"Answers later," Mister Walthers answered curtly, and he started off at a trot, following the bootprints and direbeast tracks.

Hildesman waited two full seconds. The voice in his head was chuckling. He didn't like that. He didn't like that apparently Mister Walthers could hear the voice. According to Teach, the voice shouldn't even exist except as a part of his own mind. But whatever was going on, Mister Walthers had a point, after a fashion. Hildesman caught up to the other trapper quickly, and they quickly sped up until they were moving at an easy lope.

The trail was easy enough to follow. Direwolves were thin, but they were still big. Normally, they were smart enough to stick to paths that wouldn't leave deep footprints, but apparently this one was following the human bootprints and whoever that was, they were choosing the direction of travel. As they ran, Hildesman drew his bolter, holding it but not priming its charge.

After a quarter mile, the tracks turned so they were moving directly toward Teach's house. He and Mister Walthers had scarcely been outside the wall for a full hour. It was still most of a day to get to Teach's house.

"Hold up." Hildesman signaled. Mister Walthers slowed to a walk next to him, breathing steadily, but glaring at the tracks and clenching and unclenching his fists. Hildesman slung his pack over his shoulder and started to rummage in one of the pockets without stopping. "The trail just turned toward our destination--"

"Then why are we slowing down?" Mister Walthers demanded, half under his breath. "They're going to hurt my family, Mister Hildesman."

"The house is still most of a day's travel away. Even if we kept our previous pace the whole way, it would take us four or five hours to get there. And we'd be in no shape to fight a direwolf when we did. We don't know how much of a lead these Exiles and their pet wolf have on us."

Mister Walthers nodded, though his jaw was so tense it seemed more like a threat than an acknowledgement. "Fine. But we can't walk the whole way or we'll never catch up to them."

"I know," Hildesman found what he was looking for. A small tin of stimulant chew. The same that he used to keep him up at night. It would help hold off fatigue, provided they had enough food to keep their bodies running. He pulled out two of the pellets and passed one to Mister Walthers. "Hold on to that for a second." From another pocket, Hildesman pulled out a specialized ration. It was a mixture of grain, honey, and animal fat that tasted worse than it looked, but one cake could keep a man warm for a whole day. He kept a couple in the pack for emergencies only. He tore a cake in two, and passed one half to Mister Walthers. "Eat that, then chew but don't swallow the pellet. It's a stimulant."

Mister Walthers sniffed both, then did as Hildesman said. "Hate these things," he managed around a mouthful of pasty ration. "The stimulant pellet. Any side effects?"

"Short term, no. Long term, it's gonna be like a really bad hangover. I can manage about three nights on it before my head starts pounding, if I have to."

"Habit forming?"

"No. Alchemists finally licked that a few years back. I didn't start packing it until I was confident they were telling the truth."

"Okay," Mister Walthers said, putting the pellet in between his teeth and biting down. Hildesman finished his own ration and did the same. "Ready?"

Hildesman started jogging in answer, speeding up as he went. "Let's go a little faster. We won't tire out as fast with this chew, and I already know where they're heading."

"Good," Mister Walthers said. A minute later, they were both at a full stride, weaving between the few branches left in the wake of the direwolf's passing.

---

It took another hour before fatigue started to bleed through the rush of the stimulant chew. Hildesman had to start regulating his breath, which was difficult while also remembering to chew the stimulant. Mister Walthers seemed to be having a more difficult time with it, having advanced to a slight pant, but his pace didn't flag. Either he kept up, or Hildesman would be picking a fight even more unbalanced than he expected.

The trail hadn't shifted more than the width of a tree trunk in that whole time. As they approached, Hildesman started to see signs that they were catching up. Grass that had started to spring up earlier in the trail was still trampled into the muddy soil. He had returned his bolter to its holster when they had stopped to eat their dense rations, but he drew it into his hand again. At the edge of his vision, he saw Mister Walthers swing his heavy steambow on its shoulder strap into a ready position without breaking stride.

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Another mile later, they broke into a clearing. Hildesman briefly stopped. He didn't recognize this clearing. He'd spent enough time going to and from Teach's house over the last decade that he thought he know all the major features of this strip of forest. The clearing was almost half mile, from edge to edge, and it was roughly circular. The trees grew uncharacteristically thick around its edges, almost as if forming a wall with their trunks. The path their targets had followed went through one of the only gaps.

"What?" Mister Walthers asked, pacing slightly as his breathing steadied. "Why did you stop?"

"This clearing shouldn't be here," Hildesman answered, keeping his voice down. Mister Walthers looked around. Hildesman knew what the other trapper was looking for, because he had looked for it himself. Signs of toolwork. Stumps, or wheel tracks. If this clearing was new, someone must have made it. Or at the very least, fallen trees. But the ground was all dirt and moss-covered boulders. A few tufts of clumpy, waist-high grass grew here and there, but none large enough to hide signs of a lumber project. And the wall. It seemed to be entirely natural, except for being too circular.

