In no time it seemed, the traveling youths had made their way down the trail from the High Pastures back to Ramhorn Ridge. Smoke rose from chimneys in each of the scattered farmhouses, bearing the smell of the various meals being prepared to the odd group of youths and sheep that made their way downhill.

A search of the tents yielded several threadbare blankets, some assorted cooking equipment (also in disrepair), and a single rather smallish chest. The chest was only 3 feet long, and two feet wide, an not even a foot high. It was made of some sort of silvery metal, engraved and inlaid in flowing patterns on all six sides. There was a latch that held it closed, but no lock.

Risos looked up, as the box was brought out of the tent, and tilted his head curiously. "That's what all the fussin' and feudin' was over? It dont seem like much, for their former Master to chase 'em halfway down the Kal'Lorryn."