All but Jynge were up at the first light of day. There was a brief panic when they saw she was nowhere to be found, but this soon disappeared when it was discovered that she had gone up to the upper level in the night and had seemingly fallen asleep there.

Quietly, the four went to work in discussing their plans for the day. The hunt would begin shortly; a circling round along the western woods, and they would be back at High Ridge by halfway to evening, if it could be managed. Troíde would keep watch at the tower, just in the rare chance that someone else happened upon it. Although this received a mention (albeit an urged one by both Górin and Dákk), the more commonly stated reason was that it would be best if at least one person remained at the tower when Jynge rose from her sleep.

None were in particularly good spirits that morning, despite the achievement reached on the previous day. Dákk slurred many of his words and was terribly exhausted, having had so little sleep in the night. Handor ate a meager meal of biscuit and still complained of a twinging hunger. Górin grumbled at the journey and gave bitter words whenever someone spoke to him. Troíde watched blankly as the rangers sorted their packs for the journey, and when one spoke to her, her expression started as though torn from distant thoughts.

When the three stepped outside to begin the journey, they found that it was not nearly as bright as it should have been for the time of morning it was. Hardly after sunrise by their call, though it might as well have been just before sunrise, based on the weak light that only barely illuminated the landscape west of the ridge. They shared a look of confusion among each other, and noted the strange morning.

“A wind must have come in the night,” Handor suggested, “I pray that no rain shall fall upon us as we are out in the hunt.”

Górin felt a weight settle in his belly. “Yes,” he slowly began, staring out into the woodland below them, “A wind in the night. Wait here.” He turned to walk around the tower towards the face that overlooked the eastern forests. With a sudden cry, he came quickly back to where Dákk and Handor stood in confusion. His face was a mixture of despair and wrath.

“I should not have been so careless,” he spat, “Leading you here, against my better judgment. Thinking the winds would not change in their direction during the night. Look to the east! A Veil looms not a mile away!”

Though he urged them to return to the interior of the tower, they both quickly stepped aside to gaze out at the eastern horizon. Whatever horizon there might have been was darkly obscured by a massive thick haze that hung lazily over the land, concealing all beneath it. Within the grey shroud, trails of faint white light flickered and shimmered like fish in a midnight mire. No sound of wind, nor roll of thunder broke out after these pale corpse-lights appeared. The Veil was silent.

“I had thought that such a thing was nothing more than a fog bank, for at a distance, Veils can greatly resemble them,” Górin said as they entered back into the tower. Troíde seemed to have heard much of what was said outside, and quickly came to join them. “I had thought it was safe, but that only reveals my ignorance of these lands.” He swore to himself and gritted his teeth as he spoke.

“What are we to do then?” Troíde asked, wide-eyed and looking back and forth among her three companions.

“Little can be done now,” Handor said angrily, “The wind carries it towards High Ridge. Unless all five of us can fit upon the backs of a horse and a jack that can run with speed, then it will soon be upon us.”

“Will it harm us?” she went on, before he had even finished speaking.

“There is no telling what a Veil will do,” Górin answered with a heavy sigh. He went back to the door and looked it up and down. “Perhaps if we could seal ourselves within this place, the situation might be different, but this place has more holes than stone.”

All of a sudden, Dákk gave out a cry. “The brands!” he exclaimed, “Perhaps if Jynge would alight them now, the bark of the Stékkr would give us some minor protection against the Veil’s effects.”

“There is little I can do now,” The voice of an unseen Jynge came from the opening to the upper level, “I will not risk the premature burning of the brands, and furthermore,” she stuck her head out and looked down at her companions, “That is not its purpose. We cannot needlessly burn these sacred tools if such a thing can be avoided.”

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“Needlessly!” Górin cried, “Witch, the comforts of a ring of Stékkr have softened you to the evils of the Plaguelands. This is not a matter of a light fever, there is-”

“I am aware of what dangers a Veil poses,” Jynge broke in, scowling. “I will have you know that I can offer some small ward against its ills, and it does not require the waste of my brands.”