"I don't like the look of this place," Mister Walthers finally answered, after scanning their immediate surroundings. He had dropped his voice as well, after seeing what Hildesman saw. Without needing to discuss, Hildesman primed his bolter and Mister Walthers levered a cartridge into his steambow.

"Agreed," Hildesman replied, crouching down. "Trail's thinner with less dirt. Help me find which way they went. Let's start straight across, they were following a mostly-straight line to get here."

Mister Walthers nodded, and he set off for the opposite side of the circle. Hildesman tried to follow the trail through the center, but lost track of it when a boulder as long as he was tall and twice as wide cut across the path. Mister Walthers, meanwhile, had began to circle the clearing along the edge, going clockwise. That meant the trail didn't continue on the opposite side. Which made Hildesman even more suspicious.

There was a sudden crack from off to his left. Hildesman spun, bolter leveled, and saw one of the trees on the edge of the clearing falling inward.

Behind it was a man dressed in tree bark tied together with vines. Hildesman had never seen anything like it. He fired his bolter, but a quarter mile was a nearly-impossible shot with the sidearm. The lance of electric energy slammed into the wall of trees to the man's left. The man seemed weirdly calm about it, and raised one palm towards Hildesman. Hildesman kept his bead and glanced behind him to see Mister Walthers had circled around to get a clear line and was steadily walking forward, steambow aimed at the newcomer.

"Don't worry!" The man in the bark armor shouted across the distance. "I'm just the messenger." He stepped over the jagged stump where the tree had fallen into the ground. A flare of yellow-white light on the underside of his forearm nearly had Hildesman pulling the trigger again, but it faded before anything threatening happened.

Hildesman didn't shout back. Instead he shuffled to the side until he could put a boulder between himself and the man. Large enough to hide behind, short enough to see over. To his right, Mister Walthers selected a similar cover, and rested the stock of his steambow on its edge to steady it.

When the man came within about a hundred yards, he stopped. Hildesman could make out features on his face, now. He was young, possibly still a teenager. The bark he had tied around himself seemed to flex as he moved, acting more like ordinary cloth instead of the rigid armor it should logically have been. A faint yellow glow came from one arm. Marked, then. Presumably something to do with plants, considering his armor and the way that tree had just fallen without any axe or saw.

"What do you want?" Hildesman demanded. His bolter was leveled at the bark man's chest. "We're in kind of a hurry today."

"I know," the bark man said. "My colleague. No, that's not quite right. My rival-turned-temporary-ally. Yes. She is the reason you're in a hurry. But, she got tired of playing prey, so she asked me to come back here and negotiate with you."

"Why would she said a Marked to negotiate with city folks. I know you know what that means to us, even outside the walls."

"Well, coming herself would have been even more shocking, woodsman. She's Marked too."

"Not doing yourself a lot of favors here, stranger," Hildesman said. He spared a glance for Mister Walthers, and was relieved to see that the other trapper had turned his attention to the rest of the clearing. This bark man might just be a distraction while his heretic friends launched an ambush.

"Well, we didn't have a lot of tools to work with. But, then, neither do you. I'll open the negotiations by telling you that the little Champion is safe, for now. The hunt has been...delayed."

Hildesman swore in his mind. The voice of the Huntmaster returned at that point. We are in agreement on that front, hunter. But, I assure you, this man is telling the truth. Some of my...siblings...and I have reached an agreement.

"Huntmaster is explaining things to you right now, right?" The bark man said. "You know I'm operating from a place of truth."

Instinctively, Hildesman turned to Mister Walthers. Mister Walthers met his gaze, and nodded. He could still hear what was going on in Hildesman's head. And from the set of his shoulders, he seemed to think the Huntmaster was being honest.

"Okay. Why? Why call off this challenge?" Hildesman demanded. Mister Walthers may have relaxed his grip from 'actively aiming' to 'ready', but Hildesman kept his sights centered on the bark man's chest. "And how do you know about the Huntmaster? He's a figment of my imagination!"

"Oh, he is...so much more than that, Mister Hildesman. And as much as he wants you to be his Champion, some of his peers weren't too happy to risk their own Champions in the plight. The Listener and Patience managed to approach my own patron before things got out of hand. He went to the Houndkeeper. The Houndkeeper managed to contact the Huntmaster. There are more voices in more peoples' heads than you realize, Mister Hildesman. Isn't that right, Percy?" The bark man turned to Mister Walthers. "Or should I say, Champion Percy Walthers? I should wonder that you didn't know this message was coming."