The sasquatch ducks her head again as Ellesar addresses her. She looks to be the shy type.

"What did they look like?" Ellie asks rhetorically as she rubs her chin. "A mix, I suppose you would say, but all Caucasian. The two with rifles were wearing camouflage suits which looked like this year's model. The elf looked like he was from the city, with a blond mohawk and a leather jacket. He wasn't carrying proper camping or cold-weather gear," she says. "But he did have two Ruger Thunderbolts with internal smartgun systems and customized grips and under-barrel weights, loaded with EX-explosive ammo," she adds as an afterthought, producing one of the giant pistols seemingly out of nowhere.

Of the team, Ellesar is the most familiar with firearms. He nods readily with Ellie's assessment, silently confirming the make and model of the weapon. The gun is comically large in Ellie's small hands, and she wouldn't be able to fire it one-handed.

"He seemed pretty out of place. I figured he was just a friend of the other two," she says, considering it further. "Do you think that he was hired muscle instead?!" she asks Stogie with a tone of mild alarm and confusion. "You think they were hunting people? Seems like the city would be a better place to do that."

Stogie shakes his head. "Ellie, the only people out here I know of .... are you ladies. It isn't hard to imagine that someone with money has decided you are too much trouble, or are causing too much trouble, and is willing to spend some of that money on hired muscle to deal with you."

He glances at his two partners.

A quizzical look passes over Ellesar's face. "That does seem the logical answer. But why hire people from different places? The elf doesn't seem to fit in very well with the other group." His finger slides along the sling on his rifle, positioning it more comfortably on his shoulder. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened with them? Did you chase them away?"

Smohalla keeps his head down during this conversation.

Even though he hasn't said a word, he feels that he is somehow lying to these women.

They who have taken him and his friends in, with open arms.

Shaking his head slowly, he murmurs a few words in his adoptive tongue as he draws in the power from the forest around him.

Skin ripples and blurs, quicksilver-fast shifting between pseudo-feathers and skin.

His nose, already described as beak-like, makes it's presence known before shifting back to it's usual protuberance.

Smohalla looks at the sasquatch and says

I have never before met a sásq’ets. Until tonight.

I am honored to be in your presence.

Jake notices Smohalla's unease. Through Jake, Stogie sees it too. He has no trouble imagining what is bothering Smohalla. Coming to find out what's what to stop killing is one thing. Coming to hunt is another. as Ellesar speaks, Stogie considers that thought a bit. That is what we were doing, right?

The thought runs through Smohalla's head.

If one group could be hired to deal with this "threat", why not two?

How would he and his friends side, if there were to be another battle?

Smohalla begins to feel, for all his age, how inexperienced he is.

This is nothing like he has dealt with before.

The sasquatch looks like she would climb into a hole if she could. Why does everyone keep talking to me?! is the clear message that Smohalla receives from his spell. She tries to hide her face even further in her hair than it was previously. Leave me alone! she pleads. Her unease with strangers is obvious.

Ellie's face and body language go through a minute of rapid change, quickly cycling through disbelief, denial, anger, uncertainty, aggressiveness, recklessness, defensiveness, caution, confidence, depression, and indifference, before starting over and looping back again. She finally settles on being indignant.

"The very nerve!" she says with her fists on her hips, her tone conveying her outrage. "How... rude!" she spits, flustered and lacking a more potent condemnation.

After sputtering a bit she turns back to Ellesar. "We chased them away, certainly! Chased them into the next life!" She snorts and punctuates the announcement with a curt nod, her chin jutting forth defiantly.

The ork and troll grin at this. They seem to be taking the news better than Ellie. In fact, they don't seem surprised at all, nor does this seem to be bad news. They exchange a smirk with each other, seemingly pleased with the prospect of more fun in the near future.

Smohalla intentionally misinterprets Ellie's comment.

You are right Ellie. I am sorry to have been so rude.

