A Quiet Rest and a New Home
The first thing the Wendigo did after bringing Skadi into the forest was put her to sleep. No matter how sudden the situation, people still needed to eat, drink, and rest. Relieved that she'd completed her mission, Skadi passed out on the spot.
The Wendigo just shrugged it off. She'd fled her village, raced through the forest, confronted a monster, and even threatened the villagers. "After all that hardship, it's only natural she'd be exhausted."
He selected a suitable hide from the cart and draped it over her. Watching her sleep so soundly, it was hard to believe she'd acted like a cool-headed witch just moments ago. The Wendigo neatly arranged her hair, then stared intently at the necklace.
The mystical necklace forged through his contract with her. Maybe she could make one for me too? He tried to examine it, but it wasn't easy. The patterns and letters etched into it glowed like stars in the night sky, refusing even a glance.
She said it was some kind of gods' script... but the light hides everything; I can't make out the shape. If he didn't want to see it shimmering before his eyes, he could adjust his vision to block it out—but even as something akin to a spirit, the Wendigo could perceive mysticism. The problem was that whatever Skadi had inscribed emanated mysticism on its own, veiling itself without him even trying to look.
A spirit's innate limitation? It seemed some powers shamans wielded were off-limits to spirits. The Wendigo quickly gave up. No need for him to understand it; he could just ask Skadi if something came up.
She has nowhere else to go, so she'll stick with me. As long as she keeps her mouth shut around people, I won't have to silence anyone. All things considered, it was fortunate the first human he'd met was Skadi. He pulled her into his arms, sharing his warmth. Sleep wouldn't come for him, but dozing beside her didn't seem so bad.
Fresh from the previous day's fatigue, Skadi awoke refreshed to a new morning. She blushed crimson and immediately apologized to the Wendigo.
"S-s-sorry! How could I, of all people, thrash around in Wendigo-nim's arms!?"
"It was my fault for picking you up without a word. No need to be embarrassed—just calm down." The Wendigo scratched at his skull bone sheepishly. Holding her like that had clearly flustered her more than he'd realized. She'd been so startled that when their eyes met as she twisted about, she'd let out a scream to wake the dead.
Overcome with shame, she bowed her head low.
"It's fine—lift your head. We're about to go find a proper burial spot for your mother. She'll only find peace if you choose the place."
"Ah..." Skadi let out a soft gasp and gazed at the coffin on the cart. The soul had already departed for nature's embrace, yet the body lingered. As she stared at it with wistful eyes, the Wendigo gripped the cart's handle. What had made even three burly men grunt with effort lifted effortlessly.
"This seems like a shaman's duty anyway. You should pick her resting place."
"Yes! Leave it to me!"
Skadi's response rang with vigor—not just to live up to his trust, but from her own confidence. Shamans were jacks-of-all-trades, high-value assets in a nutshell. They'd butcher livestock for prime cuts themselves, scour for mystical herbs so they knew botany inside out, craft offerings for spirits so they were skilled artisans... Anything too sensitive to delegate, they handled personally. And due to their role, they had to master rituals, funerals, and even feng shui.
Sure, they sometimes offloaded tasks to apprentices or servants, but...
"Mother always said a true shaman handles their duties alone. Finding a good burial site is child's play!"
"Your mother... sounds like quite the woman."
To put it kindly, Skadi's mother was diligent and devoted; less charitably, a workaholic. Naturally, Skadi had grown up with similar traits.
As she roamed the woods, peering at mysticism with her Spirit Eye, gauging sunlight and breezes, the Wendigo watched and thought, Like a puppy.
No insult intended. It genuinely felt like watching a dog. Like one wagging its tail at the word "walk," Skadi bounced along with squared shoulders. Squeezing soil to test it, observing sunlight filtering through leaves—she hunted the perfect grave with an almost innocent cheer.
That blind loyalty after I helped her... yeah, total puppy vibes.
As he observed her darting about, the Wendigo turned at a faint lingering trace of mysticism from somewhere. Not strong, but a subtle, unmistakable scent. He glanced at Skadi. She'd sensed it too, staring blankly in that direction.
"Skadi, mysticism from over there."
