• PM To Join • Fit the First The crew was complete: it included a Boots

[Oram Mednix]

At the Sign of the Hangry Huntsman.

Darius explained their errand to the innkeeper. The woman laughed. Oram frowned and shot both her and Darius a baffled look. What was so damned funny? This was the second time someone had had a laugh at his expense since they had started this thing, and he definitely did not appreciate it. But grousing about it wouldn’t get them what they needed, so he held his tongue long enough for the innkeeper to tell them about this Rorn person.

She was nice to Mule,though, and that won her some points back with the hunter. ”He likes apples, too,” he mentioned. ”And there’s a couple in the saddlebags in case you don’t have one handy.” The outstretched hand brought a scowl to his face. Payment up front, eh? Folks were right about Egilrunners. Nel-grubbers, the lot of ‘em. With an annoyed sigh, he started rummaging through his coin purse.

”Men-folk all tell me I have nice apples,” the innkeeper said, with a mischievous wink at Darius.

Oram, preoccupied with counting out money, missed the joke completely. ”Good,” he said. ”It sounds like Mule is in good hands, then.” The innkeeper hadn’t quoted a price, so Oram could only guess at a sum. He handed the coins over. ”Where can we find this Rorn fellow?”

The innkeeper weighed the coins with an expression Oram knew quite well from certain townies he had dealt with in Scalvoris; it meant she considered his offer a bit light. Being in a sour mood, he simply glared at her and made no move to increase the sum. ”I’m sure he’s around somewhere,” she answered vaguely, bouncing the coins in her palm meaningfully.

Oram knew what that gesture meant. He didn’t care. ”I’m sure we’ll find him somehow,” he shot back. Realizing that being a complete grump probably wouldn’t get them what they had come for, he sighed and fished a couple more nels -but just a couple- out of his bag. ”We’ve had a long and tiring journey to get here. I’m sure my mood will improve once we’ve been off our feet a bit and had something to eat.” He didn’t bother to pretend that he meant it.

The innkeeper shot Darius a questioning look, as if to ask: is he always like this? ”The common room is that way,” she said, pointing. ”I’ll see to your meal once I’ve gotten this handsome fella taken care of.” She patted the mule on the nose.

”I can tend to Mule,” Oram offered shortly. ”I’d like to see the stables for myself, if that’s alright. The sooner Darius and I can get fed and situated, the better.”

The innkeeper paused a trill, then nodded, told Oram where the stables were, and the traveler went off to get his animal sorted out. While he was gone, she turned to Darius and gestured for him to follow. The common room to which she led him was large, but surprisingly warm and not drafty. As for fare, they had warm cider and some hearty fish stew ready-made. They also had chicory coffee. They had stronger drink, too, but it was all cold. Other food items on the menu would take time to cook. ”Any idea what your…friend wants?” she asked. After taking Darius’ order, she continued: ”As for Rorn, he’s not hard to find. His farmstead is just a bit east of here. Last place before the road towards the mountains starts to peter out into a trail. He’s got a sign at his gate with a big ‘R’ painted on it. You won’t miss it, even in this gloom.”

She then asked: ”How long are you planning to stay in Egilrun? And what sort of room are you looking for?”

Oram appeared a few bits later, around the time Cornelia brought the drinks. She shot the hunter a cool look. ”Are the stables adequate?” she asked. He nodded, either missing or ignoring the tone. ”They’re the best stables I’ve seen in a while, actually.”

The kind remark seemed to take her aback for a trill. Oram ignored that, too, as he set himself down opposite Darius. Cider and fish stew was just fine with him. He ate and drank in silence, partly because he was quite hungry. Partly.

Once the innkeeper had seen to their room and their fare, she delegated their attendance to her staff. She had other guests and customers, after all. That left the two of them time to eat in peace. After Oram had wolfed down two bowls of stew, and gnawed the greater part of a hunk of bread the size of both his fists, he sat back and looked across at Darius. ”Seams had better reimburse us for this,” he muttered. ”Or he can find his own damned owl.”

He sighed. His words notwithstanding, the hunter’s mood had softened a bit thanks to the meal. ”Good food,” he said curtly. ”I’ll give her that. So. Do you want to go see Rorn as soon as we’re done eating, or do you want to rest a bit first?”

One more thought occurred to him. ”She said something about people coming to look for the owl every Cylus. We should ask Rorn about that when we see him.” He reckoned maybe they could ask the innkeeper, too, but he didn’t want to.