He says one thing more to the sasquatch before dropping the spell.

I am very sorry to have caused you any distress. Please forgive me.

With that he turns back to Ellie.

Would it be worthwhile for us to examine the place this ambush took place?

Maybe we could determine more about who these people were, and why they attacked you.

Ellie seems to be lost in her own little world of thought. She replies to Smohalla in a distracted fashion, ignoring his apology and waving her hand in the air dismissively at his question.

"Examine all you want. There's not much left." She gestures vaguely in the direction of the attack.

Pressing her further, Smohalla gets a location that's roughly in the direction of the fire watch tower that the Sisters burned. The distance would take several hours to cover on foot over rough terrain. It's basically twilight right now. If Smohalla were to fly, possibly with the aid of an air spirit, he might be able to make it there before it's completely dark, but it would still be difficult to inspect the site without adequate lighting. (The moon will not rise until midnight.) The alternative would be to wait until the following day, but who knows how much of the scene might be left after the scavengers of the forest have had a full night to pick at it.

Alternatively, sending a spirit or a watcher to the scene - presuming they could find it - would be even faster, but Smohalla would have to rely upon the spirit to describe things via the spirit-summoner link. What the scene looks like to a spirit might be considerably different that how it appears to someone with your training.

What say you, Ellesar and Stogie?

Are you interested in going to inspect the site?

I need to know so that I may make preparations.

Stogie checks the height of the sun. "We won't get there till after dark. But things will certainly be disturbed overnight. Smohalla, can you send a spirit to keep things away from the site until we arrive in the morning?" Thinking about the logistics of sending a spirit to a described place, he adds, "Or maybe, fly there and set a spirit to keep it undisturbed till we come in the morning?"

Smohalla nods.

Astral impressions fade quickly and should be viewed as soon as possible.

I will go there myself, flying the twilight winds to view what I may.

None will disturb the site until both of you arrive in the morning.

Hopefully your trained eyes will see much that has been missed.

With that decided, Smohalla shifts into eagle form and flies off into the night.

His clothing, a moment ago containing a human shape, thumps to the earth.

Ellesar watches the clothes fall to the ground, contemplating the odd behavior of the sisters. His face makes it obvious he doesn't like having to wait. He fingers his sling nervously. "We don't have much of a choice, morning will have to do."

He looks down at the dirty clothes in his hand and the pink towel around his waist. The fire keeps him from shivering but the chilled wind isn't something he enjoys. "Ellie would you happen to know where I could get some clothes? Mine are in need of a bath themselves."

Ellie still seems distracted. She's not even looking at Ellesar when she waves her hand in a tight circle in his direction. He suddenly finds his clothes yanked out his hands, engulfed in a vortex of water that compresses them and spins them furiously. Stogie switches to the astral and sees the clothes possessed by a water spirit, washing them vigorously from the inside out. The water spirit soon departs and is immediately replaced by an air spirit, conjured by a loose fanning of the air by Ellie. The air spirit repeats the process, this time engulfing the clothes in a high-speed tornado, blasting the water out of the fabric in short order.

Before he knows it, the clothes drop back into Ellesar's arms. He's so surprised that he drops his towel. Luckily the large bundle of clothes in his arms covers his shame. The clothes are completely dry and remarkably soft. Ellesar can't even remember the last time they smelled this fresh. The domestic applications of magic are truly remarkable.

The washing seems to have stirred Ellie. She walks toward the pot and begins working on dinner absentmindedly. She finds some carrots and potatoes and begins peeling them manually, forgoing the spirit she used yesterday to make dinner. Hester and Selene stand and begin to help out. The sasquatch, uncomfortable with the silence, ducks away to the edge of the clearing.