When the witch descended from the rope ladder, the others did not need to see her unmasked to note her distress. From behind the glass lenses, heavy dark bags lined her eyes, and redness tinged at the corners. While the others led the mare and jack further within the tower, she went through her satchels with unsteady hands, withdrawing many of the same tools she had used to create the poultice for their masks. There was little that could be done about the open exits to the outside world, but for whatever it was worth, the rangers pinned up their blankets against the doorway and blocked off the upstairs fortifications with fragments of ancient wooden planks.

Silence hung in the air within the tower like a rank stench. Only the sounds of Jynge’s hurried work over a rekindled campfire sounded out in the dim chamber, and each of her companions soon returned by her side, watching in tense unease. When at last, she heaved a sigh and withdrew her little steaming pot from the fire, the exterior light had grown somewhat, although in that time, the looming dread only grew faster still.

“I expect that you men of the wilderness know of a Veil’s potential,” she began, then turned to Troíde, “But for you, my friend, I should make you aware of these things, too.” She held up the pot to the circle. “This is the best I can manage in the time until the Veil will be upon us. A fair ward against sickness. It will not be a perfect antidote to the foul gloom, but it will aid your bodies in resisting its physical ills. To defend the mind against a Veil’s influence is beyond the time or materials that I have here at my disposal. Each of you take a mouthful at a time. Pass it in turn until there is none left. It may be a distasteful mixture, but these are distasteful circumstances.”

In the dark of High Ridge, the five removed their masks and were stricken with the offensive fragrance of death, squalor, and ancient decay. They drunk reluctantly from the potion, bitterly forcing the horrendously-tasting sludge down their throats. Once the last dregs had been swallowed, they donned their masks once again, and the five mourning crows stared at one another in silence for the span of three dying heartbeats.

They made their way towards a far corner of the tower, finding seats upon the ruined wood and stone. Górin sighed as he considered the day. No hunt, he thought, Nothing lost, I suppose, but nothing gained. We must just bear through this miasma...Just one more day…

It was not cold in the tower, but no warmth could be felt by any. Not from without, nor from within. They thought to have a small second breakfast to keep their spirits from falling, but the appetites could not be found among any of them. Despair floated upon the edges of their minds, seeking its chance to sail to them upon a vessel of fear and anxiety. They tried to dispel the silence whenever they could by talking of lighter things, but the better topics soon died as none could bring themselves to find joy.

Górin said little throughout it all, for as time passed, he felt a slow dizziness come to him, despite his firm seating on the ground. He wondered how much of it had come from the draft Jynge had given to him, for he had no desire to consider fear overtaking his control over his own thoughts. He tried to focus on the sweet scents that the poultice within his mask sent up to his nose, but such a thing was only temporary. While it was a pleasant odor to behold, it did nothing to distract from the threatening darkness that took hold where fair morning light should have been.

He closed his eyes and tried to focus on breathing. There were few things one could do with a Veil so close. As it was said among those that traversed any blighted lands, the only true defense against a Veil was to be twenty miles away. After that, seeking shelter and praying that it would be over soon was the next best thing. He endlessly cursed his poor judgment, and muttered scoldings often to himself. Now and then, he opened his eyes and turned to look at the doorway. Traces of daylight glowed in, though little else showed. For some, getting up to look outside might seem to be an obvious choice then, just to check, but to one familiar with the blighted lands, he would not risk it for any money.

As they all sat in the corner, Górin's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by someone saying his name. He looked over at Troíde, who stared at him from behind her mask.

"How much longer until we can leave this place?" she repeated, emphasizing the words that Górin had not even heard. He sighed before responding.

Górin had no wish to bring the truth to his mind, but neither did he wish to bring unneeded worry to his companions. "I cannot say," he said at last, "We must wait here until it has passed and it is all over."

He did not make any mention that the worst of it had not even begun yet.