[Darius Baer]

Darius' confused facial expression was mirrored by Oram as the innkeeper laughed at the task set before them. She seemed to think they were on a fool's errand. Perhaps they were?

In all his arcs, the blond had never seen the Cylus Owl, though rumours of its existence often seemed to make their way to Scalvoris Town. And, he reasoned, if Professor Seams was looking for one, that suggested the bird was both real and elusive, which perhaps justified the mockery.

Darius' brief contemplation was interrupted by the innkeeper's mention of her apples, and he could feel the flush of heat in his cheeks that instantly fought the cold. For a split-trill, his gaze dropped to a place that - had she still been alive - would have disappointed his mother. He immediately looked away, and he hoped the woman had not caught his unconscious glance, but he couldn't be sure. Mercifully, the discussion had turned to payment, and though the seafarer felt as though he'd run himself aground, he was grateful that Oram was not nearly so easily flustered, and soon the nels had changed hands.

The first time Darius dared to look the innkeeper in the eye again was when Oram made no secret of his grumpy attitude. The bearded blond himself was not entirely sure why. Was it because he hadn't paid an equal share? He resolved to cover his companion's meal costs, just in case. He managed an awkward but subtle shrug of his shoulders, as if to tell the woman that he wasn't entirely sure what had bothered the hunter so, and despite the earlier awkwardness, he felt a sense of relief as Oram led Mule away to the stables and the tension began to ease.

Darius followed their host into the building, his eyelids fluttering closed briefly as the warmth of the room met his half-numb face. When he opened them again, the innkeeper had already rounded the bar and was asking what Oram might want to eat.

"Anything hot, to stave off the cold," he responded, figuring taste would be little more than an afterthought.

The bearded blond nodded as he made a mental note of where to find Rorn, before deciding on a modest room with two simple beds, and arranging for he and Oram to stay on a nightly basis. He decided such an arrangement gave them the flexibility they needed, should they find themselves stalking their prey in the wilderness overnight, or if they had to return to Scalvoris Town earlier than planned.

"If you don't mind me asking," he ventured, awkwardly attempting to shift the topic of conversation, "what's so funny about hunting the Cylus Owl?"

"Oh honey," the woman replied with the tone a mother might use with her naïvely curious child. "Every Cylus, someone from Scalv-Town comes out here, adamant they'll find it, and they always go back home empty handed."

The woman reached out and rested a hand on Darius' forearm and offered him a playful wink.

"But you can call me Carmelia," she smiled.

Darius hoped he could pass off the colouring in his cheeks as being caused by the warmth in the room, and he was relieved when Oram's arrival sent the conversation in another direction. He was glad to find himself at a table with a hot meal and away from Carmelia's charms. Much to his surprise, Oram's grumpy company didn't seem so bad after all.

"We've walked some distance this trial," Darius replied to Oram's question as he looked at what was left of the stew in his bowl, "but this meal will give us some strength. We have a room to stay in tonight, but I don't see why we can't talk to Rorn first."

The human relayed the information he'd gleaned from the innkeeper, before taking his last mouthful of food and wiping his mouth with the back of the same forearm that Cornelia had held. Perhaps that would give it a clean stew slate.

[Oram Mednix]

Leave no tern unstoned

Oram nodded vaguely at Darius’ suggestion that they press on to Rorn’s farm. Nodded, because he agreed with his companion’s thoughts on the matter; vaguely, because the food, the warmth, the sitting were all conspiring to weigh his limbs down, pressing home the fatigue he had until then managed to keep at bay with motion and purpose. He willed his mind to work through Darius’ words, to figure out their import.

”People have been boasting, have they?” he asked around a stifled yawn. ”They’re gonna find it? We’ll have to ask who Seams has been sending before; they sound like fools.” He rubbed his temples, blinked a few times, looked up with a grin at Darius. ”We’re not fools, though, are we? Maybe we’ll find this owl, maybe we won’t, but we aren’t going around bragging about it beforehand.”

He poured himself the last bit of chicory and stared thoughtfully into the cup, the grin fading into something more serious. ”Somebody’s not telling us straight,” he muttered: ”Seams made it sound like folks here were in an uproar about this thing killing their chickens and such.” Without looking up he pointed with his thumb towards the front of the inn. ”…but Apple Lady here acts like it’s some sort of legend, some phantom for gullible idiots to chase. I hope we get something more useful from this Rorn character.”