Smohalla launches himself into the air. Closing his eyes, he conjures a small, routine air spirit. As he has come to expect, the attempt involves almost no effort and what arrives is twice as potent as what was requested. He silently asks for the power of Movement from the spirit, which bows its head and complies. Suddenly Smohalla is hit by a blast of air from behind, picking him up and pushing him along like a surfer on front of a wave. He tucks himself into a bolt, streamlining his body to maximize speed. He quickly finds himself racing along as if he were in the steepest dive. He rockets through the darkening sky, ripping through the wind at hundreds of kilometers per hour.

Wings locked at the horizontal, Smohalla screams through the night sky on a magical buffer of air.

He scans the blur that is the landscape for the signs that Ellie had indicated.

In his mind he's hoping that the astral still remembers the story of what occurred.

Meanwhile the problem of nighttime scavengers remains.

Perhaps a spirit of the forest could help keep the area safe until morning arrived.

The elf takes his clothes to the nearest bushes and redresses himself. He finds the fabric oddly comfortable considering all it has been through. It makes him wonder what the woman is truly capable of when she has enemies. He shudders at the thought. "We'll find out tomorrow," he mutters to himself.

Ellesar promptly returns to the campfire and sits down at his usual spot. He lays the rifle across his lap and begins to inspect the parts.

Hmmmm. It looks like the mana here helps everyone, not just our hosts. I wonder....

Stogie wanders off to the side while attentions are drawn by Smohalla's flash. He draws on the mana and boosts his strength. Let's see what happens.

Stogie infiltrates the corner of the camp to surreptitiously boost his strength. He pauses for a moment, feeling the mana of the area. This camp is so unlike any other place where he's practiced his Talent. Everywhere else the mana swirls and ebbs, blowing this way and that, as tricky to capture as the wind. Here, either due to the mountain or the Sisters' efforts, it's a strong and powerful flow, like a river racing down a canyon that's been carved by eons of consistency. Instead of having to corral it, chasing after wisps, all Stogie has to do is jump in and let it soak him through.

Triggering the boost, Stogie's body locks into a rock-hard plank for a second before loosening. His heart stops beating for one second, then two. Suddenly it resumes with a massive pulse, only to stop again for three seconds. Did Stogie's resting heart rate just go from 60 beats per minute to 20?

Stogie tries to breathe but his collar is suddenly tight around his neck. Fighting through it, he suddenly realizes that all his clothes are constraining him uncomfortably. He looks down at his wrists, which bulge against the limits of his clothing. For the moment, his armored camouflage suit is holding up against the internal pressure of his muscles. Stogie is secretly thankful that he didn't boost his Body as well, which may very well have burst his jacket and pants at the seams.

He feels like... a superhero. A comic book character. What should he do, bench-press Ellesar? Challenge Jake to a footrace? Arm-wrestle the troll? He feels like he could win. It's a giddy feeling, tapping into power like this. The magic doesn't resist him here. It pulls him while he pushes, cooperating in the effort to make him as strong as possible. Remarkable.

Meanwhile, Ellesar takes a seat and grabs his rifle, thinking to inspect it and possibly give it a good cleaning. Suddenly the little voice in his head that represents his elven sense of etiquette reminds him that openly brandishing a hunting rifle might be in bad form, given that two of his hosts were shot today by rifles. Ellesar smoothly passes the rifle from one hand to the next, placing it out of sight behind him while turning his attention to his more primitive implements of destruction.

The amazement and sheer joy Stogie feels catches Jake's attention, and he raises his head to look expectantly at his master. Play??

Stogie tests his strength on a couple of big rocks and some small trees. Wow. After a half minute or so, the magic withdraws, and Stogie controls the outward flow so it doesn't burn him as it exits. At normal size, with clothes that fit again, he rejoins the group at the fire. The flow of mana seems to start at the mountain. But where does it go? Hmmm...

Jake settles back. "Aww...whuf."

Smohalla races the fading light. Approaching the area where he suspects the encounter took place, he slows his speed to better concentrate on his search.

