Stogie fires three more rounds at the retreating mass of earth and dirt. One blast strikes the spirit squarely but the slug does little, other than to incorporate itself into the swirling mix of rocks and debris.

Smohalla strains to his feet, his back failing to straighten fully as he stands. His posture is stooped as he plants his shoulder against a thick fir tree to avoid losing his balance. His jacket is slashed, the tatters sticking to his skin as the blood begins to dry.

He ignores that to concentrate on the fleeing shapes. His mind bends the trees and forest out of the way, piercing the troll with his natural born senses. He digs deep into the astral form, searching out its hidden side. The troll is Infected, that is clear to see. He is a shaman, the equal of Smohalla, with a distinct aura of thoughts twisted and disfigured by his disease. He's hurt but repairing fast, his body (and aura) stitching itself back together even as Smohalla watches. Toothy's eyes flare open; his period of unconsciousness has passed. He looks back to the group with fear and anger. For now, his fear is winning. He is clearly unaccustomed to opponents equal to himself. Being knocked out terrified him, and all he wants to do is run home.

Toothy flings a spell behind him, hoping to buy himself some time. Smohalla sees the wave of energy bypass him but cannot do anything to protect his friends behind. Stogie's head explodes into a violent symphony of fireworks, like a pounding form of brain freeze that won't pass. His vision swims as all the directions in the world reverse themselves, then flip again. Ellesar fares better, his sensation feeling more like sandpaper rubbing along his neck and back, then across his legs and arms.

The watchers have not called off the chase. They pursue the earth spirit relentlessly, nipping at its heels. The spirit is strong but it cannot adequately protect itself while carrying its master, and it has been weakened by the accumulation of blows. One of the watchers bites the spirit just so on the back of the neck, and the spirit is forced to succumb. The momentum throws Toothy to the ground, the forest floor swallowing him up.

Ellesar stands, his hands fighting through the abrasive sensation to feed bullets into his rifle without his eyes leaving the forest. There's no movement that he can see or hear.

Smohalla pauses briefly, concentrating on sending a mental command to his watcher spirits

Report to me the activity of my enemy, in the physical world and in the astral. Follow him if you must. Be wary of his claws.

Aloud, he says, Our enemy is afraid, and hurting. But he gets better every moment.

Ellesar's eyes remain plastered to the trees directly ahead of him. "Then what shall our coarse of action be? If we are going to finish this...thing off then we need to move now and all at once."

Smohalla slides down the tree to a sitting position, pain flashing across his face at every movement.

This body is too injured now to follow you.

I will provide help from the astral.

He closes his eyes and his face relaxes as the pain drains away, leaving his features smooth and calm.

On the astral, a large eagle takes wing from the sitting form and flies towards the position of the downed troll

Stogie indicates the unconscious body of Smohalla. "Jake. Protect." Jake runs over to Smohalla's body and stretches out on the ground at his feet. His ears are erect and twitching.

"Well, if we are going after that thing, let's go now before it heals. Otherwise, we should get out of here and hope it doesn't follow. My guess is it will come after us again, only more carefully, so if we can find it and finish it, I'm all for that."

"Let's not waste time then." Ellesar swiftly begins heading towards the area where they had last seen the troll, weapon at the ready.

Stogie sets off in pursuit of the Infected troll. He had hunted dangerous things many times, and it never paid to go straight in after one. He stepped to the left of Ellesar's path of approach and moved among the trees, trying to maximize their cover. The thing and it's spirit servant made no attempt at subtlety in their retreat. There had to be tell-tale signs of their passage and going to ground. Blood on the bushes, broken branches, leaves turned over... there had to be something to give a clue.

Stogie staggers out of the spell's area of effect. Warmth floods his brain as the piercing, icy sensation melts away. Ellesar also breathes a sigh of relief as he walks forward, his skin settling down from its harsh scrubbing. Smohalla eyes the affected area on the astral but it does not follow the men as they leave the effect. Rather, the spells dissipates, its swirling vortex slowing down until the captured mana escapes and reincorporates itself into the surrounding air.

Smohalla sends the watchers to the troll's last known position, but they are little help. The forest is overwhelmingly busy on the astral and the watchers can't penetrate the vibrant swirl. Smohalla leaves his body to follow the trail himself.