The hunter sipped quietly on his drink for a bit or so, then sat up suddenly and set the cup down with a dull but emphatic *thunk*. ”You know, Darius, now that I think of it, I *definitely* want to see this Rorn as soon as possible, if only to figure out the truth of why we’re even here.” With a grunt he pushed his bench back from the table and lumbered to his feet. ”I’m ready when you are.”

The biting cold that the two men had left at the inn’s door a break before jumped on them like an attention-starved pet the moment they stepped back outside. The initial shock was unpleasant, but it dispelled the drowsiness that had started to set in on them, and the warm break and the hot meal fortified them enough for the short trip to Rorn’s farm.

In the evening gloom, one could not make out the ‘R’ device on the shield in front of the farmhouse unless one held a candle right up to it, but Darius and Oram were both sure they were at the right place as soon as they caught sight of it. The entire farmstead was silent under the Cylus snow, and nothing stirred that either Oram or Darius could see; reassuringly, however, there were lights in the windows, so somebody was presumably awake within. A dog barked from somewhere in the bowels of the house when Oram knocked. Then, what seemed like breaks later, the door opened to reveal a white-haired man, about as tall as Oram and as broad-shouldered as Darius, and thicker in girth than either.

Holding a torch out to one side of the doorway, he regarded the strange night visitors from under bushy white eyebrows that overshadowed his eyes in the flickering torchlight. Oram didn’t even have time to open his mouth before the man said: ”You’re here from Scalvoris about the black owl. Who else would you be? I’m Rorn. Welcome. Come in.”

They entered a cozy front room dimly lit with rushlights -dimly, that is, once Rorn put out the torch. There was one interior door leading deeper into the house, which was closed. From behind it they could hear the barking dog more clearly. A woman’s muffled voice came from the door asking if everything was alright. ”I’ve got visitors asking about the owl,” Rorn called out. ”Everything’s fine. Shut the damned dog up.”

Rorn gestured for Darius and Oram to sit on one of the benches arranged along the length of the room. There were pegs on the walls and boots on the floor behind the benches; this was clearly a mudroom. ”You’ll pardon my hospitality, I hope,” Rorn explained. ”We don’t usually entertain uninvited visitors after supper. You fellas need anything before we talk owls?”

Oram shook his head. ”We ate at the inn just before coming here; we’ll be fine to make our way back, I think.” He looked questioningly over at Darius to see if he had anything to add.

Rorn didn’t. ”Owl’s real,” he stated laconically, as if he were reading Oram’s doubts. ”It’s been picking at my chicken coop last several nights.” The farmer spit. ”Last arc this time it got some of my chickens. This time I got the coop better-prepared, so it hasn’t gotten in, but that didn’t stop it from trying. This season, on account of it’s dark all trial round, the owl will hunt practically any time. I’ve seen it on my fence posts, watching when I go into the coop, all brazen and unafraid like. Biggest owl I ever seen, an’ black as you please. Not just dark on account of it being gloomy, *black*. I got feathers to prove it. You can have ‘em if it’ll mean anything to that Professor fellah that sent you.”

Rorn sat back and grinned. ”I pegged it with a rock, couple trials back. Hit it pretty good, too. It flew away, but I think I might have hurt it, at least some. Haven’t seen it since, but I know it’s still around somewhere.”

The farmer peered from under his white eyebrows at the two men. ”So, what are your questions?”

[Darius Baer]

Darius ate, for the most part, in silence. He was content to listen to Oram as he took mouthfuls of hot stew, and he could feel the growing warmth in his stomach as he did so. His conversational contributions consisted mostly of nodding and shaking his head at the appropriate times.

Yes, people had been boasting. No, he and Oram weren't fools. Yes, he too hoped Rorn would be helpful.

His economic conversational contribution meant he had already finished his meal by the time Oram rose from his seat. Even so, his body still took some convincing, for no matter how hard the wooden benches in the common room were, they were situated much closer to any fires than the outdoors could offer.

He forgot his aching muscles as soon as he stepped into the street. The cold that had so harshly bitten at the two men on the road from Scalvoris Town was in no mood to loosen its frosty jaws. Darius found himself squinting into a dark gloom that was punctuated by frequent but haphazard white flakes that drifted down from the heavens.

The blond was relieved that they found the farm when they did; doubly so, that Rorn welcomed them inside.