He tries the astral realm first, looking for clues of magic use. He's uncertain whether the amplified mana of this place would make the astral signature easier to spot, or if the overabundance would wash away the signs faster. He makes several passes and broad sweeping circles, but it's no use. The forest is too full of life, the brightness of Gaia and her flora and fauna overwhelming any lingering trace of magic.

Smohalla switches his concentration to his physical vision. Looping around, he retraces his steps (flaps) as he peers into the darkness below. He glances nervously at the horizon, which has the barest tinge of color to it. The forest is quickly blending into a solid mass of black. There is no moon to reflect the sun's rays to the trees and hills below. In fact, the easiest way to tell where the mountaintops are is by the absence of stars. They shine down brightly, their presence making the sky far more distinct than the earth.

Suddenly, as he is about to give up, Smohalla spies the smallest glow. It's between the tree branches and he's not positive that he didn't imagine it, or conjure it himself through wishful thinking. Diving toward it before it fades, Smohalla lands in a tree.

The glow is from a few small embers, the only remaining trace of some fire earlier in the day. The dry autumn has given them the chance to subsist until now, but the light isn't enough to see by. Underneath the trees, hidden from the stars, the details of the scene are lost in the pitch black darkness.

As the rapidly receding rays are lost behind the massive mountain peaks, Smohalla feels the bond begin to break with his summoned spirit.

The spirit returns to it's realm, sending a small salute along the lingering link shared with the shaman.

Dusk has come, and gone, and night is truly here.

Smohalla gathers his will yet again, and sends out a request to the collective spirit of the flora that grow in this place.

He asks for concealment and protection for himself and for this area until morning arrives.

The eagle sits in the tree, reaching out the mana of the plants below; he feels their ready response. Smohalla hears a crackle as the forest floor beneath him begins to shift and churn. Slowly, brambles and briars begin to push their way through the dirt and needles blanketing the ground. Thorny vines emerge and intertwine as they spread out, covering the scene. Smohalla hears several small animals dash out of the area in surprise.

Based on what Smohalla asked for, he would expect the spirit to stop there. But once again the astral realm responds with more than what was requested. The vines continue to thicken, the thorns stretch into dagger-like blades, and the leaves broaden as they close the gaps between them, completely obscuring the ground beneath. Tendrils spiral up the tree, reaching for Smohalla. They surround him in a cocoon, shielding him from the night outside.

What's more, Smohalla feels like the spirit is restraining itself. This isn't the explosive response of the earth spirit earlier in the day, but Smohalla gets the sense that this spirit could choke the entire grove and reach the top of each tree if it wanted to. The spirit is more powerful than he is, certainly, but while most powerful spirits are arrogant and even bitter for being summoned by lesser beings, this one is subservient. It is glad to do what it can and would readily do much more. It patiently awaits sunrise or its next command, whichever comes first.

Smohalla settles back in the cocoon of leaves, feeling strangely at ease.

The memory of being back in the nest, a young eaglet sheltered under his mothers wing, is inescapable and very comforting.

As he drifts off to sleep he sends mental messages of thanks and contentment through his link with the spirit.

The night was young,
the moon was full,
a cold wind whistled through the trees...
and Smohalla slept on.

An owl drew near,
it's flight unheard,
as silent as a breeze...
and Smohalla slept on.

What must he think,
as he flew by,
of this strange wrap of leaves...
and Smohalla slept on.

A mouse comes out,
down amongst the thorns,
then spots the owl and flees...
and Smohalla slept on.

That mouse did die,
on the owl's claws,
just as neatly as you could please...
still Smohalla slept on.

Ellesar waits patiently by the fire, his mouth watering in expectation for the upcoming meal. He slides his backpack to in between his legs and begins fishing around inside one of the many compartments. Moments later he pulls out a camera and starts to flip through the images.