The shifter reacts with some surprise as Smohalla's spirit sheds its mortal coil and goes off on its own. In his wolf form, he approaches Smohalla's shell and sniffs at it lightly. He looks to Jake, seeking reassurance that this is a normal proceeding. He backs away from Smohalla's body slightly, just in case whatever split Smohalla in two is catching. He sits back and watches Smohalla's spirit fly away.

Stogie has little difficulty following the trail left by the earth spirit. In its haste, it upturned rocks and branches, leaving a jagged arrow pointed straight at its final resting spot. Ellesar and Stogie approach the area gingerly, their eyes twisting side-to-side while their shoulders pivot with their guns. There's a cool wind blowing across the forest floor, a dark cloud still covering the sun. Stogie does his best to stay quiet; his heightened senses notice every leaf he brushes and every drop of sweat on his forehead.

Suddenly, there's movement. A dozen meters ahead, vines reach up off the ground, binding together and forming a thin, dense shape. Plants stretch to life, their branches curling and tightening into knots, thorns pricking forth off every stem. On the astral, a new being forms, a spirit created from the plant life all around. Then there's a flash; the troll bursts forth from his hiding spot, sprinting away. The watchers leap to the chase. The new arrival stares the men down with hollow eyes, covering the troll's retreat.

Mentally commanding his Watcher spirits, Smohalla sends one to harass and attack the Plant spirit.

The other he sends to follow the troll's retreating form.

For himself, he prepares to return to his Physical body and summon another spirit.

This time, his summoning will not be so tame.

This time, his spirit brother will join the battle.

Stogie reveled in the clearing of his senses, only to shiver as his enhanced physique ground to his normal state. Damn, already? As the spirit coalesced before him, Stogie drew mana into his body, seeking every mote of power to be able to deal with such a nasty opponent. Within seconds, he was liquid smooth once more. Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah.

He whipped the shotgun around, settling aim on the center of the animated mass of plants. No wide spread of fire this time, Stogie squeezed the trigger and let the stream of lead work through the magical thing's resistance.

Lying in defense of the comatose Smohalla, Jake feels the magical energy from Stogie's powers drain. A twinge of stiffness ensues. Jake raises his head as the shifter approaches. It big! Danger! He draws on Stogies power to ready for a fight. Stogie say PROTECT!

But the shifter's actions are not aggressive, and it seems more curious, maybe even a little cautious. Jake waits. When the shifter sniffs Smohalla's body, Jake relaxes. This is something he understands. He settles back down, alert, strong, swift.

Feeling the harsh sensation lift off of his skin was almost enough to cause Ellesar to relax...almost. Of course that was before he saw the tumultuous twisting of flora come to life before him. It was the roar of Stogie's shotgun that packed the final punch of reality back into his head.

Today just gets better and better. The rifle had already found its way to his shoulder. His finger squeezes the trigger, releasing the familiar sound of his Remington into the air. Without allowing any time for retaliation Ellesar finds cover behind the nearest tree. The impact had been less than appealing.

"How many friends does this guy have?! Even the damn plants are helping him out...." Not to mention Stogie is making me look pathetic with that tree-leveling gun of his.

"Yeah, well it looks like he's running out of friends." As Stogie aims again, clearing his senses of the astral view, he winks at Ellesar. "'Course, if you were to aim for the center of mass instead of that twig up on the right, we might hasten the process."

One Watcher spirit zips after the retreating Troll, keeping its distance without looking like it was keeping its distance.

The other Watcher homes in on the newly-arrived Plant spirit and begins an assault on the astral.

Even without having sentience, the Watcher exudes a sense of confidence, close on the heels of its victory over the Earth spirit.

Smohalla feels his being merge back into his physical body, feeling the pain in his ribs afresh.

He keeps his eyes closed, his breathing steady as prepares to send out his call.

The comment caught him off guard. It had been far too long since he had someone to share quick-witted pleasantries with mid-battle. Hey! No reminiscing when something is trying to kill you!

"One friend is enough to let him escape if we don't dispose of it quickly" Ellesar replies, hands flowing through the motions of reloading. "And who are you to speak of aiming with your point-and-pull gun?" Ellesar flashes a quick smile as he pivots around the tree and fires another round at the shrubbery, swiftly returning to take cover as the sound of the rifle is still reverberating through the air.

