Broga spun from the Gaunt’s strike, landing in a heap at the edge of the forest. With the animal’s focus seemingly fixed on the ranger, I made my move.

In the distance, only a few meters from our campsite, a pale skeletal form condensed itself and trotted into view. Its eyes were white.

The next morning, I saddled up Keo and repacked my supplies for the journey South. Before I set out, however, a rangy young man dressed in a forest green jerkin and pants approached to have a word with me.

It took several days’ hiking back through the Veiled Mountains and down to the Tempest Hills with the child riding on Keo’s back while I navigated with rein in hand, and a watchful eye.