"Well," says Stogie as he returns to the fire, "it looks like the magic of this place likes us, too. I sure get a jolt when I apply some of my skills. I bet Smohalla will have some interesting things to tell us when he returns." Stogie calls to Jake, "OK, boy. That'll do. Go get busy." he indicates a dense patch of forest. Jake trundles off to relieve himself. Stogie checks out the cooking. "Anything I can do to help? Always eager to learn new recipes."

A heavy weight seems to have descended over Ellie. Her mood of defiance has passed; she is now withdrawn and brooding. The forest has been her home and sanctuary, but what if the forest is now crawling with hired goons that want nothing so much as to riddle her with hot lead? A disconcerting thought, to say the least. You can almost see the news sink in further as her brow continues to knit deeper and deeper.

She works on dinner silently, alone in her thoughts. She barely acknowledges Stogie's offer to help; it seems that dinner is almost ready anyway. She takes a ladle and dips it into the pot over the fire, filling a white ceramic bowl that's not quite china but still much too nice for a campsite in the mountains. She reaches into another pot and sprinkles something over the bowls before silently handing them to Ellesar and Stogie. She sets a bowl out for Jake, takes some for herself, then retreats into the woods. Hester and Selene help themselves before following Ellie out.

Dinner is a potage of goat and autumn root vegetables, including potatoes, carrots, and beets. The broth is very light and ever-so-slightly bitter in an herbal sense, but pleasantly so. Examining it further, Stogie sees that it was made with nettles, which are abundant around here. Before serving, she sprinkled the bowls with dark purple huckleberries, the flavor of which balances both the broth and the goat wonderfully well. Huckleberries usually aren't available this late in the year, so either Ellie set these aside for a special occasion or the dry weather extended the season. Wherever he is, whatever he's doing, it's almost certain that Mr. Ellie isn't eating as well as he used to. The woman is a wizard!

"It really is a shame," Ellesar manages after swallowing another small portion of the mixture. "That we're not going to be able to eat like this forever, I mean. We can't stay here. I can't stay here. Things just seem so puzzling."

He looks around cautiously, hoping that nobody can hear him. His voice lowers slightly. "There isn't a time limit on this job and I'm sure if we just stayed here they would simply think us killed. But that doesn't change the fact that people want these ladies dead, or at least out of the way. And they're surely not about to just stop what they're doing. I'm all for helping others but something's gotta give. If they're sending more people here eventually things are going to come to a head and we're going to have to make a decision. A tough decision." He sighs and lowers his head to stare into his bowl. "I really hope something turns up tomorrow."

Jake gets up and walks slowly over to Ellesar. He sits beside the brooding man and gently pokes his arm a couple of times with a wet nose and looks directly into Ellesar's face. He seems ready to be petted.

Ellesar chuckles lightly to himself. "Good to see someone is in good spirits. We can always count on you, can't we boy?" He smiles and scratches Jake behind the ears.

Smohalla briefly opens one eye, a gleaming orb peaking out from beneath a wing that covers the shaman's tucked-in head. Not much light is penetrating the protective cocoon he's wrapped in, but Smohalla realizes he doesn't need sight while the spirit keeps watch. Like a spider that monitors vibrations along it's web, the eagle is able to sense what happens in his lair through this mystical bond with the spirit of the forest. Something that recently sent vibrations up and down the web has brought him awake with the lightest of touches to his mind. Reaching out through the spirit-summoner link, he receives images, brief impressions, of feathers and flight and death. Normally this kind of sensorium could confuse or dismay the summoner, but to Smohalla's predatory instincts, all is clear as day. Further queries to the spirit reveal nothing else of import has happened this night.

Smohalla closes his eye and buries his head further under the feathery covers.

Jake leans into the scratching and sort of snort-grunts.

Stogie comes over and sits beside Ellesar. "Yeah, he's a good reader of people's spirits. He's pulled me through some tough times. I agree with you. It's a tough decision. Things I've done don't seem all that far better than what the ladies here say they are doing. I don't know who to believe.