"OK, then!" Before the echoes of Ellesar's shot dissipate among the trees, Stogie fires another burst into the shredding plant mass. Grampa would have shaken his head. Hunting plants with a shotgun?

Smohalla's call echoes down the astral, reaching deep into the metaplanes with its intensity.

Barely a moment has passed before an answering call reaches out from the deep beyond.

A large, ghostly image of a red-brown eagle manifests in front of Smohalla.

Electricty crackles and jumps around the ghostly form, lending it an even more otherworldy presence.

Smohalla bows his head a moment, then raises his eyes to meet those of the eagle's.

Brother Thunderbird, much thanks to you for heeding my call.

it would be a great help to me if you would aid us in this fight.

Like professional wrestlers, Ellesar and Stogie tag team the plant spirit in front of them. Unlike professional wrestlers, they actually hurt their opponent.

Ellesar starts the fusillade with a grazing hit that does little more than send a few twigs and branches twirling to the ground. Stogie, eager to impress, rattles off three slugs that tear deep into the spine of the spirit. Ellesar, inspired by Stogie's performance, leans out from behind a tree to drill a shot deep into its head. The spirit, reeling, can do little but fall apart after Stogie pumps three more slugs into its tortured frame. It's clear that they don't have burst-fire shotguns wherever this thing came from. Once it gets over the shock of being disrupted, it will be much happier on its home plane of buttercups and calla lillies. Stogie makes a mental note to send the good people of Enfield a nice letter about the landscaping properties of their firearms.

While Ellesar and Stogie destroy, Smohalla creates. The shifter, already alarmed by the startling changes observed in Jake and the sudden return of Smohalla, jumps back at the appearance of a crackling ball of powerful astral energy. The spirit bobs in front of Smohalla, awaiting instructions.

"Yeah! That's what I'm talkin' about! OK, Ellesar. Let's hunt us some sick troll."

Jake nudges Stogie's mind, Sheep move. What now?

Stogie answers, Stay. Watch the wolves.

Ellesar and Stogie take off in pursuit of the troll, bashing their way through the plant life of the forest floor. Smohalla leans forward and whispers to his spirit, sending it forth with a puff of his breath.

Without help, Ellesar and Stogie would have no chance of catching the troll, whose longer legs could easily outdistance theirs. Furthermore, his great mass allows him to plow through saplings and thick bushes that slow the smaller metahumans down as they slalom through the forest.

Suddenly a huge gust of wind picks up behind the human and the elf. The rush of air catapults them forward. While their normal stride length might be two meters, now it's four. They exchange a look of wonderment with each other as they sprint at a fantastic speed. They must be running sixty kilometers an hour. But instead of getting a strong wind slamming them in the face, they face almost no air resistance. It's like there's a prow in front of them, breaking the air out of the way. The air spirit flits ahead of them easily, bobbing and rolling through the trees like a speeder race on Endor.

Crashing at this speed would be hazardous, so the spirit guides their footsteps too. Plants and vines bend out of the way, ensuring safe footfalls at every step. Not only are the two screaming along, but it's easy. Even with murder on the mind, this is undeniably fun.

The spirit proposes to Smohalla that once it can see the troll it will try to slow him down, either by triggering an accident or by slowing its movement in much the same way that it is speeding Ellesar and Stogie. It can also attempt to shock the troll but it suggests that engulfing it would be a poor idea since the much larger troll would likely break free easily.

The chase continues.

Stogie calls over to Ellesar, "Woohoo! Wish I had this guy smoothing the way when I was after that sixteen-pointer!

"What say when we get close you go right, I go left so this thing can't hit us both with whatever it did to us last time?"

######

Jake acknowledges Smohalla's conversation, but he is working; told to watch the wolves. Nobody watches better than a border collie.

Smohalla reaches out with his mind to his spirit brother Thunderbird.

Protect my friends, concealing them from the eyes of the threat.

Strike the threat, strike hard and from a distance.

He pauses, then reaches out with his mind again, a different target this time, the watcher spirits.

The enemy spirit - it is an Earth spirit. You have destroyed one before. Do so again.

His eyes focus once more, finding Jake solidly, comfortingly next to him.

A thoughtful look passes over his face as he looks from the dog to the wolf.