The farmer was able to guess their intentions immediately. Perhaps he had been expecting them - or, at least, was not surprised to encounter them, despite the late break. Darius imagined that living on the outskirts of the town meant he received few visitors, and if Carmelia was directing all aspiring bird watchers towards him, then his assumptions made sense.

The tips of Darius' toes had barely begun to defrost before Rorn began to talk about the Cylus Owl. The broad-shouldered visitor tried to take mental notes of as much as he could. He might have cursed himself for not having a parchment ready, but his fingers were too cold to allow him to write, so it made no difference. The human sent occasional glances in Oram's direction, to gauge the man's reactions, but it was clear that despite Carmelia's supercilious attitude, the farmer clearly believed the bird to be real.

"The feathers would be helpful, thank you," Darius was eventually able to say without fear of interruption. "What can you tell us about its size? And does it only appear during Cylus?"

"Mostly," Rorn was quick to answer. "I reckon it's because the Scalv Mountains are too cold this time of arc, though that's just a guess. And trust me, young'un, it's big enough. You won't mistake it for a regular owl, that's for sure!"

The farmer offered a sardonic laugh, then, though it was short-lived, and the man was soon listening again.

"Does it always come to the same part of your farm?" Darius asked.

"It aims for the chicken coop, obviously," Rorn replied, "but I reckon it comes from different directions. Except the town side of the farm. Likes to keep its distance from too many people, I suppose. Now, you want those feathers?"

Darius nodded gratefully, then sent a curious glance to Oram. The shorter man was the one with hunting experience, after all, and he might have some more relevant questions than Darius.

[Oram Mednix]

Counting coop

Oram nodded in response to Rorn’s asking if the pair wanted to see the owl’s feathers, though he might just as easily have shrugged. They wouldn’t actually be much help tracking down the owl, and if the farmer was telling it true, wouldn’t be needed to identify it. He reckoned they might be of interest to Seams, though, especially if he and Darius ended up otherwise empty-handed.

Rorn answered the hunter’s nod with one of his own, and excused himself to go into the back part of the house. He cracked open the door cautiously and was greeted by an eager flurry of scrabbling and snuffling. ”Get back, you!” he growled warningly, as he pushed the unseen dog back from the doorway and closed the door again quickly behind him.

His equally unseen wife must have gotten the dog in hand in the interval, for when Rorn reappeared, he opened the door and entered the room easily. In his free hand he held a large flight feather, at least the size of a swan’s. When he handed it to Darius, he also had a couple smaller downy feathers in his palm. Oram peered over to look. All the feathers were deeply, utterly black. In the firelight the large plume looked almost like a feather-shaped void; only the bases of the shafts were a lighter color.

”You can keep those,” offered Rorn. ”I only kept them in case somebody came, anyway.”

After a moment of examining the feathers, Oram looked up at the farmer. ”Could you take us to the spot where you struck it?” he asked. Rorn grumbled a bit. ”It’s late,” he pointed out. ”And dark. Why don’t you boys come by tomorrow during daytime. Even in Cylus, it’ll be more light out then.”

That made sense to Oram, and he said so. His tired mind also couldn’t think of any helpful questions to ask just then, either. Perhaps he would have more after a few breaks’ sleep. What did Darius think?

[Darius Baer]

Darius was content to remain silent as Rorn and Oram continued the conversation. He was, after all, a man of the sea - or, at least, he would be, in time - but he freely admitted that the nature of birds and the art of hunting them were definitely not his strong points.

He waited patiently, offering only a shrug to his companion when Rorn disappeared into another part of the house. It was only when the man returned that Darius perked up.

The feathers were, quite simply, the blackest things he'd ever seen. He turned them over in his hand, holding them aloft, but rather than reflect the light in the room, they only seemed to swallow it up. It was only when he handed them over to Oram for a closer look that Darius realised his mouth was agape.

He closed it quickly, though he wasn't sure if his expression of wonder had been noticed.

When Oram suggested they get taken to the place where Rorn had struck the giant bird, Darius nodded, though he couldn't fault the farmer for wanting to get some rest. The man was right - it was late - and Darius supposed that although owls were known to be nocturnal creatures, the Cylus gloom meant it was never truly bright and sunny, even during the trial.

As the pair left, trudging back out into the cold, the blond kept his coat wrapped tightly around himself. Darkness had fallen in earnest, and it was only the flow of fires on the horizon that gave him confidence that they were headed back to the inn.