"What I don't get yet is why the ladies have upped their game lately. I've danced around the idea, but no answer has come. I guess I'm just going to have to come out and ask it. As far as I can see, they are set in their desire to keep this place protected, but I don't think they are out and out murderers. Finding a way to compromise may be tough, but it's better than killing them ourselves. So maybe, just maybe, we will have to side with them against other attackers until we can convince them to tone down their actions. But we need to know why they do what they are doing now."

Stogie sighs. "Well, I think Smohalla has set himself up somewhere for the night, so it's just you and me. You do watch duty first, and after three hours or so, I'll take over for the rest of the night. That alright with you?"

Ellesar mulls over Stogie's words in his head. "Yeah, that's fine," he says quietly.

A high wind rises suddenly and eats most of Ellesar's reply. The tree tops bend deeply, their tops shaking like rattles. An uncomfortably cold blast cuts through Jake's fur and starts him shivering. The fire, which had been burning steadily with little variation, finally flickers. The flames dip lower, waiting for a pause between gusts before cautiously reemerging, only to be chased down again.

Stogie settles himself in as close to the fire as he dares. Jake does his best to use Stogie as a wind break, hunkering low to the ground to avoid the frigid sweep of the wind's reach.

As he digs in for his watch, Ellesar is quietly grateful that he opted for the additional cold insulation on his camouflage suit. He turns the collar up and puts his back to the fire so that he can see the surrounding woods without his night-vision being blinded by what's left of the flames. He'd rather be in motion to keep warm, but moving away from the fire is too painful to contemplate. The draft bites at his face, watering his eyes and running his nose.

Over the whistling wind, there's a distant sound. A hollow, mournful note descends from somewhere in the surrounding hills. It sounds like a plaintive pan-pipe, sad and lost, but whether it's from an instrument or just some cave in the mountainside is too much to tell. It pushes melancholy memories into Ellesar's head: recollections of some meaningless fight with Alatariel, a childhood illness of Gilraen's that he had no power to comfort, old friends from Tir disowning him and casting him away.

The sound ebbs and Ellesar wonders if he just imagined it. The air has a certain menace to it tonight. These are not the familiar woods with which Ellesar is well-acquainted and comfortable. This is the forest of which the shifter spoke: for some, great power - for others, great danger.

The vibration that nudged Smohalla awake shakes him again. The tree shudders and quakes, throwing off Smohalla's balance. The valley is channeling a strong wind, sending it through the treetops at full force. The evergreens groan with aches as they are forced to stretch. The boughs rub together roughly, the bark rasping and cracking. Smohalla looks out of his protective shell and sees the naked fingers of a tree branch stabbing at him. Its reach falls just short, the tree swaying like a one-sided metronome in the growing gale.

The darkness here is all-encompassing. The moon has not risen. The astral world shows a great commotion as all the life in the area is whipped this way and that. Smohalla assenses the wind, trying to pick apart its nature. It's magically charged, but what isn't around here? The water, the ground, and everything above and below is permeated with the mana of the place. The wind is no different. Air spirits chase each other in a flurry far above, oblivious to the night and its rhythms.

Smohalla feels his perch flex. The wind rips through the shelter of leaves around him. The plant spirit responds by enfolding him deeper, embracing him in a swirl of thick vines that weave together like a basket. The wind is kept out but there's nothing to do about the agitations of the tree. The surrounding branches quaver as they convulse; they vibrate like chattering bones as they clatter against each other like Lummi sticks. There might be music in it, wind instruments producing a symphony of percussion.

The music is interrupted by an explosion, a fierce detonation not far from where Smohalla rests. The turbulence of the storm continues on unabated.

Smohalla awakes, feeling as if a giant hole had suddenly been torn through his tiny web.

Adrenaline pounding, he stays as still as his quivering muscles allow.

His first thought is for the spirit of the forest, asking for an explanation and protection.

