On the move.

[Vanidor]

Time had moved slowly since the killing at the Dagger, and still, Aeryn Karolinger felt little remorse for the deed that was done. Oh, he felt bad for the boy's family, and perhaps a little for the boy himself, it had been a stupid act of his that had lead to his death. Not that the other Constables would care that the lad had been the first to strike. That he had swept up with that blackjack because he lost his hold on his emotions and simply acted without thinking.

So, for the killing, he held no remorse. What he hated was the way that the Constables immediately took sides without thinking. Then again, he knew that would happen, even if he had turned himself in. Karolinger was responsible for more injury amoungst the Constables than anyone else. Haberdasher's Row was still bright in their minds, even after so much time had passed. And this? Aeryn, in his place by the lake, could only laugh. If chaos was to be sown, this certainly created it.

In any case, here Aeryn would lever himself up from the ground. The clothing he had worn the night of the assault had been rolled up in a ball and filled with stones. They had been tossed into the deepest part of the lake, since cleaning the blood out of the leather was not an option. He wore, in it's place, simple but rugged clothing designed for the forest. Woodsman's garb of the sort that the Scouts wore when they roamed the forest. It was serviceable, and warm. He eased his coat over his shoulders, the thing coming to his hips and partially covering the hilt of his sabre.

A slight laugh once again, and the next thing he would do was remove his eating knife from the sheath at his hip. The thing was stained with McCoy's blood. A small smile, and then thing would be wedged up into the branches of a nearby tree. Not completely out of sight, but certainly not completely visible either. A trail, perhaps, if the Constables thought about it hard enough. He wasn't certain about how skilled the trackers in the employ of the Constables were, he was sure not as able as the Scouts he trained with (certainly not as able as Rautha but that was neither here nor there, especially since Aeryn wasn't Rautha, was he.), so he made the trail in his wake almost cloyingly visible.

It left the small campsite he had used these last few days, a place he had rested for the last little while and where he'd spent time thinking. Away from this place of solitude, and a trail that would lead towards the Pritchie farms still held by the Monastery of St. Thecla the Feckless. Now there was a merry chase. How long would they follow...

[Lent]

It had been a long life for Kurt Lentham. He's been many things during it. Child to poor but loving parents. Orphan. Apprentice cordwainer. Husband. Budding businessman. Widower. Father. Drunkard. Constable. And now a new man. In all that time, however, he never had any use for the woods. No, he was Myrkentown, born and bred, and ever since he was a boy, ever since his parents (or at least PARTS of them) were taken by something that emerged from those trees, he never much wanted to venture into them.

He was anything but a Ranger. What he was instead, however, was a determined man who was following a trail meant to be followed. It took a time to even start looking into those woods. There were questions to various Myrkenborn men recently of the Brotherhood, ones who had been later recruits, who had known Kurt and his family, who were willing to point in a direction and look the other way.

It took a bit of badgering, but that trail had been found and it had been followed, and now, he was in Cinnabar Calomel's office, having just reported on where it led. He had been following the rules, and that meant heading back to check in before banging on doors. The two weeks were not yet up, were they?

[Cinnabar]

Processing of paperwork has been slow business this last couple of days, limited to reading reports and dictating letters, painful in more than one sense thanks to the layers of bandages swathed around the Constable's hands; still, he does what he can, and Lentham's interruption is as welcome as could be hoped for. That the townsman Constable has managed to find a trail at all is encouraging, and there's certainly enthusiasm on the High Constable's part to hear what Kurt has found.

"So. What news, then?"

[channe]

She returns to Calomel's farm as the darkness creeps in the evening Lent gives his report, giving no reason nor explanation as to her absence. By now, Magda knows enough to simply fret and pray quietly over her eldest daughter, and later she'll be grateful to be illiterate, to be far too busy to hear the gossip, the rumors --

-- but she'd not be able to turn her daughter away. That's not the way the Kaczmareks do things.

And that's not the way Agnie does things, Cinnabar Calomel, despite her protestations to the contrary a few days ago in the farmshed. She'll tell no one of the inn she's spent her last few days in; she'll tell no one of the words that passed between herself and Aeryn Karolinger, if any did; she'll give no outward signs of helping the man, but will simply continue her exercises in the side yard and pick up the chores where necessary, refusing to talk to anyone who brings up that old, dead whoreson Baker, the Governor who is their landlord, or the nasty rumors that have found their way down the road to Myrkentown.

Except for Dominik, of course, who finds her alone in the barn one late afternoon, working the hay-bales.

