Not once did they catch sight of or hear from Truls Rohk. Panax said they wouldn’t, and he turned out to be right.
Their encounter with the shadowy, formidable Tails had left both Bek and Quentin shaken, and it wasn’t until the next day, when they were well away from Depo Bent and the Wolfsktaag, that they had felt comfortable enough to pursue the subject. By then, Panax was ready to tell them the rest of what he knew.
“Of course, he’s a man, just like you or me,” he replied to Bek’s inevitable question regarding what sort of creature Tails Rohk really was. “Well, not just like you or me, I guess, or anyone else I’ve ever come across. But he’s a man, not some beast or wraith. He was a Southlander once, before he went into the mountains to live. He came out of the border country below Varfleet, somewhere in the Runne. His people were trappers, poor migrants who lived close to the bone. He told me this once, long time ago. Never spoke of it again, though. Especially not the part about the fire.”
They were somewhere out on the Rabb by then, chasing the sun west, the daylight beginning to fade to twilight. Neither cousin spoke as the Dwarf paused in his narration to gather his thoughts.
“When he was about twelve, I guess, there was a fire. The boy was sleeping with the men in a makeshift shelter of dried skins and it caught fire. The others got out, but the boy ran the wrong way and got tangled up in the tent folds and couldn’t get free. The fire burned him so badly he was unrecognizable afterwards. They thought he was going to die, I think they thought it would be better if he did. But they did what they could for him, and it turned out to be just enough. He says he was a big lad in any case, very strong even then, and some part of him fought back against the pain and misery and kept him alive.
“So he lived, but he was disfigured so badly even his family couldn’t stand to look at him. I can’t imagine what that must have been like. He says he couldn’t look at himself. He kept away from everyone after that, trapping and hunting in the woods, avoiding other people, other places. When he was old enough to manage it, he set out on his own, intending to live apart from everyone. He was bitter and ashamed, and he says that what he really wanted was to die. He went east into the Wolfsktaag, having heard the stories of what lived there, thinking no other man would try living in such a place, so he could at least be alone for whatever time he had left.
“But something happened to him in those mountains—he won’t say what, won’t talk about it. It changed his way of thinking. He decided he wanted to live. He decided he wanted to be healed. He went to the Stors for medicines and balms, for whatever treatments they could offer, then began some sort of selfhealing ritual. He won’t talk about that, either. I don’t know whether it worked or not. He says it did, but he still hides himself in that cloak and hood. I’ve never seen him clearly. Not his face, not any part of his body. I don’t think anyone has.”
“But there’s something else about him,” Bek interjected quickly. “You say he’s human, that he’s a man underneath, a man like you and me, but he doesn’t seem so. He doesn’t seem like any man I’ve ever come across.”
“No,” Panax agreed, “he doesn’t. And for good reason. I say he’s a man like you and me mostly so you don’t think he was born anything else. But he’s become something more, and it’s difficult to say just what that something is. A little of it, I know, I understand. He’s found a way of assimilating with the things that live in the Wolfsktaag, a way of becoming like they are. He’s able to shapeshift; I know that for a fact. He can take on the look and feel of animals and spirit creatures; he can become like they are—or, when he chooses, like the things that frighten them. That’s what he did back there with those ur’wolves. That’s why they ran from him. He’s like some force of nature you don’t want to cross; he’s able to become anything he needs to become to kill you. He’s big and strong and quick and fast to begin with, the shapeshifting only enhances that. He’s feral and he’s instinctive; he knows how to fit in where you and I would only know enough to want to run. He’s at home in those mountains. He’s at home in places other men never will be. That’s why the Druid wants him along. Tails Rohk will get past obstacles no one else would dare even to challenge. He’ll solve problems that would leave others scratching their heads.”