Jake is relieved the wolves are not doing anything in particular at the moment. Brave and diligent, he is also intelligent enough to know he really can't do much to corral these things. If they want to move, they will move. But Stogie did say "watch", not "hold', so that he can do.

Stogie has moved out his thoughts, but that is OK, too. Work often takes him out of range of direct command.

He acknowledges Smohalla's perusal with a twitch of one ear. I work now. No play.

Ellesar nods to Stogie before he turns and ducks his head to sprint. He pours on the speed, his legs slamming the earth in a rapid blur. Quickly, he is 10, 15, 20 meters ahead. He lifts his head and can see the troll smashing through the forest about 25 meters to his left. He looks for a moment to see if the troll reacts in any way, but the troll holds its course. Ellesar looks down and sees the colors of his hands and clothing changing. At first he thinks it's shadows, dappled light spilling through the trees above. But, no, it's more than that. His skin is now alternating patterns of brown and green and grey. His footsteps are softened, each step making no more noise than a raindrop on a leaf. He looks back and can barely see Stogie. If it weren't for the plants and trees moving, he would lose track of his partner in a second.

Stogie sees Ellesar sprint off, the air spirit trailing him slightly so as to not let either the human or the elf remain undefended. In fact, the air spirit makes it easier to keep an eye on Ellesar, since it at least provides a general direction to look for him. Stogie turns his eyes back to the forest, looking for the troll to appear. There's a flash far ahead, a glimpse of pale skin as it darts between trees. Making the shot from here isn't impossible but it would involve more luck than skill.

Smohalla winces. The troll has a new friend, one more formidable than the last. He catches a glimpse of it through his watcher's eyes shortly before the watcher is swatted out of the astral air and then smashed into the ground under the spirit's heel. The second watcher races to aid the first, but it's too late. The spirit backhands the watcher, splintering it into a thousand pieces of astral dust.

Smohalla's heart sinks. It's a bitter sensation to feel the demise of any being, even one so simple as a watcher. He mourns the loss of these watchers, who managed to accomplish much more than could reasonably expected of them. They're gone now, their noble essence fading back into the astral world.

Stogie marvels at the effect of the spirit's help on his travel, and that of Ellesar. The flash of the troll's image up ahead spurs him on. "I'm a-comin' for ya, big fella!" Stogie shouts. Let it focus on him, and not notice Ellesar till too late.

Wait a minute. Gettin' a thing with a punch like a truck focusing on you, boy? What are ya thinkin'!

Ellesar is amazed at his own speed as he hastens through the forest. Who needs vehicles? Everyone should just have their own personal wind guardian. Even the heightened sense of agility surprises him. The trees flying by his face haven't seemed to hinder him at all.

The sight of the troll crashing through the brush at equally reckless speed snaps Ellesar out of his mental aside. Chasing after this fiend leaves a bad taste in his mouth. A seemingly palpable aura surrounds the beast and his endless hordes of happy tree friends. This thing has a bigger posse than the CEO at Ares. Oh well, time to finish it off.

He raises his rifle, slowing his speed in order to fire at the troll.

The sound of Ellesar's gunshot is largely dampened by the magical aura surrounding him. The bullet whistles through the air before grazing across Toothy's shoulder. It didn't hurt him, but he felt it. He glances down at the nick and looks in the direction that it must have come from. He alters his course, heading in Ellesar's direction. (Give the beast credit for running toward a gunshot.) Toothy's not running straight at him, so it seems for now that Ellesar's concealment has held, but the troll and his claws are definitely getting close. A few more seconds and he'll be within arm's reach, whether Toothy knows it or not.

The thunderbird is bobbing alongside the fleet-footed metahumans before it is tackled and engaged by an invisible force. There is a crackle of mana surrounding it as it tumbles around with its astral opponent. The movements are too fast to keep track of, but the air spirit seems to be holding up.

Smohalla is resting against the tree, trying to keep his breathing from aggravating his broken ribs, when a small, mangled spirit presents itself in front of his astral eyes. It's a deformed watcher, the product of haste and an injured mind. It looks like a hunchback troll, its arm dragging limply along behind it. Its head is misshapen and its incisors prevent it from speaking clearly. It can't hold its head up straight but it stares Smohalla in the eye and hisses, "Peeeace" with a sharp, sibilant sound. A drop of drool falls from its crooked lip before it can wipe it away.