"You thought about it, didn't you? Going?"

She'll pause, the hay-fork in one hand, and look over her shoulder to see her brother. "... 'course I did."

"Agnie, this is all screwed up," he observes, quietly, his shoulder against the door. "It's not like you to let it get this bad."

"Shut up. I didn't want to see the kid die. He weren't that bad, just dumb as a box of rocks, I just wanted t' *scare* him, an' anyway, they should've known better, an'" -- she chokes up for a moment. "Okay. Okay, he still should be alive. He weren't nothin' special, he weren't no Baker, he was just doin' what he was told, an' -- Aeryn, he -- shit, it ain't *my* fault. Dumbass kid chose the wrong fucking day to be a hero. Welcome to Myrken fucking Wood." And quieter, much quieter. "I'm sorry 'e's dead, but the world ain't the kind o' place a kid like that would have survived long in anyways."

"Will you tell them where he's going?"

"Not if they try to drag it outta me wi' an ice-pick," she responds.

Dom shakes his head, and a smile crosses his face. "That's my girl," he says, and walks out of the barn.

Agnieszka tosses the hay-fork as far as it can go in a fit of anger; it thuds against the dirt floor of the barn, and with a choked-up cry she throws herself on the floor and begins to cry -- only because nobody else is there to see her, and she's angrier than she's ever been, then even that night in Baker's house. She doesn't know how to feel about McCoy's murder. She's sorry over it, so sorry -- but, she's also desperately loyal to Aeryn, to his choices, his decisions --

-- and despite that, she'll never let Dominik, or anyone else, know about Calomel's threat.

She'll let nobody know, because there's one thing that Agnieszka Kaczmarek will not do. Ever, ever, ever again. It'll be too late, before she commits such a sin again.

The sin, of course, of bowing to pressure.

[Lent]

Whatever sat on Kurt Lentham's face right now cannot easily be called enthusiasm. It might actually be fatigue, and despite the yawns and the laziness and whatever else that the High Constable had seen in Lentham, he never particularly seemed tired, at least until today.

So he had done more than just come in and report. The Detective Constable sat down and looked at Calomel squarely.

"Had to pull in every favor I had, including a good number I didn't even know I had, but I had a general direction. Woods. Took two of the dogs out. Sniffed out a trail. Got easier and easier to follow as I went along. Easy enough that I could find it and me in the woods is like a leper trying to count to ten with his fingers." There was an instinctive reach for his flask at this point, which halted the moment he remembered the damn thing was empty. Hadn't filled it in days. No time.

"Long story short: Bastard's trail ends at the Pritchie farms." And just how did you want that mess dealt with? "Didn't start banging on doors, not yet." Lentham finished. There would be time for that later, on his own, if necessary. Hopefully there would be time for that now, with the proper paperwork and proper support.

[Cinnabar]

Huh. The Pritchite farms. Another of the reasons that Calomel had been keen to see the land returned to active use, as a house standing unoccupied out in the countryside makes a far too convenient hideout for... well, all sorts of undesirables.

"Is he on his own, or does he have others with him?" There is the possibility that other disgruntled ex-mercenaries have joined him, which could make things more dangerous. But not insurmountable.

"Whatever the case, bring him in - alive, if possible, but by whatever means are appropriate if he resists. Take a squad of men, however many seems appropriate - I'd recommend no fewer than five, and perhaps more like ten, including horsemen in case he tries to make a run for it. Take more than that, if it looks likely that he's got help. Ask for the list of men who were involved in tracking the Ashfiend, they know the land well." Hm. What else?

"Most of the former Pritchite farms in that area are government property awaiting reallocation, so there shouldn't be any trouble in that regard. I'll give you a list of those few that aren't, in case he's thinking of prevailing on the Abbot of St. Thecla to hide him." That might not be as unlikely as it sounds, given Fidelius' indignation at certain of Calomel's actions as Governor.

"The monks might protest against your presence on their lands, but that can be disregarded - they're still part of Myrken Wood, so they're still bound by its laws. You have your warrants and you're in pursuit of a known murderer who is currently a fugitive from justice, so unless they want to become outlaws as well they can stand aside." At length he nods, fingers laced together on his desk.

"Anything else?"

[Lent]

Hn. It was a shame that the jurisdiction of the Constabulary had only just increased a month or two back. Yes, they had some men quite good at tracking, but if the woods had been under their oversight before that, the woods and the outlying areas, well... it would have made a difference now.

