The ridge didn't look any different but Górin still looked all around in disbelief as one might examine the land after a terrible storm. It was quiet, except for the faint sounds of conversation from inside the tower. Troíde had been speaking with Jynge, who had been found asleep and unmasked upon the rooftop. Figuring she needed the company as much as the other hunters needed to be located, there was no argument that Górin and Troíde would tend to separate duties. Górin wasn't sure what sorts of noises he had been expecting, but the silence of the ridge unsettled him nonetheless.

It was cloudy, but not as dark as the morning had been. Only to the north was the sky any darker, and that was merely because of the departing Veil, riding along the wind. No blue traces could be seen, naturally, but as far as Þérgic mid-afternoons went, it was well-enough lit. For the most part, the lands around the ridge had been cleared of the fog, allowing to see for some miles in every direction. The heavy winds from earlier had been reduced to a light breeze, just enough to let the leaves in the trees below sway in gentle waves.

He had left the tower soon after confirming the witch's safety, and would have done so sooner, but neither he nor Troíde had expected to find her sleeping, of all things,m on the rooftop, of all places, not answering their calls until Troíde had climbed up the ladder and spotted her strewn about as though collapsed. His time outside the tower so far had not actually been spent looking for the missing rangers, but rather walking off the dull headache that remained with him once he had come to his senses. There was no desire to think about the events of that morning, and he found that dreading the late night he would have to remain awake for was a perfect distraction.

For a long while, he sat at the edge of the flat grounds, looking westward out over the hills and trees. When a shape revealed itself from a thick copse of trees and strode out into the open grounds, his focus immediately snapped back to him and he stared intently at the figure that emerged. A few moments' look at the distant mass revealed it to be Handor, though he didn't recognize him at first, for the man carried a large brown lump over his shoulders, making him seem like a great lumbering beast. Gorin's caution was quickly replaced with surprise, for the hazy memory of Handor setting out without his pack came back to him. Of all the ways they could have returned to the tower, he had expected nothing of this sort. With a faint grin, he thought of the oddity of not only finding, but also managing to shoot a deer in such circumstances.

Handor was a few steps out of the treeline before Górin suddenly realized that he came alone, and no one exited from the trees as he left, nor in the span of time after he had already begun to ascend the slope. His amusement faded, and the sight of his companion hauling the deer carcass up the climb gave him no comfort, and he found that a strange reluctance to go down to help was growing inside. Instead, Górin rose to a low crouch and stepped back towards the tower, knowing it'd do him no good if Handor watched him gaze on the struggle and not offer any assistance. Once he gets here, I'll help, he thought with some unease, Until then, I'll wait.

It was not a quick ascent, but when the head of Handor finally appeared from over the slope, Górin got to his feet and waved. "Ah!" he said, forcing himself to appear relieved, "It seems you were successful in the hunt and in...Everything else."

At the greeting, Handor's head jolted upward from his fixed gaze at the ground, and Górin saw three things. The first were the faint red hand prints streaked onto his mask, as though he had forgotten to clean his hands after emptying the deer of its innards and wiped them upon the white leather. The next was that he seemed thoroughly soaked. His dark clothing did not show much from afar, but now that Górin was barely two fathoms away from him, the red of his shirt seemed as dark as brown in many similar hand streaks. Lastly, there was the shocked and fearful expression that the eyes behind the lenses bore upon Górin. It was as though Handor had never met him before, let alone expected to meet anyone in the Silver Hills. All in all, the heartland ranger looked horrific and disheveled. As though he had been wandering without food, shelter, weapons, or tools for many days.

"Where is Dákk?" Górin asked, now with any trace of a smile, however feigned, gone from his face. When he addressed him, Handor had stopped in his tracks, and as he spoke, he remained still and rooted to the spot, though he slowly lowered himself ever so slightly into a more grounded stance.

"I don't know. He ran off." When Handor spoke, his voice seemed different. Not as though a different voice spoke through him, for it was undeniably Handor that spoke. Rather, the loud and forceful slides of the tone Górin had been listening to for the past branch had all but disappeared. In their place was a flat and joyless sound that he spoke only quietly, but almost dismissively. It was as though he looked not at the leader as a fellow woodsman but a strange adversary that was still sizing him up and judging his intent.

"Ran off?" Gorin repeated, looking blankly at him. "Do you know where he went?"

"No. I don't remember it so well." Handor began to slowly move forward, once again, though he now did so in a wide circle around Górin, never getting any closer than was seemingly necessary. As he approached the door, he was forced to come within about a fathom of the leader, and this final motion he made at a snail's pace.

