Barskog

↟ BARSKOG ↟
Coniferous Forest
clan leader - flesh and spirit

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His fur smells of bark and needles, and his lungs are filled with mountain air. It is not known exactly by whom or what this spirit or wolf was born, and what it was originally. It can be assumed that he is the embodiment of some part of the will of the mighty mountains and ancient pines. Barskog's first memory is the smell of frost, a hard stone under his paws, and the wind howling in his ears, calling him somewhere far away.

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His first friend was a raven, flying along with the last spring snow. Raven saw something familiar in this wolf and wished to be wings for his new friend. While Barskog explored a new world, Snøvinge looked beyond the horizons, discovering more and more unknown roads for himself and his friend and leading them on exciting adventures.

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Barskog found his first and only love in his native land. It was a white she-wolf with amber predatory eyes resembling those of an eagle. She was a fearsome fighter and a skilled hunter, but at the same time she loved Barskog very dearly and was a loving mother to their children. Her name was Jay.
She was an ordinary wolf and had little in common with the spirits that later joined the pack. She loved freedom and for days on end explored over and over again the roads known to her. She loved to travel and never talked about her travels. Her steadfast will has always admired her lover and all other members of the pack.
In winter, at the end of the fifth year, she set out on her last journey and became one with the tundra. She left her lover behind, who still had a long way to go at the head of the clan of the raven that carried the arrow.

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"-- Time spares no one. Even the strongest among us."
Whether it was the loss of a loved one and close friend, or the impact of powerful spirits, even the strongest of the wolves cannot rule forever. Skeptics say that Barskog just got old. Well, in this old age, one can combine both grief for the departed comrades, and a shaken mind during the rampage of ancient spirits.
Although he maintained his composure and common sense, his associates knew that the leader's wheel of life was moving towards the completion of the cycle. What remained hidden from most of the pack members was how hard it was for the leader to lead them while the gloomy haze of ancient evil covered the wolf's mind, which could no longer fight as fiercely as before.

"-- You must choose an heir, Barskog. Until the wheel turns.
-- Don't worry, Lerk. I see in our ranks a young wolf that will proudly and prudently bear the title of leader.
Lerk lowered her head thoughtfully, respecting the secret of the leader, although sparks of curiosity danced in her eyes - as if a puppy, not an adult stately herbalist, were sitting in front of Barskog.
-- The one kissed on the forehead by the sun. -- Barskog perfectly remembered those childish mischievous sparks in the eyes of an old friend.
How many years have passed...
-- Ah, this young wolf... He's got a lot of potential, no doubt, but sometimes he's a little too distant from the pack, isn't he?
-- His heart belongs to the pack, no matter how far away from it he may be. He climbed all the lands known to us far and wide and revealed to us many secrets of the local spirits. Although he may appear to be pursuing only his own goals, he is actually empathic and prudent.
-- He alone knows how many secrets he has yet to reveal.
-- He is much stronger than me, Lerk. He is young, but he will accept with dignity the responsibility that I place on his shoulders. He fights fiercely for his pack, but more importantly, his spirit cannot be broken. There are many trials ahead of us all, and Rømling's wisdom will help us find light in the darkest and most terrible nights."

The last will of the First Leader was to assign the title of new leader to the young wolf Rømling. At dawn, Barskog buried his forehead for the last time in the old friends with whom he had traveled side by side all these years and with whom he had risen to the lands of the tundra.

The First Leader disappeared when the frost from the nettle leaves disappeared in the morning.
The wind carried him back to where it all began - into the cold mountain cliffs.
May his prey be majestic, may his raven friend be vigilant.