That is until Clint stumbled upon something. There was a fog or a mist that quickly came from nowhere on a westerly wind when he could start hearing high pitched laughter.

“Turn back Mortals yet you face your reckoning and doom.”

Clint's horse begins to get nervous and skittish. A loud wail and dissonant whisper echoes discordant and painful to the ear drums making Clint hold his ears away from the reins. His horse rears up and Clint is thrown from the saddle in a panic, smacking into the ground for the horse to rise and gallop away in a whinny fading whine.

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“Hahahahahaa you should follow the lead of your noble steed human.” The voice mocks.

“…Sken…”

Clint slowly rises to his feet with his eyes down cast behind his giant’s enchanted helm, seeping dripping dread from the malevolent gaze.

“I fear no human and I’ve met your kind before. Your tricks will not work on me…”

Clint’s stance is met with more screeching whispers and howls on the wind swirling the mist and fog.

And then nothing…