Arn's breaths came ragged. Cold air hurt his throat on the way down - steam came out with each exhalation. His feet sank into the snow, taxing his muscles with each step. He hadn't stopped yet, hadn't dared slow down, hadn't dared think about what just happened.

His path rounded the Sentinel Mountain and led him to the Aaro Woods treeline. Maybe he's right behind me? Arn thought - but he knew that it wasn't true. The wall of conifers grew taller, and he soon entered the forest proper.

In a moment of weakness, he looked back at the empty valley behind him - a single line of footprints in the snow disappeared in the distance. Arn growled, spittle landed on the snow and left tiny holes. His heart thumped like a drum, shaking his entire body with every beat. The anger from before flared once more. It clawed Arn with its dark tendrils, sending waves of energy to urge his body onward.

"Fine," Arn yelled. A fit of coughing burst from his throat. "Fine," he whispered a moment later. "I'll double down around the mountain, through the forest, back to Ar'Thorsan," he added.

Arn knew that his father was afraid of the Inspectorate, that he worried of pursuit. What do they want with him? Arn thought, they came to the Old Fort for me; the Warden was there for me!

The thoughts drained Arn of his vigour, ushering fatigue that settled upon him like a heavy blanket. He swore at the forest and at the mountains.

The sun above just crossed the midpoint of its journey. He would follow it for a time, then turn Eastward towards the trail, farther down and closer to the Southern Outpost.

Arn slumped against a particularly tall tree. His bare hand scraped painfully against its rough bark. 'Ouch!' he yelped and cradled it. When'd he lose the glove? That's all he needed - to lose all his clothes and freeze to death. He slid to the snow-covered ground for a moment of much-needed - nay, unavoidable - rest.

He then wondered whether the Inspectorate could have been after his father from the start. Could they have simply used him to get at his father? No, he decided, no, they weren't after anyone; Thoard was there to help me, to lead me to Ossagar.

It was Rana who imprisoned him, Rana who held him captive in that damn cell. His anger flared once more - Arn smashed his bare fist against the snow. The Inspectorate saved him and brought him back home; that's what they did thus far. His father was crazy, simply out of his mind.

Arn was tired of the talk about spirits and old legends; that was all his family cared about. They had no idea what he went through - they lived an easy life without a care. "No idea," he growled. A croak echoed in the distance, then another one.

"What do you want?" Arn yelled and glared all around, "what do you want from me? It's not enough I see you in my dreams; you follow me out here too?"

The forest mocked him with its silence. A cold wind swept through the pine needles, rustling them and blowing off some of the snow.

Arn sighed. If his father didn't want his company, then so be it. He'd reach Naradael himself and then join with Ossagar. Arn repeated the strange password Thoard had given him. As before, a faint glimmer of meaning flashed into his mind but faded before forming into a proper thought.

His breath settled, muscled relaxed, and mind cleared. Though his anger didn't abate, instead, it settled into a dense and heavy pool in his core. It sent waves of energy throughout him, warming up his body and fortifying his resolve.

Finally, he got up. The sun had nearly reached the mountains. He'd have to hurry if he were to make it onto the trail before nightfall. Even in his state of mind, the prospect of the forest at night was less than appealing.

He ran once more, but this time tried to conserve his energy. Sentinel Mount to his left towered over the treeline, serving as a beacon by which to find his way. Arn took no provisions in his haste - the hunger gnawed at his empty stomach, but thurst was foremost on his mind. His throat was dry, and he coughed as he ran, each swallow scratching and clawing at the back of it.

A fit of coughing forced him to stop. I need water, he thought - the snow perhaps? He grabbed a handful from one of the lower branches and shoved it in his mouth. It was cold, but it melted quickly into sweet, freezing water. He grabbed another handful, and another, a sudden and ear-splitting pain exploded in his head, it dropped him to his knees.

It was the worst brain freeze he'd experienced in his life, and it lasted longer than any he'd ever felt. Why, why is this all happening? The pain drained his resolve, tired muscles flared into his consciousness, and Arn wasn't sure he could get up. He sat against another tree. Before he knew it, his eyes closed.

He awoke to near-total darkness. The faint glow of starlight reflected from the snow, outlining the dark and ominous trees all around. Oh, spirits! I fell asleep, oh spirits! Arn vaguely recalled a sound - it was what woke him.

