Once more the youths set out, each bouyed by the nearness of those High moors, a natural basin settled into the top of a ridge that ran for forty five miles southwards from the Kal'Loryn. A massive basin that collected rainwater, snow melt, and glacial runoff from higher in the mountains. There were farmers up there, clustered in small communities that rose from the marshes, who made their livings growing rice and a few head of livestock.

Dinner, dishes and other chores done for the day, Reddon Errald sat in his chair by the fire and started lighting his pipe.  Immediately, he was beset upon by his two granddaughters.  Annie, at 4, clambored into his lap as if it was a throne and she the princess that had the right to sit upon it.  Marissa, at 8, was no less exuberant but she slid to a stop and slid her arms around his neck in a hug and placed a kiss on his weathered cheek.

The horns pursued them all that night, their hunters moved fast behind them, tireless and determined. Thin horn calls echoing off the trees cutting through the eerie silence laying on the forest like a blanket. The prey stumbled often, their eyes not for seeing in the dark. The predators had no such trouble. The same disability that nearly blinded them in the daytime, turned to a huge advantage when the sun was gone. Bred for endurance, and able to traverse the terrain with ease, those horn calls closed on the prey all night.

Marissa slumped down against the embankment of the dry creek bed with a sigh.  She looked over at her friends and noted that every one of them had dropped off into a deep sleep almost immediately.  Except one.  Saeyll had somehow managed to coax the book from Harrod's safekeeping so she could study it.  The singer looked almost frail compared to Marissa and the stockier young woman didn't know how she kept going.  With a shake of her head, Marissa pulled out the various implements needed to tend to her blade.  Her cinnamon-brown eyes looked over at the pretty singer.

The night had been born in blood and fear, a narrow escape and freezing waters. Gathered on the eastern bank of the river long enough to see their pursuers throwing their very lives into breeching the same obstacles they had just conquered, the young men and women of the Four Rivers decided it was time to move. Move they did.

It was Ryke and Ash once more in the lead, as they moved off east. Game trails were plentiful so near the river. Sticking mostly to them was simple enough, though it was only marginally easier than traveling without them. Even the most fleet footed and nimble of the group of friends stumbled and fell in the dark. Vines lay unseen near their feet. Roots emerged from the ground, and bramble thorns grabbed clothes and stubbornly refused to let go.

Three young heroes tore through the pasture lands of the Four Rivers, flying towards their companions as if the very hounds of Shail'Garath were on their tail. In a manner of speaking, that is exactly what was behind them. Tall and broad figures with malformed and misshapen animal faces. Some of those faces rode on whole animal heads, others seemed almost human like, only with some feature that made one think of an animal. Nine of them chased the three.