"Yes... I see it too. Very... very warm mysticism."
Warm mysticism sounded promising. The Wendigo led her, following the scent across the forest. As it grew thicker, he marveled at the beautiful sight before them.
"Whoaaa..."
"Beautiful place. Feels like a fairy-tale mansion."
A clearing amid the dim woods cradled a vine-covered mansion lush with greenery. Long abandoned, its door was overgrown with creepers, the garden choked with weeds. Yet soft sunlight and fresh winds kept it from feeling ruined.
The Wendigo approached, tracing the scent. No signs of life. He cautiously opened the door. Nameless birds and squirrels slumbered inside...
"Looks like a lone shaman lived here."
In what seemed the bedroom, a skeleton lay peacefully. No kin or friends, apparently. He carefully gathered the bones. Skadi rushed over, flustered—clearly not expecting the Wendigo to handle it himself.
"Wendigo-nim! Let me do this!"
"What's the harm? The bones carry a fragrant mysticism—must've been a good shaman. Only right to handle them properly."
Sure, a hulking monster crouching to tend bones might look ridiculous... but so what? Only she was watching. Wrapping them in bedsheets, he exited the mansion.
"Where's the best spot? I'd like to bury this shaman with your mother."
"There—that seems perfect."
He headed to the place she pointed out. Good sunlight, pretty flowers nearby—quite nice. With an ice shovel, he dug in a flash. In mere minutes, a pit large enough for two took shape.
Skadi led the funeral. She sang a soul-soothing dirge to ease regrets and grief, topping the coffins with the loveliest nearby flowers. The Wendigo crafted one of purest ice for the nameless shaman, laying the bones neatly inside. Skadi offered another dirge and blooms.
In the serene woods, two shamans found their rest.
After discussion, the Wendigo and Skadi decided to stay in the mansion. Aside from vines and dust, it was decent.
"Think of it as the deceased's legacy."
"Is that so?"
"We helped her rest in peace; she'll forgive us this much."
Convinced by his reasoning, Skadi nodded. Truth be told, she hated to let it rot too. Shamans understood shamans best. The place had tools for herbs, a drying room, a slaughter area, even a workshop—mouthwatering for her.
They settled in. With shelter secured, the Wendigo made his top request.
"Hide or cloth, doesn't matter—something big enough to cover my lower body."
"I can make it, but... do you really need to?"
"I do."
Monster or not, his mind was still human—strutting exposed was more agonizing than expected. Fur and hide covered some, but still... no.
He'd never insisted before, but now he did. Skadi showcased her skills, prioritizing it amid her bustle. A week later, she presented a fine piece.
"Size is perfect, color matches my body too."
"I tried for a close match. Etched in some spells for self-repair too."
Repair function? The Wendigo was impressed. He knew she was skilled, but this?
Under his stare, she smiled awkwardly.
"My power alone wasn't enough, but the previous owner left troll hide and blood. Used those—both infused with recovery and toughness mysticism."
"Even with materials, not just anyone could... impressive."
With the hide around his waist, the Wendigo finally felt at ease. Yes, covering up was the way. Satisfied, he stepped out lightly for a hunt.
"I'll snag something decent—wait here."
"What for dinner?"
"Stew sounds good. Grab a deer or so."
The neglected garden yielded plenty of veggies, so meals lacked for nothing—especially with Skadi's cooking talent adding joy. One lack: meat. Tasty or not, no meat left things wanting.
Deer head, omnivorous appetite. Weird body. Or maybe carnivore since no meat means no fullness?
Hard to say. No other Wendigos to ask, even if he could meet one—questionable if they existed here.
Shaking off idle thoughts, he roamed. Hunting had grown fun. Heading to the snowy forest beyond the mansion, he spotted a herd drinking at a half-frozen stream. He aimed his spear.
Back side—won't see me.
The spear flew, piercing two deer in one go. A scream echoed through the woods.
"Gaaahhh!!?"
"......"
Not deer—human. The Wendigo fell silent at the familiar mess. Staring at the spear through the deer, he pondered.
...Maybe skip spears for hunting?
Coincidence, but throwing them felt cursed. With a sigh, he approached. Might as well check the face.