"Best I can tell, it's only him, though I would not be surprised much if he met with some others." McCoy wouldn't have been of much use now either. There was a bit of hunting in his youth, as the rich were want to do, but not much of it. His father was NOT a noble and he never would be and at least he had the good sense not to pretend. Better than most, that.

Well, then. This is how it's going to be. "Fine. I'm going to play this safe though, Calomel. Somedays, Karolinger is insane. Somedays, he's crafty. Somedays, I imagine he's both." For now, at least, Lentham was playing things by the book, even more than the High Constable. "I'll take ten men. I've got some in mind. But tomorrow. Been a few days since I've slept. Probably ought to do that first." And there was some hand movement which may or may not have been a salute. "Will keep you posted, then."

[Vanidor]

The Pritchie Farms. Or at least a small parcel of them. A particular farm that had been, during the buildup of the Myrken militia, been used by that same militia as a forward base as they were to 'patrol' the surrounding area. A place that had a dark reputation to it, as this was the place, according to local tale, that two whole squads of the militia, and half a squad of Janerio soldiers had met their deaths to a team of assassin-cultists. It had even been commemorated by the Brotherhood with a sign speaking of the bravery of those poor militiamen.

It was also supposed to be haunted, and in a realm where the impossible and improbable were the norm, it could have quite possibly been true, right? It was also the place where Karolinger's trail would eventually lead. Not a step further, either, as if the man had walked into the farm and then simply... vanished. Or been consumed by the same thing that had slaughtered those defenders of Myrken so long ago. Was there truth to it?

There were, certainly, signs of his presence upon the farm. Or someone's presence, in any case. Footsteps moving through dusty floors. The imprint of someone having slept upon a bed not long before hand. Of food having been cooked upon a stove that had long been dormant. But those could have been anyone, truth to tell. At least within the main farmhouse. The barn, now here was another question.

For it was half broken down on the outside, with the door seemingly off of it's rusted hinges and sitting directly upon the earth. Yet there was a trace that lead to that door. The marks of someone having moved across the yard and avoiding the supposedly haunted farmhouse. Moved across the yard and having had -drug- something from the farmhouse and towards the barn, making no attempt to hide the trail they left as well. The tracks lead to the side, where there was a side door that -looked- like it had been months since it was last opened. Except for the hinges. They were dirty, smeared with mud it looked like. But oiled. And oiled well. The thing about that door, is that it seemed to be nailed shut. And nailed from the outside as if to keep something inside the barn.

There was something here, that much was for certain. For there was the sweet scent of decay in the air as well. Of something rotting, perhaps someplace upon the yard, or in one of the empty farm houses that made up this farmland, or, perhaps, within that supposedly empty barn.

[Lent]

The two weeks just weren't up yet. It was a strange way to honor someone's memory, yeah? Instead of doing everything possible to get the murderer, Lentham was doing everything correctly. Men were with him but they were held back as he talked to the farmers, even the monks, not as if the latter were too useful, or coherent...

Fact of the matter was this: he was Myrken born. He had lost his family to the Baie, to the drow, to the Flux. After he gained some renown almost dying at Haberdasher's Row, such things got out. Oh, he had sat through that play going on right now, but he had been silent. Wasn't his place, except for maybe alerting a certain someone about it. Let the old man do what he would.

No, Lentham was polite; dour, serious, gloomy, but polite, and being so different than he had been portrayed, well... that had gotten him results, enough so that he was able to find the farm in question, able to find the trail, and now the building.

The door was absurd. Enough nails that if you melted them down, you could forge an armor out of the metal. Thankfully, the nice thing about abandoned farms is that there is enough wreckage and rubble and large, blunt things laying around that you can just smash the hell out of the door. Even that wasn't going quick enough for Lentham though. "Enough! Get the horses. Been a while since I've been so offended by an inanimate object." Well there WAS that one time his flask had been empty or a week. He was ready to tie the horses to the damn thing and...

"Detective Constable?" A gruff, very large Constable with beady eyes walked up to him and saluted.

"Walter, right? Yeah, what is it. I'm about to... pah, no matter. What's on your... ?" He wasn't getting along smashingly with the other Constables, but at least it was civil. "Ah wait, better idea. Over here." He nodded to larger man. "Walter of the Brute Squad? Think I heard that bit of wall say something about your ma. Or your cobbler, so either you or your shoe out to be real mad at it. Do the honors, yeah?"