"That is a fine buck you've got," Górin said, changing his own tone with some effort and returning the forced smile. Handor nodded and grunted.

"I've already dressed it," Handor replied plainly. As he passed into the doorway, Górin saw that it was true, but he turned an eyebrow at the mess that Handor had apparently made. Even though he hauled it upon his shoulders, the marks of a hasty and slippery-handed cut were well apparent. When he entered, he stopped for a moment and spoke back to Górin without turning around. "I...might like some help getting the meat cut. You would like to dry it for the journey, wouldn't you?"

Górin took a few steps back into the tower. "That would be tremendously useful. I wasn't expecting us to come out with anything at all, really." Now that Handor had returned, his reluctance to enter the tower with Troíde inside wavered. He followed his companion inside, and the two began to hang up the carcass upon a stone loop.

From the opening, the conversation between Troíde and Jynge suddenly ceased as the hunters hefted the deer up. After a moment, Troide poked her head around and greeted Handor, who only nodded in reply. Not long after, both ladies had joined them upon the ground floor.

There was perhaps four palms of sunlight left in the day, as best as could be judged beneath the thick cloud, and they had no wish to have to work by the light of a campfire. Some brief instruction was given to each in stripping the carcass, but that all seemed to pass once Górin had finished pulling the hide away and folding it to be worked on later. Rather than taking the customary first cut of the killer, Handor didn’t so much as move a finger. He stared at the body hanging from the ropes, stripped of flesh and everything that hid the meat, tendon, and bone. Perfect and clean, except for the mangled neck, it hung three in wait for his blade. He hesitated, and the others turned to him.

“I’m fine,” he said at last, as though in response to some question none had asked. Suddenly turning, he offered the knife to Górin, “I will go sit down a while. You may have the honor.”

You slothful bastard, Górin thought, as he turned the knife in his hand. He was about to grab Handor by the shoulder and pull him back to do his share of the work, but the surface of his mind quelled the rising wrath enough for him to bite his tongue and let the situation pass. He grunted in dislike of the sluggard and went about cutting the meat without ceremony or sanctity. He was hardly three cuts in that he noticed neither Troíde nor Jynge were making any motions, either. The lady of Elórdn did nothing to cut the remaining tendons from what Górin placed in front of her, and the witch simply stared off to the side. At a reminder, they began to proceed slowly, though after a few more cuts, Górin came to conclude that he would likely end up carrying the bulk of the work.

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The others eventually came around to doing their share, though nearly half of the carcass had been stripped by that point. Daylight was slowly but steadily diminishing, and more of the broken wood was dropped onto the fire. No conversation was had between the three all the while, and neither did Handor make any talk of his own choosing. Rather, he shifted uncomfortably where he stood, watching each movement they made, and breathed loudly enough to be heard over the mountains, much to Górin's annoyance. Jynge had moved away from the others, and went to tend to the stone oven, cleaning it out and bringing kindling to its chambers. Although she prepared it for their use, she openly declined the request to set it alight and get to cooking the meat. The task was taken up Troíde without a word, but with a depressed sigh.

They only cooked a small amount over the fire then, and left most to the side stones where it could cook more slowly over the night. When everything useful had been set upon the oven, and all that remained was the mangled carcass of red bone and sinew, Górin covertly removed it form the ropes and made for the exit of the tower. He didn’t need to go far, but he was getting irritated at being in the presence of his incompetent companions, and wished to be alone for as long as he could. Just outside the tower would have been a well enough dumping ground, but he headed for the trees below, anyway.

As he descended the eastern slope on the forest-side, he was so consumed in his own thoughts that he did not notice the pair of footsteps following not far behind him. Not until he was more than halfway to the treeline did he sense the furtive steps, and turned to see the tall frame of Handor standing not far away. His head was bent, as though staring down at the torn cadavers.

“You aren’t going to just leave it, are you?” He asked courteously, though hesitation tinged his every word.

Gorin was thankful the dull evening light made it difficult to see through the glass lenses of the masks, for he gave Handor a look that said something close to What do you think, you waste of life? With a few cautious first steps, he continued his trek towards the trees.

“We’ve taken all there was to take,” he said, “Nothing left here except for bone and sinew. Is there something wrong?”

“No,” Handor readily said, “Well, perhaps. Were you certain that we have collected enough to dispose of the carcass?”

“I collected all that there was to be had,” Górin replied, “You need not worry yourself. We’ll have more than enough to last us the rest of the journey.” By then, he had reached the bottom of the slope, and found a well-enough place as any to drop the remains. With an exaggerated motion, he laid out the broken body between two trees. “If any vultures fly in this wretched place, here is their share.” Wiping his damp red hands on his trousers, he stepped back towards the ridge.