The next thought is to send a small puff of will, a fluttering sparrow of mana, back to warn his companions.

Then his astral self silently slips from his physical body and wings towards the source of the explosion.

A small, wingéd watcher in the shape of a sparrow departs from Smohalla, panting as it bobs and weaves through the astral currents. Maybe it's just a play for sympathy: while it's certainly more challenging to fly - even astrally - under these conditions, it still only takes about three seconds for the watcher to make its way back to camp and present itself to Ellesar. It opens its little beak to announce its news, only to realize it doesn't have a proper report to file. It waits for an update, leaving Ellesar to wonder if the night and its sorrowful tune are playing further tricks on his mind.

Back at Smohalla's perch, the plant spirit is a bit perplexed about how best to respond to Smohalla's request. Concealing and guarding the site requires its continued presence, limiting its ability to act as Smohalla's wingman. Furthermore, the spirit gently points out that it's the only thing keeping Smohalla's limp eagle body from falling to the forest floor. While projecting, the dispossessed body is no match for the violent swaying of the tree as it bends and buckles in the wind. If the spirit is to come to Smohalla's aid, it respectfully suggests that it doesn't have a particularly safe location for the eagle's body, as setting it on the ground seems unwise, at best.

Thus Smohalla is on his own. Acting quickly, his astral self flies in the direction of the explosion. He gets a reasonably good look at the surrounding area but the source of the blast is not immediately obvious. There is no fire, nor any men or machines that he can see. In fact, it's not even quite clear what exploded, or where. He knows the direction, and it sounded close - perhaps a hundred meters - but Smohalla's sense of hearing is limited and it's possible that the sound carried along the walls of the mountain valley from some distant place.

Smohalla agrees with the plant spirit's assessment and continues on his own.

But he realizes he does not have to be alone in this endeavor.

Out of the surrounding torrent of mana, he draws out two small shapes, molding them with his will.

Two small starlings take form on the astral, hovering near Smohalla's glowing body.

He asks them to aid his search, sending mental pictures of fire and destruction in the forest as search patterns for the explosion.

A small spirit manifests near Ellesar. Stogie waits for it to communicate, but seems to hesitate. He opens his mind to the astral. "Who sent you, little one?" he asks in the astral communication that needs no words.

Astrally, the watcher spirit in front of Ellesar bears the clear imprint of Smohalla. As if to make the point even more obvious, its manifestation morphs into an eaglet. It flexes gamely, adding a little grr for good measure in an amusing if not entirely accurate impression of its summoner, before returning to its original manifestation as a sparrow.

Smohalla's search is not producing any results. He scours the valley and surrounding hillsides at a speed that only the astral allows, but to no avail. The first hour crawls by and neither he nor his watchers have anything to show for it. Granted, searching astrally is a headache, especially given the conditions. The vibrancy of the area, combined with the chaotic flailing of all the plant life in the mana-infused wind, produces a sense of vertigo not unlike trying to pick out an image in a tie-dye t-shirt viewed through a constantly moving kaleidoscopic. The tempest is dizzying.

Stogie chuckles, " I think Smohalla forgot to word his instructions carefully enough for this one." He tries again, "Little one, please guide us to your master." He doesn't have much hope that it is free willed enough to do so, but it can't hurt to try.

Smohalla senses the confusion in his Watcher spirit that he sent to his friends.

He asks it to relay the following message, and to give him any replies.

I heard an explosion. I am searching but have not yet found where it happened.

Ellesar just sits and stares at both the polymorph bird and Stogie. "This chill must be worse than I thought. Stogie, are you saying that this...bird belongs to our friend?" The elf reaches out to touch the creature, steadying his hand in the nippy wind. "Did he think we were lonely without him?"

"Yeah, Ellesar. This is a spirit he sent to us with a message. It just told me that Smohalla just heard an explosion, and is checking it out. I have no idea where he is though. I'll try to find out."

In the astral, Stogie emotes, "Where is your master?"

