You make a quick stop to your house to retrieve your bow and quivers.

You still have a quiver and a half of arrows, but you decide to buy a few extras. You head back to Glenn’s for two more quivers, at the cost of another three gold.

After a short stroll around town and an early lunch, you make your way to Eomer’s place.

Like Thomas said, almost everyone in town knew where it was and you easily find the place after a few minutes of walking.

The two-story house is a lot larger than the other houses nearby. Its front yard has a small vegetable garden and you see a mule latched to a cart near the gate.

Dune waves from atop the cart.

“You’re early,” he says. “It’s still a few minutes before noon.”

You see the cart loaded with barrels of water — putting your three waterskins to shame.

“I have nothing better to do,” you answer truthfully, “and I didn’t want to be late — being new and all that.”

“The others should be coming along any time soon,” Dune says. “Here’s one already.”

You turn to see Bruce pulling a sizeable handcart — enough to hold six barrels or sit six people comfortably.

“Did you trade your hawk for a mule?” he asks gesturing at the Dune and his cart.

“Just got him yesterday,” answers Dune. “He’s a hardy thing, he can last a week outside.”

“The others?” Bruce asks, moving away from the handcart and giving you a nod of greeting when he sees you.

“Trent is inside with Eomer,” Dune replies,” visiting the mother and the baby.”

Bruce turns to you, “I see you got yourself a hammer,” he says noticing Skybreaker strapped to your belt.

You unlatch the hammer and hold it in one hand.

“Trent got Torm to forge the hammer,” you say. “I just got it yesterday. I even made a few daggers while I was there.”

“Really?” Bruce says. “My time with the smith wasn’t that enjoyable.”

“He made me chop wood with his apprentices for half the day — almost tiring me out for the…” he stops, a faint look of remembered fear in his eyes.

“We all went through that ordeal,” a voice you recognize as Thomas’ comes from behind you. “Except for Dune. He didn’t want anything to do with the smith and his enchantments.”

“I’m an archer,” Dune explains. “I can’t have him enchanting every arrowhead I have — not to mention retrieving them after I shoot.”

“It’s too much trouble,” he finishes.

“That and the price,” Bruce says.

Thomas nods, fingering the hilt of the baselard [1] at his waist.

“My sword is named Horizon,” Bruce says as he takes a greatsword from the cart and unsheathes it.

The sword’s blade is six feet in length and three-inch-wide at the base, tapering to a point. The hilt adds another foot and a half, making the weapon stand at close to eight feet.

“That is definitely not a hunter’s weapon,” you say, noting the unwieldiness of the weapon — especially inside a forest.

“That depends on what we’re hunting,” he replies as he swings the weapon a few times before sheathing it.

“Thomas’ sword is called Silver,” Bruce continues. “It has a few secrets that Thomas doesn’t want to share.”

“It blinds my opponents when they get close,” Thomas replies. “I prefer not to use it since I’d rather shoot my opponent from afar than have them charging at me.”

“And Dunes?” you ask.

“He doesn’t have one,” Thomas replies. “I already told you before that he doesn’t have one, nor does he need one,” he adds while giving Dune a reassuring gesture.

“But he does,” you think to yourself.

One of the rings in his right hand holds a similar energy to your hammer and the weapons of the other hunters.

“You’ve seen Trent’s sword, right?” Bruce asks.

You nod your head, remembering its dull glow and how it easily pierced the demon’s head.

“He calls it River,” he continues. “I don’t know why though.”

“And Eomer’s?” you ask.

“He named his spear Silence,” Bruce replies, “and it has a penchant for hitting throats.”

“A fitting name then,” you declare.

“What did you name the hammer?” asks Dune from the cart.

You grasp the hammer with two hands, feeling its weight. There is a gravity to the hammer that isn’t limited to its mass.

“Skybreaker,” you answer.

“Hahaha,” Bruce laughs. “The smith must have had you breaking stones before your ordeal. He sent you to the quarry, didn’t he?”

“That came after,” you reply. “I spent the day forging daggers in the smithy.”

“And where are these daggers?” Thomas interrupts.

