I rose out of bed, pulling on my deerskin boots before leaving the bedroom. My wife, dressed for the day in a long woolen robe with a cloth belt tied just above her belly, was sitting on the table mending a tear in a fox fur-lined cape. I walked to her, and Heike held it out to me.

“You and your brother try to focus on the best prey. An aurochs or maybe a bear” she said insistently, squeezing my hand as I took my cloak. “I’ll try to gather the best of our lineage here at home. Gwendalin’s cheese should be ready and—”

“You shouldn’t try so hard. My mother will come over to take care of these things, you try to rest” I told her.

The woman turned to me. with a frustrated frown.

“Sorry, I just don’t like doing anything while you’re out.”

“I understand, but it’s the best thing you can do right now” I said, bowing and kissing her.

“You be careful” she said, looking me in the eyes as we pulled away from each other. “And don’t expect to get away with the yarn just because you’re going hunting. It’ll take at least an hour to untangle it before you can continue weaving the baby blanket” she added half-seriously, as I headed for the door.

I left the house and Hundo was quick to greet me. It followed me to the barn, not far from my cabin, trying to beg for scratches or something to eat. Stepping inside, I almost choked, trying to hold in my laughter. Berth, using a stool, had climbed onto the unsaddled horse, dressed in an old, ragged fur coat twice his size and wearing my father's old helmet, so rusty it was more dangerous to wear than to go into battle bareheaded. He had a bow from somewhere over his shoulder, so big it threatened to drag him down, and his wooden sword was tied to his side.

"I'm going with you" he said confidently, in his earnest little voice.

"I have to hunt, not fight," I told him, unable to contain my laughter.

"Well... I'm coming with you anyway" he insisted, stubbornly.

"You're too young to go hunting with me. When you're older I promise I'll take you with me, but until then you have to stay here" I explained, picking him up and pulling him down from my horse.

"But my cousin gets to go!" he whined.

"Wallia is more than twice your age and only needs to pass us the weapons."

"I can do that too!" He protested.

I bent my knee, lowering myself to his level as he glared petulantly at me.

"Listen, while I'm gone you have to protect your mother and your little brother. Can you do that?"

"Of course!" he nodded, puffing out his chest.

"Well, then go home and keep Hundo."

"Can I keep Grandpa's helmet?" he asked.

"Of course" '… here’s hoping it doesn't turn to dust at the first stumble' I thought to myself.

Berth ran out of the stable with all his gear, followed by the dog that nipped playfully behind him, trying to tear the cloak from his shoulders. I saddled my horse and led him out, heading towards the gathering.

Compared to the early hours of the morning, the valley was now bustling with activity. I had to stop often because every few steps uncles, cousins ​​and nephews of various degrees wished me luck and protection for the upcoming hunt. Only when the huts of my lineage began to become sparser and the people blessing me decreased was finally joined by my brother and his son.

Aghiard was dressed similarly to me, although his cloak was of simple wool. His black beard was tied at the tip to accentuate it, as was his hair tied in a low ponytail. His son Wallia did not wear a cloak at all and was dressed in a shirt and tight pants that accentuated his thinness. Over the past year, he had grown to his father’s shoulders, giving him the scrawny look that boys who suddenly grew up often had. He led his father’s horse by the bridle, and on his shoulder he carried all the weapons—bows, arrows, spears, and javelins—that we would need that day.

“Hello, brother, are you ready?” my brother greeted me, patting me on the shoulder.

“Of course I am” I replied, pushing back the doubts that had been nagging me since this morning. “And are you ready, Wallia?”

The poor boy looked startled that I had suddenly spoken to him, and answered in the shrill voice typical of boys in their early teens, halfway between his childhood and adult years.

“I-I’ll do my best, Householder Hildiric.”

“Don’t be so formal! He’s just my stupid brother” Aghiard said, patting him a little too forcefully on the shoulder.

"It's fine if he does it in private, but maybe it's best if he doesn't get too used to talking to me so directly. I need to maintain a certain authority to do my job, and there are some who take this much more seriously and that could cause trouble" I said.

"Hildyiric, I saw you slip on donkey shit once. You may be the head of our lineage, but I don't think I can see you as anything more than my brother."

"And it's only because you're you and I saw you pissing against the wind on Cartrud Hill that I'm allowing you to do it" I retorted.

My brother and I continued to chatter the entire way, teasing each other about childhood events. Bit by bit it helped shake off the weight I'd been carrying around from that night's nightmare, making me feel more energized and ready for the hunt.