From behind Stogie, Jake slowly stalks the manifested bird, slinking slowly towards it, his every, measured movement saying, "You can't see me. You can't see me."

The watcher stares at Stogie and blinks languidly. In response to his question, it points in Smohalla's direction. Then it returns to looking at Ellesar blankly.

After scouring the mountainside, Smohalla's persistence is reaching its end. He knows he must rest for the coming day. Whatever exploded is undetectable from the astral realm. There's still no trace of anyone or anything out of place. He sees no human nor machines, nor anything else unusual for mountains and valleys. There are no exploding spirits (thankfully) or erupting mountains (especially thankfully). Whatever passed will either reveal itself at daylight or remain a mystery, but there does not appear to be any immediate danger. Smohalla's mind returns to his eagle form. He glances around the pitch black night before closing his eyes (which changes the scenery not a jot) and attempting to sleep.

Just before sleep claims him, Smohalla sends one last message to his friends via the Watcher.

I could not find the source of the explosion, and will sleep now. The morning may bring more information.

With this, Smohalla releases the three Watchers from service.

As the nearly helpful watcher disappears following its last message, Stogie turns to Ellesar. He chokes up momentarily when he sees Jake still in the slinking stalk of the spirit. "Well, Smohalla doesn't seem to be in any trouble. We might as well get back to our schedule. Wake me in a bit." He curls up by the fire again, and calls Jake to him. Jake makes water on the ground below where the spirit was, and returns to his master, curling up in the crook of his knees.

Ellesar maintains a general look of confusion throughout the encounter. "Yeah, will do," he replies as Stogie returns to his slumber. He tries to keep focused on his surroundings but finds his mind wandering back to the wolfman.

Now that the minor excitement of Smohalla's watcher has passed, Ellesar returns his attention to the night landscape while Stogie beds down for a few hours of sleep. The wind is still steady but the gusts don't seem as strong as they were a few minutes ago. The music that Ellesar heard (or imagined) is gone (or isn't). He has nothing but his thoughts and his task to distract him from the cold frost biting at his face.

The night inches by. Ellesar stays awake but is still quite startled when Stogie lurches up suddenly, rested and alert and ready for his shift. Ellesar is only too happy to trade places, burrowing into his sleeping bag next to the fire. Jake wakes up long enough to shift his allegiance to Ellesar and his body heat. He nestles in between the elf and the fire, privately telling Stogie to wake him if he needs something but actually don't unless Stogie's being dragged into the woods by a barghest and only then if the situation's really out of Stogie's control in which case Jake won't be much help so don't bother really. Good night and good luck.

But there's no barghest tonight, nor hellhounds, nor even a wolf. All the good little animals of the forest seem to be taking cover from the windstorm, sheltered in their cozy dens, bundled in their thick winter coats next to their warm, softly breathing family members. Stogie, in contrast, has his hands up his sleeves and is wondering if he could layer his camo jacket over his armor jacket over his urban jumpsuit and still be able to move. What if he just used his adept boosts if he actually needed to move? A tempting thought. Alternatively, going all Incredible Hulk under three layers of armor might result in a cataclysmic implosion not unlike a Type II supernova with equally spectacular and destructive results. Would his neck and head pop clean off? Perish the thought. But these are the directions your mind wanders when you have six or seven hours to kill on a cold autumn night alone in the mountains. It's either that or listen in on Jake's dreams, and those are just really out there.

But pass the night does. Stogie survives, chilled but uneaten. The winds sweep away the clouds covering the moon, then eventually die down themselves. A crisp light emerges in the east, the sun fulfilling its promise yet again. A new day is upon you.

The eagle wakes up and feels the spirit of the forest departing with the coming dawn.

The cocoon slowly lowers it's leafy barrier from around his body as the rest of the thorny barriers recede.

Smohalla ritually waters the surrounding plants in thanks and praise for the spirit's service.