When the warmth of the common room greeted them, he made sure to avoid the sceptical Cornelia - despite a temptation to show off the feathers - and headed straight to their room. It was only then, as he removed his coat, that he spoke again.

"So much for leaving empty handed," he grinned towards Oram. "We've already outdone those who came before us."

Darius sat down on the end of his bed and took a swig from his waterskin.

"So," he added, deferring once more to the experienced huntsman, "what's the plan for the morrow?"

[Oram Mednix]

Even the white bits were black

Darius’ amazed expression as he regarded the black feather was amusing to watch, though hardly out-of-place. The black feather was indeed a strange and striking thing, as must be any beast it might have come from. Somehow, just looking at it, Oram knew that catching the owl would be no mean feat, and not just because of its apparent size.

The hunter and the mariner took leave from the farmer, and tramped through the cold darkness back towards the distant lights of Egilrun. Oram’s mind was buzzing with thoughts and questions, and he hardly spoke until they reached the inn; neither did Darius, who Oram guessed was just as preoccupied with what they had just learned as he was. That and they were both pretty tired, Oram guessed.

As they warmed up in the room, Oram started to feel like he was soaking in a warm bath of drowsiness. Darius’ question roused him. It took a few trills to turn his sullen mind away from sleep towards forming some coherent thoughts. ”Well, Rorn’s expecting us so obviously we should go out there first thing after breakfast,” he suggested. ”Early enough so he can get on with his day, and we with ours.” Oram yawned, blinked, shoved his reluctant brain towards a couple more ideas.

”Owl that big can’t be visiting just one farm,” he resumed, as he rubbed his temples. ”Others have seen this owl, Darius, I know it. Question is: how do we get people talking? Maybe showing the feather around will jog some memories and loosen some tongues?” Oram shrugged. Getting stuff out of other people wasn’t the hunter’s strong suit. ”We can work out the details after we’ve had some sleep and some breakfast.”

After saying this, he got ready to go to bed. Maybe he would remember whatever Darius said after that point, maybe not, but for now, he was getting some sleep. Intriguing as the events of the trial were, Oram’s thoughts had no trouble shutting off, and he was sound asleep not long after his head hit the pillow.

In spite of his fatigue, and the incessant gloom, Oram woke up early enough the next morning, although he still did not feel entirely refreshed as he rose. Breakfast, coffee, and a quick, bracing trot around the snowy innyard with Mule roused him more fully, and by the time he and Darius set out to revisit Rorn’s farm in the somewhat-better light, the hunter was feeling more like himself than he had since they had set out from Scalvoris. ”Any ideas who else we should talk to?” he asked Darius, as they neared Rorn’s farm. ”I reckon we should find out who else raises chickens around here, and he would know.”

Near Rorn’s farmhouse was a shed with a door that stood open. Next to it stood a largish, shaggy brown dog, which spotted Darius and Oram as they approached and started barking; it was clearly the same dog they had heard in the house the night before. Rorn emerged from the shed and peered in the visitors’ direction for a moment before waving them forward. The farmer then said something to the dog that made it stop barking and sit, though it continued to watch them.

”There you are!” called out Rorn heartily. ”Wasn’t sure when you’d show. You guys want anything to eat or drink?” Oram glanced at Darius and shook his head. ”I think we’re alright, thanks. We had breakfast already.”

The farmer nodded. ”Right, well, let’s show you what you came for so we can both be on our way.” With an effortful grunt, he tugged the shed door closed and then started off towards a lone snow-laden spruce about fifty paces away. The dog trotted after him without taking its eyes off of the strangers. ”Winged the bird in a low branch of that tree,” he explained, pointing. ”The chicken coop it keeps trying to raid is just the other side of it.”

As he examined the ground under the tree, Oram asked: ”Who else around here raises chickens, Rorn? People act like you’re the only one in Egilrun that’s seen this bird. Now that I’m sure it’s real, I find that hard to believe.”

Rorn snorted. ”So do I. Folks in town like Cornelia make out to visitors that it’s just crazy ol’ Rorn with his wild owl tales, but they know it ain’t. Chickens are dying, and it’s not foxes or ferrets, but most of the other farmers insist it’s just regular owls or hawks; if they’ve seen the big black owl, they aren’t admitting it.”

Oram searched the needle-sprinkled snow under the tree for spoor, but was not initially having any luck. Periodic dumps of snow from the branches above meant that anything more than a couple trials old was likely buried. Having gone once around the tree and finding nothing useful on the surface, he looked for recently-dropped piles of snow. Finding one, Oram dropped down to one knee and started poking around in it.

