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Firmin ran till his feet betrayed him. He knew it would only be a matter of hours before the imperial army and the Kerrs discovered the bodies of the wolf Chieftains, the stag, and the remains of Duncan's wife Cayla. His mind wandered as he panted through the woods. Athelstan sent me off after them... what will he think when he is informed that the baby and I are missing? Whatever the case, his instinct told him that he had to get as far away from Dunalastair Castle as possible.

Is it too late to turn back?

If I took the baby to Athelstan, would he believe me if I told him the stag was responsible for the death of both the brothers? Could things ever go back to the way they were?

He paused for the first time in what felt like hours. He unwrapped the swaddling cloths that shrouded the sleeping baby. The babies chubby little face scrunched in dissatisfaction as it was exposed to the frigid air.

"So you're Finn eh?" he spoke softly as he put a delicate hand behind the babies head to support it.

Finn's arms outstretched towards the Knight, his fingers wriggling in an attempt to grasp Firmin and return to the warm comfort of his embrace. His small eyes glowed in the pale light as they opened briefly to see what the problem was. When all else had failed, he began to sob quietly.

"It's okay lad, it's okay," Firmin whispered, getting the message. He covered Finn once more and nestled him tightly.

No. I cannot turn back now. I must deliver this baby safely to his kin. There is no home, no future for him here.

Slivers of the sun's radiant light began to creep through the forest and catch the reflective surface of the Knight's tarnished armour. His eyes had become accustomed to the all-consuming darkness of the night; causing his face to crinkle like a worn piece of leather when the light reached his pupils. He was facing the sunrise, realising he had been heading East this entire time.

Duncan married a Macleod, he thought to himself. I'm headed in the wrong direction!

He had never been farther North than Kinloch, but he had heard of the legends of the mighty Stags of Macleod, that ruled the isolated Hebridian isles.

"Barabel!" he muttered aloud in sudden realisation. He froze in place, as he felt his mind rip him in conflicting directions like the limbs of a man broken on the rack. Firmin's chin dipped to his chest as his posture slumped, "I'm sorry lad... you're... you're going to have to wait a bit to be reunited with your family." Baby Finn remained asleep, completely oblivious to Firmin's predicament.

"I'll take your silence as acceptance of my proposal then?" He sighed uneasily as he felt his breathing begin to labour, "I don't know if I could live with myself without knowing if Barabel is alright."

Maybe we could?

No. I was responsible for the death of her Clan. Her family.

I don't deserve happiness.

But she... I need to know. She deserves the world.

The noise of clip-clopping hooves snapped Firmin back to the present. He looked down to his feet. A Path? How long have I been walking out in the open for?

The increasing pitch of the rhythmical saunter could only mean one thing. Something... or someone was headed right for him. He darted for the overgrown vegetation that littered the side of the road.

Surely the imperial army hasn't caught up with me already?

*****
Hours earlier...

"You and your men have done well Kerr." Athelstan stood tall with his feet wide apart. "Secure the castle and burn the bodies. Dunalastair Castle now belongs to you great wolf."

"Hmm, I should think so," spouted Kerr. "If it wisnae fir my men, I would say yer army would have been done for. The wolves are scouring the woods for any of Duncan's men."

"Indeed," said Athelstan.

"I must ask though... is it true ye took down the Donnachaidh Chief yerself?"

Athelstan narrowed his eyes, casting a piercing glare in Kerr's direction. "Your Chieftain fought valiantly, he had all but finished the Lynx... I merly landed the final blow."

"Aye, I heard Sgreuch is laying in the great hall. He died a warriors death, the old lad couldn't have asked for more. I'm just glad that bastard Duncan has paid for what he has done." Kerr's powerful jaw trembled as he tried to finish, "my fathers spirit can finally rest after all these years."

"MY KING, MY KING, I COME WITH NEWS," said Godwin, looking as though he'd been run ragged. "We've found them. Come quickly."

Athelstan and Kerr exchanged a look, hastily following the Knight down the hill.

It was still dark, but soldiers with torches held high illuminated the corpses of the stag and the wolf in the clearing.

"Droch... my boy!" Kerr fumbled to his knees. He ran his hands over the dead wolves, blood-matted fur, feeling for the holes torn through its sides. The Chief of Clan Kerr had failed to mention upon their first meeting that the Cheiftain brothers were his second and third eldest sons. Kerr's hands trembled as he stared vacantly at the congealed blood that clung to his palms: the blood of his son Droch.

Athelstan folded his arms as he watched indifferently over Kerr, who was weeping quietly beside the remains of his boy.

Something had caught Kerr's nose as it picked up, sniffing out into the direction of the deeper woods. He rose to his feet and stumbled into the forrest without saying a word.

"AAAAAHHH." The cracking of splintering wood shot out from where the Chief had headed.

The King and his retinue followed to find Kerr hunched over clutching his chest, having clearly shattered the thick tree trunk he clung to. As the torches neared closer, Athelstan could see the severed head of a wolf, resting between the legs of Duncan's wife; savaged with her back against a tree. He recognised the wolf somehow. Those unrelenting eyes... he thought. It was the wolf he had sent Firmin off with in pursuit of Cayla and the child.

"MURDERERS! My boy has been murdered!" Screamed Kerr.

"Nonsense!" said Athelstan.

"My nose does not lie Athelsten! No lynx has been anywhere near here! Bocan was killed by one of your men, I can smell him... filthy."

"Firmin will be able to explain, he was with Bocan and Droch in pursuit of the stag, the wife and the..."

Kerr grabbed the King by the throat, pinning him up against a tree, "Firmin...traitor... I want his head and the heads of all of his family! There will be no agreement between the Kerrs and the Crown as long as he lives!"

The soldiers hastily unsheathed their swords, holding them to Kerr's head with deadly intent.

Athelstan stared back into Kerr's murderous eyes, unshaken like the rock that stands proud in the most vicious of storms.

"Release me Kerr," his words strained through the blue-knuckle grip of the Cheif.

Kerr lowered his hands to his side, exhaling powerfully, as though releasing all of his rage in a single breath.

"Firmin has shown undying fielty to me for 15 years, he is the Knight Commander of my Imperial army for goodness sake. We will not know what has happened till we find him Kerr. You have his scent correct?"

"Aye," growled Kerr back at Athelstans rational explanation and calm demeanor.

"Then we find my Commander and find the missing Donnachaidh child. An heir cannot be allowed to live. We must hunt the Lynx to extinction."

Kerr nodded affirmatively, sniffing around the body of Cayla, presumably familiarising himself with the scent of the child.

"Godwin, send men out at first light to the nearest towns, alert the soldiers stationed there to be on the lookout for any remenants of the Donnachaidh Clan, especially that child! I want the Lynx to be outlawed immediately and executed without trial... except the heir, ensure he is brought to me."

*****

Firmin peered with a single eye through the thicket. A shaggy-coated reindeer rode into view, pulling a rickety cart brimming with some sort of harvest. Relieved, he stepped out of the bush. Where is the rider? he thought as it drew level beside him.

"YOU THERE!"

Startled, Firmin pulled his sword from its sheath, frantically scanning the surroundings for the origins of the voice.

"I'm right here you numpty..."