“Back at the smithy,” you answer with a snicker, “The smith said they amounted to mere scrap metal.”

“That bad eh?” asks Bruce.

“Worse,” you say.

The hunters have a laugh at your expense, but the boisterous noise quickly ends upon Trent’s arrival.

“Bags in the cart,” he says as he drops his own pack on Bruce’s handcart. “We’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”

You drop your bag into the cart but take out the three quivers and the rope, just in case. You strap Skybreaker to your waist and you sling your bow along with a quiver of arrows.

The other hunters do the same, packing the small cart with supplies.

After a couple of minutes, Eomer emerges from his house carrying several spears.

You note that one is strapped to his back, while the others seem more like javelins.

He approaches the carts and greets everyone.

“I’m hoping for a safe journey,” he starts, “but I’m praying for a ton of wolves.”

“Let’s teach those frost wolves that WE — are the only wolves that can run rampant in this town!”

The hunters cheer — although in their faces, you could see that even they thought Eomer’s words seemed inappropriate.”

With those words, your group of hunters begins its journey to the edge of the forest to hunt for wolves.

“Congratulations,” you greet Eomer as you near the northern gate. “Glenn told me it was a boy.”

“It would have been fine either way,” he answers. “The wife wanted another girl.”

“But a fine boy it is,” declares Trent. “Maybe this one will take the spear like his father.”

“Or maybe he’ll open a store and live peacefully,” Torm interrupts. “You never know when it comes to children.”

You nod in agreement — but the memories of fallen bodies and ruined houses remind you that strength is still an integral part of survival.

Upon your arrival at the northern gate, you notice a few wagons waiting by the side of the road. You spot Moss, the guard captain, standing beside the gates.

He sees your arrival and approaches your group.

“The merchants wanted to travel earlier than expected,” he says to Eomer. “I advised them to wait for a while for a few extra escorts. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” answers Eomer. “We can look out for them until we reach the forest. From then on, they’re on their own.”

“That should be enough,” said the captain, motioning to one of the caravan guards and telling them to prepare for departure.

Your group leaves with the caravan, the carts trailing behind the merchants’ wagons.

Dune drives his mule-drawn cart while Bruce pulls the handcart.

Thomas tried to ride in the carts but was denied by both Dune and Bruce.

Eomer took his place in the vanguard while Trent is somewhere in the middle.

The cobbled path ends after a mile, making the journey go a lot slower.

You hear a few of the merchants grumbling about losing time waiting for two old veterans and four kids.

You pay them no heed but notice the other hunters seem to be somewhat affected.

Tensions flare when one of the guard throws a nasty barb at the hot-headed Bruce.

Bruce abandons his cart and charges at the guard — the two of them almost coming to blows if Trent didn’t make a sudden appearance, putting a stop to the fight.

He sends Bruce to the front with Eomer.

Bruce goes back to the cart and retrieves Horizon before moving to the front. All the while glaring at the guards.

You take over the task of pulling the handcart after a brief instruction from Thomas.

After a couple of hours, Thomas offers to take over for you but you decline. He then makes the same offer to Dune, and he gladly accepts.

“All that sitting is bad for the legs,” Dune says as he walks toward you.

“All this pulling gets on the nerves,” you joke. “Look at what happened to Bruce.”

He laughs, although you see a hint of worry in his eyes.

You hear a distant hawk cry and you see Elm flying high above the caravan.

“I won’t be calling him,” Dune says. “These men might shoot him down.”

You look at the flying hawk, remembering it had to stay a mile from Dune at all times.

“Don’t worry,” he reassures you noting your worry. “He knows not to go down near unfamiliar people.”

“We’ll be nearing the edge of the forest in a while — there are plenty of trees there for him to land.”

The sky begins to darken as you near the forest edge.

Someone at the vanguard calls for a stop and the caravan moves to the side of the road — forming a crude circle for better protection.

Campfires begin lighting up as the caravan prepares to spend its first night near the forest.

The merchants and the guards seem to be in good spirits, pleased with the break from the day’s journey.

That jubilance is broken by the sound of distant howls — a reminder of what lurks inside the forest.