The Finn’s breath frosted in the early morning chill. Twigs and dry leaves crunched underfoot, as he led their small parade through the Washington forest into Oregon. Though Allison had her doubts, they had already gone over two miles within the woods by the time she had inquired about travelling on the road. Torsten stopped, frowning down at the barren road.

To be true, there was nobody on it. What was he so concerned about? He looked from the road to the amber glow on the horizon that was growing dimmer with the rising sun. The trees and the curvature of the earth kept the smoke roiling up into the atmosphere from view. It was perhaps for the best. The Finn doubted that Allison would be able to keep up the march if she knew only destruction waited them in Portland.

He paused before answering. He wasn’t quite sure how to answer the question. For once that early morning, he decided to be honest. He could hide [i]some[/i] of the truth from her, but he couldn’t hide all of it. “If something… bad… has happened in Portland, it is best we avoid the road. It is dangerous? [i]Vaara.[/i] If bad people are on the road, we can see them, but they cannot see us. Keep you safe.”

He continued on, before pausing again. “Army habit,” he decided to explain further, before proceeding onward. They walked for only a few more hours, with Torsten stopping every time that Allison stumbled. He patiently held her hand to assist her through the rough bits, where tree stumps and cracked rocks stuck up within the deer trail that they were following. The trail, as the name would suggest, was created by deer as they traveled from their dens in the woods to the fertile corn and bean fields the Amish tended. 

The sun had crested fully over the horizon when the woods begin to thin and they were able to see the expansive fields before them. The Amish were in the middle of planting, having already plowed their fields with massive Clydesdales pulling even bigger plows. Less than fifty families lived in the church work. Though each man owned his own plot, the work was shared communally amongst each other. A ringing bell could bring help from one house to the next if a complicated task needed done. Though Torsten was “English” to them, they respected him – and he respected them.

The arrival on the field caused a distinct change in Torsten. Gone were the occasional jibes and jokes. He paused, holding his hand out to stop her from passing in front of him. Houses were arrayed in front of them, with field and lawns empty of the hard-working men or women. Red flags were being risen in the Finn’s mind. He took a knee, motioning for Allison to follow behind him.

“There’s no people working the fields,” he said more to himself. “[i] Mitähelvettiä on tekeillä?[/i]” He hissed. 

The eagle-eyed Finn’s head did a full circle around them, taking in every shadow within the woods, the windows or the darkened entrances of the barns they were able to see. Very little things could stop the Amish from working. One of them was Church, and since it was not a Sunday that was not going to happen, and the other was disaster – or barn raising. He knew for a fact that no new barns were being risen, at least for the next few months. 

“There is something wrong,” he explained hurriedly to Allison, “I do not know what. We need to see why there is no people. I will go ahead. When I turn and wave you on, you run, okay?” He reached a hand out, giving her’s a reassuring squeeze, “You are in no danger. I keep you safe.”