even I had never chained Fenris up. Killed him, yes, but he always came back in a rather foul mood.

Now I know why my hackles were up. Anyone who could chain Fenris up could likely kill me, as that being would have Power that I just didn’t have. Yes, I was the head of an entire pantheon of godlike beings but we had limitations imposed by our shapers. He apparently didn’t. And that was a tale for another time …

About Hrafnfreistuor

I was hanged upon That Tree and I talk to My Ravens, Huginn and Muninn. Isn’t that enough to say about myself?

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