The Constable frowned, nodded, and walked towards the wall. Seven or so strong kicks later and the dark attachment to the barn opened up to them.

"Well, let's have it then."

What was found in the darkened chamber? Long dead cats, two of them, and more than a few flies feasting on them and the decaying plants still. And then weapons, hoards of them. Weapons and supplies. And a box of field rations, some of which seem to have been removed recently.

Well wasn't this interesting? Maybe, maybe not. The Detective Constable grunted, perusing what had been dragged out with little obvious interest, at least until a note addressed to Kurt Lentham personally was brought out. Uh... huh. "Send a runner back to Calomel. Let him know what we found."

The Brotherhood and the ... huh. There was a shake of his head before opening the letter and glancing down at it.

[Vanidor]

The letter was a simple thing, quite truthfully. A simple bound piece of parchment that had been left sitting upon the partially opened container of field rations. A polished knife had weighted it down, and upon the face of it was written 'Constable Lentham'.

Constable Lentham.

I would think it a pleasure that it do be you who take upon this silly chase. You would do well to be careful if you are to follow after me. I do plan on traveling deeper into the woods, now that I did gather the supplies I did need from this storehouse. There are things in the forest that you Constables do no have any idea of, dangers that we have been dealing with since we did come and Kerrak did set us upon clearing them.

Perhaps this do be why I did lead you here, to this place. There be enough swords and hammers and coats of mail to arm fourty some men. Take them, and use them as you will be needing them. There be enough rations for the same, for a couple of weeks. Minus what I did take, of course.

You should know, your boy did act first. Keep that in mind, if you continue to hunt. The silly play, yes I do know of it, that the Priests do put on in town is half right in that regard. He did hit me, and I did react. I will not apologise for it. Keep that in mind as well. I do to others what they do to me, and what I do have to.

For this last. I give you an offer. Keep away from me, and I will do what I do in the forests. And I will keep away from you. But hunt me, and I will hunt back.

I would rather no one else died because of pride.

Aeryn Karolinger

[Lent]

Pride?

"Yeah, here's the thing about about pride, Aeryn Karolinger." Lentham still carried the note with him, days later, as he worked his way through the woods, flanked by both a few Constables and a few of the Xanth Grange soldiers, as well as two dogs. This was the first time he actually started talking to it, and perhaps the seventh time he's read the thing to himself. "Can't say I have too much, myself. No. Lose who you were, where you come from, and it's a damn foolish thing to keep going on with plumped up feathers just on what people tell you. A lie, that."

The woods took to him, surprisingly enough. Maybe he had been a towngoer for most of his life. Maybe he had a healthy reason to fear the darkness of the trees ever since boyhood. Maybe it didn't damn well matter. He was as much a part of Myrken as the Woods themselves, and the two things seemed to go together fine, after a bit of acclimation for both parties.

"What I'm doing now, Karolinger, is survival. You might be batshit insane. Fact, you probably are. Well and good, that." He trodded on, men behind him, uncaring if they heard, uncaring if Karolinger heard. It was enough that the trees were witness. "Me? I have to go to sleep each and every night. Boy died doing his job; opening your skull would do as much for the peace and well-being of Myrken as anything else, I wager. So I'm not going to stop until I finish his job for him."

A hand rested upon the bark of the nearest tree for a moment. A quick look down to one of the dogs followed. The group turned and walked on, as if following Lentham's instinct. "You threaten me with being hunted. Think you don't quite get that there's nothing left to lose. Already lost my life back at Haberdasher's Row. And you went and took all I gained back since then. Oh, I'll start over. That's what we do in Myrken. Not sure if you'd have realized that, being a foreign mercenary and all, but we start over every single year here, sometimes twice. It's all we're good at." Lentham was moving brush and branches out of his way as if this had been his life all along. "Thing is that it's not free, these fresh starts. Need to make amends first. Seeing you drug through the streets in chains, Karolinger. Nothing personal, but that's amends."

Finally, Lentham stopped and turned back to the men behind him. There was a slight shake of his head. "Don't look at me like that, boys. These woods? If he's still here, he'll have heard that, in the wind, under the crunch of his feet, through the leaves. This is Myrken. Mind yourselves now. Let's speed it up." And the men, shaken as they might have been followed Lentham further into the darkness.

