He headed towards the Eastern exit, which fed into the trail towards the Valley of Whispers. This was a cold region where the veil was rumored to be so thin the dead could cross from time to time, qualifying it as a crossroads of sorts. He assumed either that line of thought was way off the mark, or at best only a directional guideline, for the Valley was not a feasible location for the standard test. From what he understood about the Rites, they'd always be confined to the bounds of their nation, so the Valley was out of the question. Historically, tests of exception had involved last minute courage and triumph over previous obstacles, so east would also meet that criterion, for all corridors to the different buildings of import would meet at the Eastern gazebo. The gazebo had just entered his sights when he noticed a foot trail that suggested he'd gotten the first part of the riddle right. The trail had seemed to appear out of nowhere and it comprised of interspersed right footprints while the left prints where nowhere to be seen.

'…Crossroads… and next comes the 'one-legged', seems to be going well so far,' he thought to himself.

He followed the trail to within a block of the gazebo, where the trail veered right, away from the gazebo. He'd long assumed the poem was arranged in order, the preceding parts guiding him to the subsequent parts till he got to the end. Following that line of logic, the crossroads would be superseded by the one-legged so the deviation could be ignored, if not relied on. Having settled on a course, he increased his pace, lest he lose the trail before he got to the next clue. Within seconds at his pace, he could hear a light tap followed by a heavy step, punctuated by a jingle. A few seconds later he spotted the source, a rather decrepit old man, a half-being, human like himself. The old man hobbled along, the tap the meeting of his crutch with the ground beneath, and the jingling footfall his right leg, moving to align with the foot of the crutch. This would explain the absence of the left set of prints. With the sparse cover, the ground grew more visible as he approached the old man and Calf couldn't help but notice the indentations next to each right print. Though slight, there was a definite impression next to each print, which he deduced were made by the crutch. This discovery led him to question if this man truly represented the one-legged, for the crutch served as his second and the trail bore witness to that under closer scrutiny. As if on cue to his doubts, the old man abruptly stopped, turning on one foot to face Calf before waving him over.

"Ever-young, could you perhaps assist this old one? My armpits grow tender, and I think I'll be served well by a bit of rest," the old man voiced in a raspy whisper. This gave him pause, for he hadn't called him 'young man', but 'ever-young', a reference only the village affiliates would be privy to. Calf still had his doubts about the one-legged part, but he decided to go with the flow for now since his doubts were built on technicalities. Even if this interaction proved unfruitful, it was a long time till dawn so he'd still have time to course-correct. The old man handed him his crutch and made to sit. Calf supported the man’s right arm and back till he was firmly seated on a rock. As he made to right himself, the man grabbed onto his arm and brought a bone tip to his neck. Calf froze in confusion before a feeling of dread came over him, he'd let his guard down, and he was about to fail again. He fell back and landed hard on his bum, the impact jarring him from his frozen state. Light, raspy laughter followed as the old man clapped his knee.

"May your trust be ever tempered with caution, Ever-young. Forgive this old man his entertainment, for I rarely get such opportunities now given my current state, I just couldn't help myself."

The man chuckled once more before offering the tip of his crutch to Calf. Calf held onto the shaft and was surprised when the old man pulled it with such force it yanked him upright. He landed with a bounce and dusted himself off while watching the old man cautiously. The old man produced a pipe, lit it, and took a generous pull from it, blowing a majestic cloud into the air. Calf coughed in response, to which the old man offered his apologies, taking out a water skin identical to Calf's and offering it to him. Calf refused, having learned his first lesson the hard way.

"Well met", said the old man with a chuckle, "It's good to meet a fast learner, though this time you would have been served better with a little faith and this flask instead", he emphasized. Calf reached for his flask, taking two big sips and a single gulp before spluttering. His choking was accompanied by the old man's laughter as he felt a burning and bubbly stream flow down his throat.

"Told you! That ought to put some hair on your chest!" The old man continued laughing, only stopping at the onset of a cough. The old man was as wily as a hare. Calf couldn't tell how he'd done it, but the man had switched his water skin for the burning beverage. The burning sensation in his throat and chest was accompanied by a brief bout of lightheadedness, which was quickly dispelled by a few shakes of his head. The old man had emptied his pipe by now and though the man was staring at him with a serious expression, somehow, he felt the man was still laughing inside. Recovered from the coughing bout, Calf sat down in front of the old man's rock and stared back.

"Now that you've had your fill and I have your full attention, we can begin with the next part of your assessment. We can skip the how-to on the equipment, use what you have to get me that", the old man said as he directed Calf to the chicken perched on a branch 6 meters above them.

He'd squinted his eyes before he managed to spot it. The bird was very peculiar, for not only was its presence that high a mystery, but it was the fattest rooster he'd ever seen, with black wings to boot. The bird blended into the night, its moon-lit outline and eyes the only visual indication of its presence up there. Jack was about to ask the old man to confirm what he'd said when he noticed the bird's stance, right leg folded, balancing on a single leg.

'...! One-legged!' he thought. Without further delay, he adjusted the sling over his shoulder to bring his arrow pouch to his left hip and made to fetch his bow, but the old man stopped to give him the conditions of the assessment.

"You only get ten arrows to use within 3 attempts, with a maximum of two seconds between shots in the same attempt. All you need is at least one direct hit anywhere on the bird with the head of an arrow. You'll get a reward that is more than fitting for a successful attempt, and quite the bonus if you manage it in one. And as for the time factor, you'll hear the crowing if you're close enough."

Though this challenge stood out from all his previous challenges, the conditions were acceptable. He'd raised an eyebrow at the last bit about a time factor though, to which the old man shrugged his shoulders and added with a sigh.

"It's clear that this rooster is quite different from the ones you are used to, but it not only differs in appearance but behavior as well. I'm sure you've questioned how it got up that tree. Normal roosters look fiery but this one is pitch, and normal roosters crow at the break of dawn, but this one..."

Calf waited for the end of a sentence that never came. In that pause, his mind worked overtime trying to deduce what the wily old hare was implying. The old man held his gaze before slowly turning to look at the current position of the moon, then arching his head till he faced the center, where it was expected to settle briefly at midnight. When the old man turned back to him with a sly grin, he felt his heart drop. The playful man hadn't outright said it, but the implications were clear now. This dark rooster seemed to be the antithesis of the roosters he'd known so far, they were colorful, reveling under the sunlight whilst this rooster was devoid of color, preferring the moonlight instead. If he continued down this line of thought,

'Since the colorful ones heralded dawn with their song, their dark cousin would sound their call towards dusk', but that couldn't be it.

It was now the dead of night, so dusk had already passed before the start of his rites, the next dusk now even further than dawn. Considering the direct application of opposites wouldn't affect his timelines, and coupling that with the old man's gesturing, he could only assume midnight was the mark. He could be sure he wouldn't have much time for this challenge as the moon was fast approaching its zenith. When he turned to ask for clarification, the old man was nowhere to be seen.