He followed the footprints until they entered the forest. Then...they stopped. Turthôl glanced around him. Where could the hunter get to. The prints disappeared, right next to a nice big tree. Turthôl looked upwards into the boughs. Some of the branches looked bent and broken, as if someone had climbed up into it.
He circled the tree with all of his focus on the ground, and to his surprise, he found another set of prints. By the look of the deepness of the impression, the hunter had jumped down at this spot and had continued on into the woods. Satisfied that he had relocated the trail, Turthôl continued onwards.
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The fog had lifted, and dawn was fast approaching. Turthôl still followed the prints. This man was moving fast. He was heading south, towards Tharbad. Turthôl thought of turning back, but he changed his mind. If he could find this man in Tharbad, he could end all their troubles, thus making the journey safer. No, he had to keep moving.
He glanced around him some more. By the look of it, he was out of the South Downs. Finally, he thought. At least part of my troubles have lessened. The trail was getting colder, even though Turthôl was on it. He wearily kept moving.
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In nomini domine saboath sui filique ite ad infernos.
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