Stogie's shout didn't draw the troll to him, but Ellesar's gunshot did the trick in the other direction. As the troll rushed through the foliage towards his friend, Stogie slowed to a halt and drew a bead, the laser line of his shotgun tracking through the foliage just ahead of the troll. Stogie breathed and squeezed, hunting as he has done a hundred times before.

Smohalla's gaze fastens on the small figure, his eyes unfocusing in the physical realm as they focus on the astral.

What guarantees do we have of peace?

It seems you should tell your master to surrender.

That is the natural order of things.

Surrender. Then we will talk.

Smohalla feels a singe in his mind. His air spirit has been damaged, the air knocked out of it (so to speak). It strikes back with vengeance, scoring a deep blow in its opponent, shredding with its beak and talons. The fighting is chaotic and brutal. The earth spirit grabs the air spirit to crush it, the air spirit buckling under the weight. Both are frightfully hurt, but continue to throttle one another in the service of their masters.

The demented watcher stares at Smohalla blankly. The shifter bristles slightly at its presence, seemingly put off by the broken piece of summoning. Smohalla isn't entirely sure if the watcher understood him or not. Is the watcher relaying the message and waiting for a response? Did it not understand at all? It hovers in place, its breath raspy and unhealthy, blinking languidly at the eagle's astral form.

Or maybe Toothy's busy. Stogie pauses ever so slightly to level his aim before squeezing off an expert shot. The slugs slip neatly through the eye of the needle, speeding past plants and trees to bury themselves in Toothy's back. The burst travels upward, from the bottom of his ribs on the left up to the shoulder blade on the right. There's an anguished cry from the troll, plus a good deal of blood. But he stays on his feet, staggering forth as he rips the saplings out of his path. He yanks one clean out of the ground, using it to pull himself forward just a little bit faster. He's looking for an extra step wherever he can find it. Stogie lowers the shotgun and resumes the hunt, chasing his prey for a closer, killing blow.

Tell your master to surrender and he can be spared.

We can find common ground.

There is no need to for anyone to die just yet.

Ellesar sees the puffs of red mist burst from Toothy's back; now is the time to strike. He raises his rifle to his shoulder, the red-dot sight easily tracking the large troll. He squeezes the trigger, confident of success.

The troll gets lucky. A large hole in front of him causes him to hurdle over it. The leap takes him over the obstacle and past Ellesar's bullet. The round slips by the troll, grazing the edge of his hip but doing nothing more. It was an excellent shot but it couldn't find its home.

Stogie presses the advantage that he created moments before. He's closing in on the troll, barely 30 meters back now. He sees the red blotches on the troll's back sealing themselves up and knows he must act to keep the wounds fresh and open. He raises the shotgun again, trains the laser sight on the shrinking red stains, and fires. Three more shots assault his ears, but the deafening noise is nothing compared to what the target must endure. Three new holes explode in the troll's back. Bits of bone and dermal deposit fall to the forest floor. There is no scream of agony this time; the troll seemed to be expecting the worst. Ellesar can see the troll's teeth trapped shut, his jaw grinding against the pain.

He's not the only one in pain. Astrally, the air spirit deftly avoids a powerful blow from the earth spirit. The air spirit counters with a penetrating strike, puncturing a deep wound in the earth spirit. The advantage is clearly with the air spirit now. One more attack should finish the job.

Toothy's mind must be jackhammering. His spirit is being torn apart, his back is being turned into hamburger, and he's taking fire from Ellesar but can hardly do anything about it. He barrels forward, plowing through the forest with little concern to the direction he's heading. He clenches a fist, bringing it up to his face as his eyes narrow into slits. It looks like he's fighting off the pain.

In the astral world in front of Smohalla, the mangled watcher bolts upright. It's posture is suddenly erect, every limb taut. It's eyes widen wildly an instant before it rifles off in the direction of the troll at the speed of a gunshot. Smohalla has no time to wonder where it went. The watcher flies straight and true, slamming into the air spirit and knocking it off balance. The earth spirit uses the moment to recover. A second watcher shrieks out of the astral, narrowly missing the bewildered, overwhelmed air spirit.