[Lent]

Weeks. It has been weeks since the search began. No, not the search, but the chase, for that is what this was. Finding Karolinger may have been hardly possible, but damn it if Lentham was going to let the man rest peacefully through the winter. He would hound him until the job was done. "Got to say, Nic, didn't think you'd stick it out so long." Unfortunately, in the immediate, many of the men assigned to this were dealing with the Ashfiend situation. Those remaining were split up throughout the woods in pairs. Very few of the Xanth Grange soldiers remained assigned to this particular project, if only bceause most simply refused.

The man Lentham referred to as "Nic" grunted. Worse than that, he glared, but truly, after this last week, his heart wasn't in it, much. For a madman, this Constable's company was... tolerable. There were a number of things that were NOT tolerable about this situation, however. "It is Nicephorus. Nih-SEPH-or-Us, Lentham. I will not tell you again."

"Good. Good. Can't say, Nic, that I intend to ask. Point stands." Lentham waved his flask up and down a bit, trying to find a last drop within, even as the two men trudged through the Wood. No luck. There hadn't been any during the last four times he tried it either, but who knew. His luck was bound to change.

Nicephorus Komnen grumbled. He was a tall man, tall and with a honed body, certainly a military man, though that meant different things in different places. His hair was short, but even so, prematurely grey streaks sat above his ears, adding some maturity to his gruff, yet noble, looks. Another intolerable fact: He could not wear his proud crimson uniform. Too... visible in these forsaken woods. A... reasonable request, but hardly a tolerable one. "You know why I am still here, Constable." The word was not said with respect so much as a begrudging acceptance. "Still here in this uncivilized province, with you, in these wretched woods. I have my orders."

To say that the Komnen family were not great supporters of Garrison Bromn, current Duke of Xanth Grange was an understatement. To say that HE, oldest son, was a support of the man, would also be an understatement. Despite being outspoken, despite trying to disassociate with his father, with his brothers, with those around him who thought Garrison a heavy-handed tyrant, Nicephorus' rivals for advancement were able to attach him to the units Altias brought to Myrken. Once there, it was obvious that he was not going to be completely cooperate, that he had no love at all for Myrken, and here, being so outspoken served as a disadvantage. The commanders that Altias handpicked could not TRUST him (by that regard, they could not trust MOST of the men, who thought so highly of Garrison and so little of Altias). It meant that he had no leverage. It meant that he was HERE, now, with Lentham, with one madman on the search for another.

"Hnn." Lentham exhaled loudly as eyes darted from tree to tree, looking for any sign of recent passage. "Bad attitude, son. That's your problem. Myrken devours bad attitudes and spits out the people who walked around with them. Course it devours good attitudes too. Best not to have any at all, maybe."

"Perhaps." If he could only manage such placid passivity then at least Lentham's nonsensical ramblings could be ignored. As it was, the man had the sort of voice that grated, made endlessly worse by his Myrken accent. "And I am not your 'son,' you..." Restraint, Nicephorus. Professionalism at all times. Some semblence of honor, even here, especially here. Here. Damn that irresponsible fop for sending them here. Another grunt.

Finally Lentham lifted a hand. "Want silence? Fine. You've got it, Nic." He nodded up to a fairly well concealed set of tracks. The Detective Constable was getting better at this with every passing day. "Maybe it's another fake to lead us off the trail. Maybe not. Either way, we're silent until we get indication one way or another." And then, without looking back, he walked on, following the tracks.

There was a nod, a stiff, silent, professional nod, before the Xanth Grange soldier started after the Myrken man.

[Vanidor]

Another day to pass in an uneventful manner. Tracks that ghosted through the wilderness. A branch broken here, perhaps a depression in the earth where the man had spent a night. It all pointed to signs that Aeryn was nearby, a day away perhaps. Two at the most, though the route the former Marshal took was strange. At times he would be ranging swiftly along the forest floor, hardly bothering to conceal his whereabouts, and others he was going from root to root, moving along stumps or through the trees themselves.

What had Kurt called him? Clever or insane? Most likely both. Most likely both. For the tracks he laid made no sense. A man who knew he was hunted would do his damnedest to disappear completely. Not... toy with his trackers. Maybe that was the point. At least until this day. For midway through it the tracks went from being partially clear, barely obfuscated by the fall of leaves and branches. Until they came to one of the small streams that filtered through the forest of Myrken. A gentle tendril that wound a lazy path across a small meadow. And here, the trail would move to the stream and not continue upon the other side.

