Asher had already moved on from the frozen carcass. He was further into the forest and crouched with one hand supporting himself against a small rock.
Doran shook his head and looked across at Avandriell, who was studying him intently. “He always did prefer to work alone. Perhaps ye’ll ’ave better luck.” The young dragon made a series of clicking noises in her throat and leapt over the bear, towards her companion. “Or maybe it’s jus’ me,” the dwarf pondered aloud.
Making his way around the dead bear, the War Mason came up on Asher’s side. The old ranger was running his fingers over an impression that had barely dug into the snowy ground. Most would have missed it, but never Asher.
“This is a big print,” the ranger commented.
“Aye,” Doran agreed. “When was the last time ye saw the wolf?”
Asher resumed his full height, his eyes narrowed in recall. “Before The War for the Realm,” he said.
“I’d say it’s grown since then,” the dwarf voiced. “I saw it on the battlefield. It tore through elves, dwarves, an’ Reavers like butter.”
Asher glanced back at the unfortunate bear. “At least we know we’re in the right place.”
Doran looked from the bear to Avandriell before finally settling on the ranger. “Are ye sure this is the right place for her? I know they’re tough but we’re talkin’ about a fully-grown Werewolf. Even ye an’ I will be lucky to get out o’ this place alive.”
Asher gave his companion a long hard look. “Avandriell stays with me. I can’t protect her from everything and she needs to learn.”
Doran nodded his understanding. “As ye say.” He returned his attention to the print at their feet. “Shall we get to trackin’ it then?”
Asher crouched down again and gave the paw impression another look. “These won’t be easy to follow. Werewolves are light on their feet and very fast.”
The son of Dorain twisted his mouth as he considered their options. As he did, his eye took note of the broken twigs and branches further along the trail. The bear’s impressions were much easier to see.
“Maybe we should think like the wolf,” the dwarf suggested, drawing a curious expression out of Asher. “It’s feelin’ vulnerable. It’s lookin’ for territory.” He looked back at the carcass. “An’ we know it’s fed. I’d say it’s likely our prey has followed the bear prints back to its dwellin’.”
“A cave perhaps,” Asher interpreted.
“Aye. To the victor go the spoils an’ all.”
Before going any further, they trekked back to the edge of the forest and tied their mounts to the trees. Tracking a Werewolf was hard enough without the noise and smell that accompanied a horse and Warhog. Doran only prayed that his mount would still be there upon his return.
With Avandriell stalking beside them, the three companions cautiously journeyed deeper into the trees. Over the next couple of hours, Doran came to realise how rusty his ranger skills had become. He sighed and chastised himself every time his boot snapped a twig or crushed fallen leaves. His armour brushed against the environment, the clatter disturbing the birds. Asher shot the dwarf a look over his shoulder more than once.
As the shadows grew long, it became apparent to the rangers that the bear hadn’t come directly from its lair. Its recent travels even took them as far as the western edge of the forest before the tracks curled back into the thick of the trees.
Only when dusk settled on the land did Asher come to a halt on the trail. “We can’t track it in the dark. We should make camp while we still have some light.”
Doran agreed, though he wasn’t entirely convinced. “If we stop now there’s a good chance the hunters will become the hunted. The wolf will surely see our fire.”
“We would need fire to follow the tracks,” Asher countered. “We have little choice in the matter.”
Doran grumbled but made no further protest. They found a small clearing and went about starting a decent fire that would stop winter from claiming their lives while they slept. The son of Dorain chopped up some extra logs for the pair to sit on and share some rations. By then they were steeped in the darkness of night.
The wood fell silent. Doran didn’t like it. The fire was the brightest and loudest thing for miles around - the wolf had to know they were there. Still, the War Mason could not deny the fatigue that bit into his muscles and bones. He was still recovering from two days of non-stop fighting and a severe lack of sleep. Whether this was obvious or not, Asher offered to take first watch while he got his head down.
Despite the unnerving surroundings, it was only seconds after shutting his eyes that sleep robbed the dwarf of conscious thought.
A noise beyond the crackling fire awoke Doran with a start. Years of experience, however, prevented him from jumping up. Instead, his eye snapped open and he remained perfectly still, lying on the forest floor. He had no idea how long he had been sleeping for and, right now, he didn’t care. He couldn’t say what the noise had been and, worse still, he couldn’t discern the direction from which it had originated.
Carefully, he adjusted his position to try and see Asher on the other side of the fire. An alarm sounded in his mind when he failed to spot the man. It shouldn’t have been that hard since there were only three of them around the fire and one was a dragon no bigger than a dog. Yet, the ranger was missing. Doran slowly pushed up from the ground and cursed when he noticed Avandriell was gone too.
“Typical Outlander…” the dwarf mumbled, rising to his feet. “Don’ ye ’ave any new tricks up yer sleeve?” he asked the shadows in frustration.
Another noise pierced the sound of the crackling fire, turning Doran to his right. There was nothing but