Toothy has learned. The air spirit, a breath away from triumph just a millisecond ago, is smashed into the ground by the earth spirit. It fights back ineffectually, and cannot defend against the chaos of three opponents. In the confusion, the first watcher slips behind the air spirit and shatters its being. The air spirit screeches out of existence, its cry tearing the astral world as it fades.

The wind behind Ellesar and Stogie dies. Branches catch their clothing; their steps slip on uneven rocks. Ellesar looks down to see the camouflaging greens and browns drain away from his skin and clothes, leaving his blonde hair, blue eyes, and pale complexion just as they were before. He looks up with alarm at Toothy, who is no more than 20 meters away and is now moving appreciably faster than he is. A sinking feeling hollows out Ellesar's stomach. The tables have turned.

The world seemingly crashes to the ground around Ellesar as his neck-braking speed comes grinding to a halt. The realization immediately washes over him that he has no chance of outrunning the troll now. Oh god I hope that Stogie gets here quickly.

The rush of spirit magic leaves Stogie with a shock. Branches whip his face and hands as he pulls up to protect himself. Alright then, I'll shoot from here.

The damn thing won't die, and now it is closing on Ellesar. But then, that's what crossfire is for. Stogie lines up the laser sight with the hole in the troll's back, even as it is closing. Is that a hint of a spine there? That's where Stogie places the red dot of the laser. Once more, he squeezes off a burst. Hope this does something for Ellesar.

Smohalla reels from the disruption of yet another of his brothers.

His vision blurs, his legs shake so hard he quickly sits down to recover.

The pain remains. He must end this now. He knows what he must do.

Gathering every ounce of his will, fighting through the confusion, he breathes life into a small mote of light.

Go! Go and tell my friends to let the troll run free.

He will escape, surely.

But I have seen his true aura. He cannot hide from me if I should seek him again.

Run! The voice inside his head screams. That thing is coming right for you!

And so he does. Ellesar runs, heading back around to where he and Stogie had split, a plan forming in his head the entire time. He runs swiftly, trying his best not to trip or run into anything. It's not the same without the help of the wind. I could certainly get used to that.

The troll barely spares a glance for Ellesar; he's too busy trying to avoid the searing pain of hot lead in his back. Toothy ducks his head sprints forward, dodging behind a massive evergreen, trying to break Stogie's line of sight. Stogie knows he's pushing the range of his shotgun, and the laser sight is hardly of any use anymore, but he fires off one last volley before the troll disappears for good. He can't say for sure if the shots made any contact, but if nothing else they'll serve as a reminder of what awaits the troll if he chooses to return. His shotgun smokes in his hand, the smell of gunpowder lingering in the air.

Smohalla manages to summon a watcher, giving it instructions of its message to convey. The watcher gives him a wary eye, wondering if it's being sent to its doom like so many of Smohalla's recent conjurations. Word travels fast on the astral plane. The fragile wisp departs wordlessly, hoping to find Stogie and Ellesar before being torn to pieces by a crazed earth spirit five times its size. If all goes well, it will be back at home with its watcher wife and watcher children, in front of its astral fireplace with its astral pipe, within the hour. Smohalla may have to send a fruit basket home with this one to atone for the casualties of the last few minutes.

Jake sits up expectantly. He wags his tail, wondering if Stogie will be back soon.

Smohalla lays his head back against the tree and closes his eyes, exhausted by the recent events.

Psychically, his mind is drained. The cost, the pain, of losing his spirit allies has hit him like so many blows to the head.

Physically, he still feels a horrible grating movement in his side. Each breath sends a bolt of agony through him.

He lets his mind dwell on his advancing age. But only for a moment. There is still much to do.

Opening his eyes, he struggles back into a standing position with the help of Jake, and awaits the return of his friends.

Stogie calls out, "Ellesar, I've lost sight of him. Can you see him?"

Is he running, or circling around?

Stogie opens his senses to the astral, to get every clue possible, and an all-round view.

Luckily, Stogie is pretty good at this perception thing. He slows down his breathing, concentrating his attention on the sound of the retreating troll. Stogie can distinctly hear Toothy running through plants, bushes, and overhanging tree limbs, the footsteps getting further away every second. He closes his eyes and tries to squeeze the sound out of the forest. Just for a moment, he swears he can make out the troll's labored breathing. It's clear that Toothy is running away and not being particularly subtle about it. He's not circling back or slowing down.