This was a place. One of the places within the forest that had an... oddness to them. Kurt was Myrkenborn, was he not? Perhaps he had heard stories of such places. Where the strength of the old and fae were still strong, refusing to yield to the encroachment of man and the newer faiths. Where the mystical was very real and there were signs of it. Here as well, there was that feel. A sort of calm that was not felt before. A quiet that suggested sleep or rest. This clearing would be a good place to break for lunch, or perhaps for the day. That was the hint in the air, and indeed here sang the meadowlarks. And here was the soft buzzing of insects.

The grass, even it looked soft and welcoming. On the other side of the stream, anyway...

[Lent]

"Hnnff. Woods." Oh, the Detective Constable respected them, undoubtedly, but there was NO love in his world weary heart for this mass of trees, grass, and concealed death that he had been trudging through for the last long while. The rations would last them a long time, through winter, perhaps. He had little doubt of his ability to handle the cold either. What's the worst that could happen? Death? He would continue to trod persistantly after Karolinger until justice was done.

Nicephorus was less contented. It wasn't his partner that had been lost. He saw little difference between the Brotherhood and the Constabulary, between Karolinger and Calomel. Calomel had seized power for himself. Karolinger had put ALTIAS in power, well and fine in itself, but why would one do that and then NOT make a puppet out of the fool?

No, the soldier was not going to trick himself. Karolinger did likely deserve a karmic kick in the ass from life for having the poor sense to place the Duke's brother in charge of a place he claimed to cared about, but that was not enough reason for Nicephorus to get emotionally attached to this. It wasn't his battle. He was just doing his job, as wretched as it was. "Whole damn province, Lentham. Not just these woods." There was no reason to hide his ire, either.

"Hn." The ire was responded to with a grunt, no more. They had crossed the stream, entered the clearing. It did not take someone particularly sensitive to magic to know that they were in one of the old places. "Best mind your tongue here, Nic. Mind the rest of you too." Lentham was walking carefully now, watching his step. There were signs, and recent signs at that. "Camped here recently. We'll do the same." It felt important somehow, to follow his steps exactly, at least when it came to this. The grizzled man knew to follow his instincts. Out here in the woods, they were all he had.

[Vanidor]

They would have been left in that special glade for the balance of that day, time seeming to slow as the natural, or perhaps unnatural, magics of the clearing did their work. Not that there was much work involved, aside from a general blanket of tranquility and peace. It was warmer here, as well. For while the first hints of frost had started to form here within the deep forest, in this clearing there was nothing to suggest that winter was here beyond the bite in the air.

Presuming they remained within the glade for all that time, night would come to the Wood. A deepening of the darkness and a lengthening of shadows that kept most men out of the dank halls of the Myrkenwood and to the safer forests and the town itself. Except for here, where their camp would be bathed in a soft radiance. A phosphorescent glow of blue and green that originated from the forest on the far side of the stream. Nothing truly mystical about that, one could say, for the glow came from a pair of lanterns that hung from the end of two long poles.

The poles were carried aloft by a pair of elves, the things tied to the horn of their saddles. The two were armoured in overlapping plates of boiled leather, with intricate designs worked into each leading edge. Swords at the waist, and horse-bows in cases strapped to the flank of their horses.These two, and the light they carried, bordered another elf who sat upon her horse with graceful ease. Robes upon this one, flowing and almost translucent. A vision of beauty, perhaps, at least if one went for the exotic lines and features of the elven race. With pointed ears that were hidden by long waves of chestnut hair, and eyes of silver that sparkled with merriment. Her voice, sultry and deep, held promises.

"Welcome to the Enclave of Coron Darien, Constable and Soldier." Enigmatic in the manner in which those silvery eyes seemed to float between one and the other. "We have watched your progress and have decided to extend to you our hospitality, if it pleases the Light. You are welcome to shelter beneath the boughs of the deep forest at your will, or within the safety of the Enclave itself. If it pleases you, we have a freshly dressed stag prepared for our dinner this evening, you are welcome to join us at the feasting table. All we ask is that your concerns be laid aside, for this evening, for the Enclave is neutral in the face of Humanity."

And here, the lady elf moved her hands to the side and a path would appear within upon the far side of that stream. Glamored, it would seem, from prying eyes. It led into the darkened forest, that much was certain, but in the distance could be seen more of the ethereal glimmer of the elven lanterns. Soft music, unheard before that gesture, filtered from that glow.

"If it pleases you, just cross the stream and follow after." The elfess and her escort would turn, aiming to follow that path. If they decided to follow, now was the chance. For surely, though no sight of his passage had been seen before now, the boot-prints that belonged to Aeryn Karolinger could be plainly seen amoungst the prints of horses hooves along that same path...