Rorn hadn’t answered his question, so he asked it again. ”So who else raises chickens?”

The farmer started and seemed sheepish; he wasn’t being evasive, apparently, just forgetful. ”Oh! Sorry, yes, well…lots of people raise some chickens, especially closer in to town. Out here, though, only me and Donni Tahreke raise ‘em in any numbers. His farm’s about three miles east of here. He keeps lots of livestock, so he’s got a big, green barn an’ hay rick that you can’t miss. He hasn’t told me that he lost many chickens, though I never asked him, either. Perhaps the owl’s shy of all his other animals, but I doubt it. Apart from him,” Rorn shrugged: ”…just wander the outskirts of town and look for coops. Anybody with a yard can raise a couple chickens, and a lot of ‘em do. Couldn’t tell you who’d be good to ask except Donni, though.”

Oram nodded as he poked his fingers through a likely-looking pile. Finding dirty white masses of bird poop in dirty white masses of snow was every bit as hard as it sounded, but Oram was looking for something else, and eventually, he found it. He dug out a messy, shaggy-looking oblong mass, just longer than his gloved palm was wide. Embedded in the mass were small feathers and bones. Oram peered at these closely. Not chick down or bones, he guessed. Some small wild bird. He stood up and showed Darius and Rorn. The dog came over and peered at it as well, nostrils flaring as it tried to catch some scent.

”Pellet,” he announced.

Rorn nodded. ”That’s a big one. Just about what I’d expect your owl might cough up. You wanna see the coop now, or do you want to poke around here some more?”

Oram pulled out a napkin he’d borrowed from the inn and wrapped the pellet in it. ”I think I’m done here for now. Let’s go look at the coop.”

[Darius Baer]

In an unfamiliar bed, Darius awoke earlier the next morning than he usually would have, but when he turned over, he saw that Oram had already risen and left the room. That did not come as much of a surprise, for the wilderness man likely stirred at the first sight of dawn, but it didn't make the Scalvorian feel any better that he'd slept through his companion's natural alarm clock.

By the time Oram returned to the common room of the North End Lodge, however, Darius was also there, enjoying a hot breakfast and doing his best to avoid the innkeeper's eye.

After making enough small talk to discuss how they'd slept, and eating enough food to give them enough energy for the next several breaks, the pair made their return to Rorn's farm. Along the way, Oram asked Darius who else he thought they might visit, and the landlocked mariner agreed that they should find out who else in the area kept chickens. They didn't know if the Cylus Owl might enjoy other animals, but it seemed like a good idea to visit any other poultry farmers they could find.

During their return visit to Rorn's property, Darius was quite happy to take on a background role and let Oram ask the questions. The bearded blond was well aware of his ignorance regarding animals that his companion likely didn't suffer from. His only memory of anything regarding animal poop hadn't been a positive one, so deferring to the other man's expertise on the topic made sense. It also meant he didn't have to be the one picking it up.

As the trio approached the chicken coop, Darius quietly studied its construction. It took the form of a small house, with horizontal wooden slats that showed wear and tear from the impact of the weather during countless dawns. As they stepped inside, however, and saw the perches that were covered by hay, the woodworker caught sight of newer wood near the back. It was hard to miss - it was clean and light, compared to the faded timber around it. Rorn appeared to notice him noticing it.

"That's where it got in," the farmer shrugged. "Didn't even have a coop before, but had to protect the chickens after the attacks started."

Darius sent Oram a cautious glance. If the bird was able to break through wood, he could only imagine how large it was.

"Shall we visit Donni Tahreke?" Darius asked his companion.

"You can try," Rorn interjected, "but I doubt you'll get him to tell you much."

[Oram Mednix]

Is there someone else up there we could talk to?

Looking at the coop didn’t tell Oram much, aside from the obvious: that Rorn had recently reinforced its sides with newer, thicker planks. When Darius suggested that they go on to see Donni Tahreke, the hunter nodded; when the farmer remarked that Tahreke probably wouldn’t tell them much, he shrugged.

”We should try, anyway,” he responded. ”It’s what we’re here for.” Speaking of which, it looked like they had finished whatever they had come back to Rorn’s farm for, it was time to thank him and take their leave, heading on from there to Donni Tahreke’s farm.