'Wolf droppings," he whispered, "knee-deep wolf droppings!"

This was precisely what he tried to avoid. The sun was no longer there to guide him, and the night was moonless. He scrambled up to his feet, then held on to the tree against a sudden dizzy spell. The mountains stood as dark shadows against the starry sky - they were all around him, and he couldn't tell the Sentinel just by the outline of it.

"Wolf droppings," he muttered.

Arn looked for the tracks he'd left to the tree; there they are, he thought. His only choice was to continue in the direction they led. And so he did.

The going was much slower at night, for he could barely see anything in the dark. Suddenly, Arn stumbled upon a snow-covered root and fell to the ground. He remained in his prone position for a time, then crawled toward another tree trunk. His heart pounded again, but this time not from physical exhaustion.

For just a second, he thought that he smelled the sweet scent of Rana's pipe. Rana! he startled himself; she was out here somewhere. He looked about frantically, but the night was still too dark to see.

The pressure upon his chest grew. He grabbed at his coat and pulled it apart. The cool air sent goosebumps as it touched his damp shirt. The respite was brief. Rana kept creeping back into his mind. De'al, too.

He wondered about the Inspectorate Warden as well - would he have followed them to the mountain pass? His mind conjured the image of people standing over his sleeping body come morning. Rana, De'al, the Warden, and even the Black Warden, whom he hadn't seen, but imagined as a tall and dark shape, hooded and manacing. Breathing was difficult, he gasped, but the cold air only hurt his lungs. He saw spots at the corners of his vision. His head swam.

A peculiar sensation cut through it all. Cold against Arn's skin - but not that of the winter air. A different kind of cold, deeply familiar, yet unknown. He glanced down at his shirt, and a very faint yellowish glow was just visible from beneath.

"The metal charm? It's glowing?" Arn mumbled. He pulled it by the chain and looked at it. It did glow. He felt all things around him recede, pulling away from him. Even his body, propped against the tree in the cold dark forest, became a distant object, less a part of him. A mere vessel.

Arn's consciousness floated just outside of all the commotion and worries that threatened to overwhelm him moments ago. Every second brought a sense of calm to him, he was drawn away from - from himself? That made no sense.

He sensed someone or something behind him. It not so much stood behind him as had his back. It felt safe and massive beyond imagining. He stayed within its enormous shadow, and all his worries quieted, diminished, faded away. He breathed freely.

And then, some of the power that banished his worries flowed into him. It filled him with peace, pushing the anger and fear out, cleansing him from their gnarled tendrils. He opened his eyes. The darkness around him no longer held the menace it did earlier. The pressure on his chest was gone, and his heart returned to its normal pace. Padum, Padum, Padum.

Arn got up, feeling unexpectedly refreshed. He was calmer, true, though he still didn't have a clear path to follow. He tried again to identify the mountains and retrace his steps, but all his work resulted in uneducated guesses.

Soft blue light drew his attention. He just spotted it from the corner of his eyes. It winked out, then reappeared, then out again, continuing so as it moved across his field of vision. He walked towards it. There was no other path, and in such things, before now, he always had good intuition, and so he followed it once more.

The light grew as he walked and took the shape of a four-legged beast. It weaved among the trees, leaping ahead at times, then slowing down. A snow leopard, he thought. He followed it for what seemed to be hours. The night remained as dark as ever.

Faint howls emanated in the distance - wolves, he thought. The howls rose with each step; he soon could no longer ignore them. If wolves set upon him at night, well, that didn't bear thinking.

Arn found a large solid tree, tested its branches, then climbed up. He climbed twenty feet, or so he estimated. Enough to stay out of their reach, then sat to wait. It didn't take long for the beasts to arrive. Several wolves circled the tree, their very breath audible in the quiet of the forest.

They snarled and scratched at the trunk, though luckily, they couldn't climb it. Arn was safe, for now.

He took out his belt and tried to put it around the trunk - it wasn't long enough. He'd have to get by with the branch. Arn tied himself as best he could and put his arms around the trunk. More and more wolves gathered below him. They have to leave at some point, he hoped, following the wolves with terrified eyes.