The soil on the steep side of the hill was too thin for agriculture, so where there were no huts it was mostly grass, dotted with shrubs and trees in more or less sparse or dense groups. Goats and sheep grazed almost wild in the foliage, their free roaming nature known for causing grievances between the lineages, since the animals tended to mix together often, and it wasn’t always easy to tell whose they belonged to once they parted again.

“We’re here” I said

A few hundred paces away from us stood a circle of wooden posts, with a large stone stuck vertically into the ground in the center that towered above everything around it. There were already several people inside the circle of posts, although there couldn’t have been more than thirty, not counting the horses left nearby. The clan consisted of nineteen families, including the clan leader, and each head of the family had to gather there along with two assistants.

As I approached, the householder, Landulf, noticed me and strode toward us. He was already a man of some age, with gray hair and beard, but still a sturdy build.

"May your animals have many children and produce much milk" he greeted me, shaking my hand.

"May your forehead be kissed by many summer suns" I greeted him back.

"Are you still bringing your brother?" he asked jokingly, once the formalities were completed.

"I have to, otherwise when I return I would find everything in flames" I said back.

"Hey, remember I am right here" interrupted Aghiard.

The old householder turned to him, but his eye fell on his son. “So, you brought him” he said, his tone more serious than it had been a moment before.

“He’s old enough to come with us,” my brother said, putting himself between the two. Wallia looked away, apparently concentrating on a rock.

"Well, that's a big responsibility,” Landulf mused, “Try to do your best," he added, looking back at me. "This year I've decided to bring my nephew, Meino."

"Maracholt won't be happy about it," I said.

"Holt will get over it, he'll be his brother's second in line when I die."

"I know a parent doesn't like to hear this, but your two eldest sons aren't exactly the most loving brothers in the world."

"Then he'll bring Sygymar as his second hunter. Langmar will be the head of the family and he'll have to agree to submit to him."

"Your lineage is quite large. Perhaps it's time to create another" I suggested.

"The valley is starting to get a little too narrow to expand any further" he said, shaking his head.

"It was just a wild idea."

"Thanks for the suggestion, though."

The old man returned to his son and grandson, who were chatting with others. We went on like this for a while, with greetings between the various heads of families and their retinues. Two of them were so old that their seconds would probably have to do everything, and another was a boy a few years older than Wallia, but most of them were mature men.

Finally, when all the Householders and their following retinues were gathered, the clan chief made his way through the crowd to the center of the circle of poles, where the menhir was located. The ground there was slightly raised, so Gunnar was easily visible to everyone present. He was a large man, heavy at the waist and with a prominent nose. His thick reddish beard was tied at the height of his neck and hung down to his chest. He wore a cloak of wolf skin, whose jaws were lowered over his head like a hood.

The clan chief intoned an ode to the gods to grant us their favor in the hunt and its preparation for the next day's ceremony, while behind him some men prepared a pyre. When the ode was over, a goat was passed to Gunnar and the chieftain led it to the pile of wood. Once it had stepped onto the pyre, bleating softly, the man took the sacrificial knife. It was a blade with a handle fashioned from the black bone of some legendary beast,  wrapped in gold thread twisting from the hilts’ end to the blade. Taking it in his hand, he lifted the animal’s head, and slit the goat's throat. 

Blood spilled and spurted for several seconds and the animal struggled furiously in an attempt to escape, but Gunnar was a strong man and it was not long before the animal lost its strength and collapsed on the pyre. When the blood stopped being pumped out of the wound and began to slowly drip, a fire was lit under the animal, which immediately began to engulf it.

As the sacrifice was being consumed by the flames, a cask of mead was opened and Leutgard, the chieftain's eldest daughter, dipped a silver-rimmed horn into it and offered it to her father. He poured the first sip into the sacrificial pyre, then gulped down the second. Once this was done, Leutgard and her younger sister began to distribute the mead to the heads of the families and their entourage. It was the youngest daughter, Irmingart, who gave us drinks.

She was a young girl, with jet black hair that framed a face that still had a hint of the rotundity of childhood and two large hazel eyes. Although it was still early to say for sure, of Gunnar's two daughters it seemed that she was the one who had inherited the most of her late mother's beauty.

I noticed that Wallia was looking at her with a dazed look, so much so that when she passed him the horn with the mead for a moment he seemed disoriented and when he tried to drink it went wrong, coughing some of the liquid on her who withdrew, seeming simultaneously a little disgusted and amused.

Once they had all drunk, the girls left, taking with them the remainder of the mead. Meanwhile the clan chief headed towards the horses, dragging the other heads of families behind him who followed him. When he was in the saddle he took the boar spear and raised it high, in a gesture that seemed more like a pre-battle incitement and said only: "Follow me" before spurring his horse and officially starting the hunt.