Walking Through the Forest at Night

The farm on the notice was about a mile or two east of Goldshire. By the time they arrived, it was evening.

The farm belonged to a family named Stormill. Jess didn't remember seeing a farm with that name on the map. Since Stormill meant a broad lake in Common, people often called it Great Lake Farm.

There was nothing resembling a lake anywhere nearby. Even the nearest river was about two and a half miles south.

Jess had brought the orc staff to fight the wolves. Against animals, a longer weapon gave him an advantage. These were wolves, not worgs, and they probably couldn't take many hits. An axe would be less flexible.

He'd wrapped the staff tightly in cloth, though, so nobody who knew weapons would see its color or material.

Gred carried a sword and had a bow on his back. He looked far more like a professional fighter than Jess did in his street-thug outfit. The two walked openly toward the farm.

Despite its grand name, Great Lake Farm wasn't very big. It actually looked smaller than the farm they'd snuck into in Duskwood. The mill and granary both seemed rather modest.

Jess looked over the place and had the odd feeling he could build all the fences and buildings himself, except for the house.

"Hey! Anyone here?" the dwarf shouted.

A man peeked out from behind a standing bundle of straw. The moment he saw them, he turned and ran.

"Why's he running?" Gred asked, puzzled.

Jess looked at the dwarf, then at himself, and immediately shouted, "We're not bandits! We're here to help, Mr. Stormill!"

Halfway across the farm, the man glanced back but kept running until he reached the granary.

They followed him there. Suddenly he charged out holding a pitchfork. Gred immediately caught the fork between his sword and pushed it aside, pinning it into the dirt.

"We're here to help! What are you doing?"

"Get out!" the man said through clenched teeth. "What good are you now?!"

"What happened?" Jess asked.

"My child... My daughter was only four months old!" He stared at Jess. "Those wolves carried her away! I couldn't even catch them!"

"When?" Jess asked.

"The day before yesterday! I've reported it to the guards in Goldshire more times than I can count. If you'd come sooner and found those wolves, this wouldn't have happened!"

"Why didn't you go look for them yourself?" the dwarf asked.

"I can't leave the farm!" The man's words were tumbling out in his distress. "My wife was bitten. I couldn't kill more than a few of the wolves. I can't do anything right. I'm useless!"

He suddenly tried to pull the pitchfork free. When it wouldn't move, he reached for the dwarf's sword. Jess rushed forward and pinned him to the ground, but the frantic man burst free with astonishing strength and crashed straight into Gred.

They rolled around in a pile of chopped straw, sending pieces flying everywhere. The man scrambled up and reached for the sword again, only to find its point against his neck.

"Try that again and I won't need a wolf to send you to your ancestors," the dwarf said coldly.

"I want to find those wolves! I want to kill them!"

The man shouted in despair, slumped against a stack of grain sacks, and punched a wooden post so hard the whole granary shook.

Stolen story; please report.

Gred lowered the point of his sword a little. He had the feeling the man was no longer thinking straight.

Jess watched the man, then looked toward the little house. An old woman stood in the doorway, barely able to keep herself upright.

She said nothing and only stared blankly. Jess thought she might be too old and confused to understand what had happened.

She was probably the man's mother, or his wife's.

The man had supported two women and a child with this farm. There was little he could do when wolves attacked in the middle of the night. If the child was carried away, of course he wouldn't dare chase them very far.

If he went too far and the wolves doubled back, they might kill his entire family.

How could an old woman who barely knew what was happening and a young woman who had just given birth fight off a pack of wolves?

"My name isn't Stormill," the man said quietly. "This is my wife's family farm. She's a Stormill. My name's Matt. Matt Fryer."

He picked up the pitchfork. "I'll take this and come with you. We'll kill every one of those wolves. Every last one. I'll avenge my child."

"We're being paid for this job, Mr. Fryer," Jess said, patting his shoulder. "If you come along, we'll have to share the money with you. Can't have that. Stay home and protect your family. If we find the wolves, we'll take care of them."

