For three generations blood was spilled in the forest through which the river flowed. It started when hunters from the two villages disputed the right to claim the pelt of the great wolf which plagued them.
In the afternoon light they circled each other, knives in hand, their bows lay down as to not sully them with murder. After a day of slashing at each other both carried wounds which would scar, the glade was now soaked in their blood and the pelt ruined.
Both parties felt aggrieved but were in no state to pursue the claim or kill the other, instead they vowed that their children, their children’s children and their children would meet this same day when they had come of age and settle the argument for good.
As the fourth generation prepared they were visited by omens, each followed a hare to the lair of the Bog Witch. The Witch promised them both supernatural assistance if they would give them the bloody wolfs pelt soaked in three generations of blood. Suspicious and wise of the Witches tricks they refused the offer.
On the morning of the battle both witnessed the rare site of a herd of wild horses galloping on the hill side. They felt blessed and empowered, today would be their day surely.
Each stepped into the glade, laying down their bow as their ancestors had, taking their knife and readying themselves. As they circled each other a Raven landed on a stump within the glade, its jet black feathers distracting both hunters briefly.
As they closed in on each other they nodded respectfully to one another, acknowledging that today the argument would finally be settled and death was nearby.