Continued from: Into the Cold: Dreaming of the Battle
After a long night tormented by dreams and nightmares, we set out in the early hours of morning, Ofin and I, into the wilderness in pursuit of the man who had taken my woman. I still heard the echoes of a crying wolf in my head, though it was just that - an echo only, and I knew not from where it came, though I desperately hoped - nay, I knew - that it had been she who visited my dreams the night before. The dying embers of the fireplace gave no further heat in this blistering cold, and we had shared a meager meal of near frozen apples stowed away by the previous inhabitants on this now forsaken home. Wherever they went, they had left in a hurry and likely in fear for their lives. Yet in doing so, they had left us a window of opportunity and a place of safe rest and a from the raging winter outside. The snow had kept falling through the night around the cabin, and most of our tracks were all but gone. To give chase over a blinding white blanket of snow would to many be folly, but Ofin set my mind at ease. He knew how to traverse the lands, he knew all the places to hide, he knew how to find tracks even where the snow had covered it all. My heart grew heavier with each snowflake that landed on my shoulders as I led Ealfin out from the barn. He was just as tired and hungry as we others were, but still he bore me like my weight meant nothing to him.
Ofin led us on through the snow along the paths westward deeper into Wildermore, the only clue of direction we had, and after about an hour the heavy snowfall stopped. For a few fleeting moments, there was a glimpse of morning sun that warmed my face as we rode on. The wind picked up speed again, and the sun made another few brief visits to spread its bright light across the glittering snow. Ofin halted suddenly, and his eyes flickered and he turned his head, apparently searching for something that might have caught his attention. He rode forward, slowly, with determination and jumped off his horse, and seemed to pick something up from the rocky ground where the pining wind had already blown away much of the powdery snow. With a whistle he called me over… and presented to me a thin silver-linked bracelet that he had seen glittering in the sun - one that I knew. It was hers. We were on the right track. Had she left it, had it been discarded, or just fallen off? Determined we rode on, and soon we found tracks left in the snow, up on the heights where the local snowfall in the lowlands had not yet reached fully. Not of any wild beast, but of men and a horse. Heavy boots, at least two pairs, and one heavy horse had come this way the day before at the latest.
We kept going until we reached Byre Tor, a town well known to have fallen to the orcs in recent months. The black smoke and smell of burning flesh and wood loomed ominously over the hill, though there was little movement around. The tracks scattered in the snow… there was an arrow stuck in a tree, blood spilt in the snow, and one set of bloodied tracks went into Byre Tor… what would we find up there, save orcs and jagged blades? Ofin wanted to go there, and I would not, yet he insisted - “Never leave a trail unchecked when you’re hunting the big prey.”, he said - and there was wisdom in those words, where only my determination to find my lost woman would have me ride after the more likely paths. I followed him through the burnt and razed barricades, where once had stood the proud banners of Byre Tor, now defiled and painted over with the crude image of a white hand - the wizard’s mark. His arm has grown long to touch us even here, indeed!
There was little to no resistance to speak of, even in this supposedly orc-infested town… the ones we saw were starved, frozen and ran on heavy legs towards us, wildly swinging their crude blades in vain hope of spoils or even a meal, and once the blood of four orcs had further soiled the snow by Ofin’s arrows and my sword, the few who remained fled down the hill, and rightly so, should they wish to keep their heads and limbs. Ofin the tracker followed the bloodied footsteps into a half-fallen house, where the roof had nearly caved in from the weight of snow and burned supports. I kept watch, and he emerged soon again, having found a dead man in there. A hunter it was, by the looks of it. A hunter who had fallen prey by sharp claws, and sought desperately to hide while all the blood had emptied from his body. A beast’s work, not that of orcs or man. Disheartened by the lack of further clues we left Byre Tor and continued, though the sun would not stay up for many hours more, and our hopes began to wane.
We rode on yet again… fueled by hope alone, and nothing more. We followed the fading tracks of horse and man towards the dark forest that loomed on the horizon, surrounded by tall, white mountains. “If she’s in there…” he said, and I raised my hand to stop him from saying anything further. I knew what he meant - the chances of finding her alive grew even thinner… he only nodded to me, and went on. Another hour passed as we rode, and the tracks were soon buried in the snow, and the ice crystals that followed the path made my blood freeze even further. There was nothing to go on anymore. Suddenly I heard his voice again… he had found something new upon the hard crust of the snow and ice, and the contrast of a bronze-colored jewel in the shape of a wolf’s head and a set of amber pearls against the white snow was not hard to find for a skilled tracker with keen eyes. “Hers?”, he asked. And yes… it was. Much like her silver chain, the one who Ethel had given her, it was found discarded in the snow, and it had to be a sign from her. Not idly would her jewellery fall, unless she had thrown it off herself! And yet, we had nothing more than that. From here she could be anywhere… if she was even still alive. Hope is such a brittle thing, and yet it is all we have...
The story continues here: Into the Cold: The Hunt Goes On