Ellesar comes jogging through the forest, having seen Stogie a few meters out. He comes to a stop just a couple of meters away from a large tree, leaning on it to catch his breath.

"Last I saw of him he was running for his life. I haven't heard his footsteps anywhere near behind me so I assume he's not stupid enough to come back for more. Or at least I'd like to hope...." As he says this Ellesar turns to look behind him just in case. God, this thing has me paranoid now. How ridiculous.

Ellesar's worry glows a bright yellow through his aura. "By the sounds of it, he's still running." says Stogie. "Let's get back to the rest before anything else takes a shine to us."

Ellesar and Stogie are both expert trackers, so there's no difficulty in retracing their steps to find Smohalla, Jake, and the shifter. They breathe heavily, adrenaline still coursing all the way through them, from their toes to their fingertips. Stogie feels hyper-alert, like everything in the world is sharper and brighter. He wonders if his magical perception is on overdrive. He can hear everything, from the water rolling over rocks along the shore to the rustle of the breeze in the very tops of the trees.

Ellesar keeps a wary eye cast over his shoulder, thumbing rounds into his rifle as he walks. The sharp click of loading rounds jars Stogie. He weighs his shotgun in his hands and notices how much lighter it feels. He pulls drum off the Enfield and stares down at the single slug remaining. There's one in the chamber too, but it's probably just as well that Toothy didn't circle back for Round Three.

About 70 meters out, Stogie's telepathic link with Jake snaps back into life. The dog leaps at the reconnection and runs to meet him. He bounces next to Stogie, running figure eights around Stogie and Ellesar, barking and wagging his tail as they make their way back.

The shifter stands up in his human form. He gives a level look at Stogie and Ellesar as they return, his expression not conveying any emotion. "You survived," he says. On the astral, he looks just the slightest bit satisfied. "Most do not."

He gestures with his chin in the direction of Toothy. "He is unaccustomed to defeat. But nor is he full of the pride of men. He will not seek revenge. His fear will stay with him, and teach him to hunt other prey."

Smohalla examines this look of satisfaction given off by the wolf shifter.

In his mind, he wonders.

He wonders if this encounter was not an accident. Rather a test.

He keeps these thoughts to himself as he turns to his returned companions.

Welcome back - I am glad that neither of you came to harm.

Stogie ploosters Jake vigourously, and nods to Smohalla. "Me too, buddy. Me too." Stogie is less reticent than Smohalla. He turns to the shifter, who seems to appreciate forthrightness. He keeps an astral eye, watching for the reaction.

"So, did we pass the test?"

The shifter sees the suspicion in the auras around him. He says, "Every day in the forest is a test. Tomorrow we can see if you passed it today."

He shakes his head at the implied accusation. "This was not a trial nor a trap. It was not arranged. If you do not trust me, we can go our separate ways." He looks over his shoulder, upstream. "If you follow this river up the canyon, the Sisters will find you."

He doesn't seem to be hiding anything, doubly so since he's standing in front of you naked.

He glances to Smohalla. "Your friend will need assistance before he can continue."

Satisfied by the shifter's honesty, Stogie grunts. "Nah. If you had ill will towards us, I think you would have expressed it as directly as you do everything else."

Stogie thinks a moment about his shotgun as he reloads the drum and resets the mode to semi-automatic. As cool as the burst fire was, until I get some recoil compensation on this thing, I'm better off shooting single rounds. Fewer trees will die from the spray of bullets, and it'll be cheaper for me.

He keeps an eye on the perimeter while Ellesar and Smohalla work on wounds. "If necessary, I can do some first aid on any woulds left after you guys are finished."

Smohalla takes his hand slowly from the supportive back of Jack.

His wince of discomfort is plainly visible to all, a wash of red suffusing his aura.

He looks at Stogie and says

My friend, please lend me your strength.

My ribs must be pushed back in to true to heal correctly.

Put your hands here, and here, and when I saw push, push with all your might.

Smohalla braces himself by holding to the nearest tree, and readies himself.

"Aw, Smohalla. I hate it when you ask me to do this kind of thing." Nevertheless, Stogie shoulders the shotgun, and puts his hands on the raw bones as directed. He draws mana into himself and feels the rush of strength into his arms and legs. With a mighty heave, he grinds the broken ribs deeper in. "Oh. That didn't sound right."