The walk took the pair across a league or so of largely trackless, snow-covered terrain. Although they did not get lost on the way, it was easy to wander off the unseen road; more than once Oram found himself unexpectedly stepping into soft snow and sinking into it nearly up to his knee. Each time he did so strengthened his resolve to get himself a pair of snowshoes, not to mention his tendency to mutter to himself to that effect. If he couldn’t afford to buy a pair, then by Karem, Oram would make them himself.

They had trudged for nearly two breaks from Rorn’s farm when they caught sight of the green barn. Even in the perpetual Cylus gloom it stuck out amid the snow-covered landscape; when they got a bit closer, they could make out the nearby farmhouse, as well. When they were within about ten paces of the house, a voice called out from a window: ”That’s close enough, strangers! State your business before I shoot you!”

Oram peered up at the window to see a man, clean-shaven and younger-looking than he had expected, though none-too-friendly. If the farmer had a bow or any other shooting weapon, he was not holding it where either he or Darius could see it. The hunter cleared his throat nervously, then said: ”My name’s Oram, and this here’s Darius. We came from Scalvoris because of reports about an enormous black owl seen hereabouts lately. Your neighbor Rorn says he’s seen it, and that it’s bothered his chickens. We were wondering if you’d seen something similar.”

He looked up at the man at the window, whom he assumed to be Donni Tahreke, and waited for an answer. It was not long coming. The farmer scowled and snorted. ”Rorn and his owl!” he scoffed. ”He’s a fool who makes up stories, and you’re a fool to listen to him!”

Oram nodded. ”That may well be, sir. But he didn’t make up this feather.” He took out the large black feather and waved it over his head. ”Nor the pellet I found next to Rorn’s coop.”

That just made Tahreke scowl even more. ”Pellet?” he demanded. ”What do you mean ‘pellet’?”

”It’s something birds cough up when they eat something that doesn’t agree with them,” Oram explained. ”I’ve been hunting since I was a boy, and I can tell you that neither this feather nor that pellet were left by anything other than a very large bird. You could not have mistaken it for aught else, if you saw it.”

Tahreke scoffed again. ”That so? Well, then you should know I ain’t mistaken when I say I have seen no such bird, nor has any such attacked my chickens. Now leave my farm, strangers!”

His denial didn’t strike Oram as all that convincing, but it sounded none the less final for it. Uncertain, he looked over at Darius with a shrug as if to ask mutely: Can you think of anything else?

[Darius Baer]

Darius had let Oram take the lead with both the questioning of Rorn and the walking through the wilderness. As a man of he wild - at least as far as the bearded blond perceived him to be - the hunter seemed to be well-versed in dealing with giant birds and the people they affected, so the Scalvorian was content to trail behind.

Not too far, though. The snow so completely covered the road that Darius, like his muttering guide, found himself straying off it and into deeper patches of white powder. It didn't take long for his leggings to grow wet and cold, so that he could feel a chill in his lower legs. They threatened to go numb, but, once back on the road, he trudged on nonetheless. There was nothing to be gained from standing around in the snow for too long.

Two breaks almost felt like too long. Darius was quite used to long journeys by sea, but struggling through the snow seemed longer. He supposed it was because their speed was undeniably slower compared to that of a ship, and when they were halfway, he asked Oram about the snow shoes the man seemed to be constantly muttering about. Anything that could make future journeys on the snow pass by more easily and quickly seemed like something worth considering.

It made him yearn for the warmth and comfort of Donni Tahreke's farm.

But once they received such a hostile welcome as they arrived, Darius lost his interest in the place. The farmer had claimed he would shoot them, and while the visitors could not see a crossbow or any such weapon, Darius was in no mood to allow his curiosity to draw him closer.

Instead, he stood back, letting Oram lead the conversation, and hoping the wilderness man didn't catch a bolt in response. He listened, impressed yet again by Oram's knowledge of wildlife, but could only shrug his shoulders and silently shake his head when called upon. Darius Baer could talk about catching the wind at sea or how to tie knots, but he had nothing to contribute to a conversation with a disgruntled farmer.

As the pair turned away, heading back into the snow, there was an inevitable air of resignation. Darius agreed with Oram's suggestion that Donni was not being forthright with his responses, and they had failed to capture - or even sight - the famous Cylus Owl. But the feather was proof that the creature was not a figment of anyone's imagination, and that would provide at least some consolation to Professor Seams, and perhaps the impetus to launch another expedition in the future.