“All the same,” Handor muttered, unamused, “I would still like to be certain of this. I’ll take just a quick look.” With a quick turn, he moved around Górin and stepped over to where the deer was laid. He knelt down near it, and reached up towards his head to remove his mask.

“You can trust my word,” Górin said flatly as he stopped his steps to turn and watch as Handor bent over the carcass. “Handor, leave that thing on. There could still be remnants of the Veil lingering about this place.”

The man gave no indication that he had even heard him. His fingers trembled as they tried to undo the straps upon his head, and he fumbled for some moments until Górin stepped forward and slapped his hands away.

“Leave it on!” Górin’s fist tightened as he spied a point in the back of Handor’s head. He was in a perfect position. With a good punch, he could knock him out, or possibly kill him. He imagined Handors’s head bursting into a red mist as his fist shattered through the neckbones, and his heart began to beat quickly. Then he imagined a dull crack and the kneeling ranger merely falling over in a lifeless slump.

He needed not repeat himself another time to break Handor from his daze. For as a moment of silence after his last words was offered to give Handor a chance to listen to him, a third voice sounded out through the trees. Handor’s head rose, and in a few moments of searching for the source of the call, they both saw a motion of color, some hundred paces away.

“Dákk!” Górin called out, his anger sinking as relief rose in its place. “Dákk, come over here!”

The distant ranger stopped and the white beaked skeletal face pointed directly at Górin. After a moment, Dákk looked about him cautiously, then made a direct line in their direction.

“This is not a safe place for us,” he said when he finally reached the pair. Handor had thankfully stood up and ceased the attempt to remove his mask, though his shoulders still rose and fell heavily with each breath.

“Clearly,” Gorin said. “We were wondering when you would return. Come, you must be exhausted. There’s meat on the fire, and we’ll all be up late as Jynge is doing her work.”

“I don’t like the feel of things here,” Dákk said, ignoring Górin's words, but still following him as he turned to ascend the slope. “There are strange presences that approach and others that remain. I think we should return to Elb-”

“No,” Górin interjected. “I don’t like the feel of this place either, and it is a near miracle that Jynge’s potion kept all of us are alive beneath that Veil.” He paused, tempering himself before he spoke words he preferred to keep private for the time. “However, it is vital that we finish the task in Kaðrosedd as quickly as possible. I am not turning us back around.”

“He is right in that regard,” Handor added, “It would only be a waste of time if we were to turn back now.”

“Right,” Dákk slowly replied. None saw it, but beneath his mask, Dákk gave Handor a look of confusion, unease, and distrust. A feeling of hesitation came over him, and he argued no further as the three returned to the tower of High Ridge.

Back in the tower, a supper of the deer was being sorted out just as the three rangers walked through the entryway. Almost everyone ate separately and spoke plainly to each other, without mirth or much more than a pleasant acknowledgment. As time went on and the sky grew ever darker, however, a slow conversation between the five developed to something resembling friendliness, though not quite what would encourage sitting closer.

Jynge had eaten the fastest and spoken the least during supper. Even then, most of her words were shared in whispers with Troíde; the only two that sat together. She had routinely kept a watchful eye of the light outside, not daring to slacken her pace, should she miss the true setting of the sun from behind the clouds. Once her share had been properly devoured, she stood up from the stone on which she sat, and addressed her companions as a group for the first time since morning.

“With dusk coming nigh onto us, I will begin the ritual shortly,” she began in a weak voice, “I should make it clear now and once again that this is the purpose for which I have been sent to High Ridge and Kaðrosedd. This is neither a simple task, nor is it swift, but do not think that I am not confident in its success. I have trained long in the preparation of such a spell, and it is for this that I ask you to leave me to my own while I am working. I shall require concentration and focus, as well as much of my own energy. Unless there is some great need, I ask that you not disturb me.

"What happened this morning," she said, slowing her words, "was a great misfortune, but I am glad that we are all still here, now."

With that, she headed for her makeshfit bed, and retrieved her traveling packs. Looking up at the hole leading to the upper level and then back to the packs that she held in her hands, she heaved a sigh and went to looking around the room again. Sensing her trouble, Górin and Handor stepped over and aided her in transporting her things up to the higher levels.

There was hardly any further exchange between the witch and her companions, thenceforth. Upon the last of her things being pulled up to the rooftop, Jynge leaned over the trapdoor, her figure a hooded shadow against the sky, and called down to them. “Goodnight,” she said.

She moved from the trapdoor, and said nothing more to them.