The man was so angry he couldn't think clearly. Bringing him would probably make things harder, and they'd have to protect him from getting hurt.

Fryer stood there at a loss for words.

Finally he said softly, "If you find my child, or... her bones, or anything she left behind, please bring it back. I'll pay you extra. I don't have much money left, maybe two silver. I know that's not much to mercenaries like you, but I mean it. Whatever you find—even just her clothes. At least I'll have something to tell my wife."

"Two silver isn't nothing," Jess said. "Whatever happens, you've got to pull yourself together."

The man nodded. "That's what my wife keeps saying."

"She's right. Go look after her and keep watch over the farm. Don't let those wolves in again tonight."

"I know." The man started to turn away, then remembered something. "Those wolves... Someone said a pack lives in the woods to the south."

"How many wolves?" Gred asked.

The man rubbed his eyes. "Hunters say they've often seen them roaming around in groups of four or five lately. I didn't dare go looking alone. That's why I asked Goldshire for help."

After he left, Gred watched his defeated figure and asked, "Do we go now, or wait until morning?"

Jess rested his staff across his shoulder. "Let's start looking. What if the child is still alive? Besides, wolves should be easier to find at night."

"How likely is the child to be alive?" Gred asked.

"Whatever the chances, we have to look as soon as we can."

"Don't get your hopes up. Know your limits. I'd hate for that child to somehow still be alive while the two of us end up dead."

Jess let out a long sigh. "This sounds a lot harder than the bounty notice made it seem."

"I've got the same feeling," Gred said.

Searching for something in the real Elwynn Forest was far harder than doing a quest in the game version.

Especially at night. Wherever Jess looked, he saw the same dark trees. Every now and then some unknown animal would call. Once they got far enough from the farm, they lost their only landmark.

Duskwood had high ground in its center, covered in an ancient forest of enormous trees. You could use the slope and the forest's shadow to keep your bearings.

Here, Jess could hardly see anything at all.

"Ever hunted wolves before?" he asked.

"Not at night." Gred stepped over some roots. "But I'm certain there are wolves here. And not just because that man said so. Look..."

He pulled up a clump of brush. "Here."

In the darkness, Jess had to lean close to Gred's hand to make out a few silvery strands by the faint moonlight.

"Wolf fur?"

Gred nodded. "I've got good news and bad news."

"Good news first," Jess said automatically.

"Does the order matter?" Gred asked. "The good news is, there's plenty of wolf fur around. I've seen lots of it since we started walking. That means finding the den might be easy."

Jess finished for him. "And the bad news is, there's too much fur."

Gred spread his hands. "Exactly. Let's hope all this fur came from pups following their mother. If it's a whole big pack, we're in trouble."

"Should we head back?" Jess asked.

"A bit late for that." Gred looked up at the moonlight coming through the canopy. "We might as well build a fire here. It'll keep animals away. I need some sleep before the fighting starts. You stand watch for a while. Don't worry, I'll only sleep a little."

Jess knew Gred had always been the kind to fall asleep as soon as he got tired. He nodded. They walked until the trees grew thinner, and Gred found a clearing and sat down.

He felt around his clothes. "Damn. I forgot my tinder. Did I drop it on the road?"

"I've got some." Jess took a tinderbox from the warlock's bag and handed it over.

Gred looked at the bag. "It's pretty nice, actually. I mean the bag."

It certainly looked expensive. It didn't resemble orc-made gear at all. It looked more like something a noble or an archmage might carry. Walking around the Mage Quarter with it made Jess look quite impressive.

Jess went looking for dry branches and sticks to burn. Gred cleared the ground, sat down, and began striking flint with his dagger. After every couple of strikes, he'd blow on the tinder where the sparks landed.

"Hey, Jess, why don't you try for a bit? This stuff doesn't seem to work."

"Maybe the air's too damp."

Jess had just turned around when he saw them: ten or twenty yards behind Gred, pairs of shining eyes watching from the bushes.