Vincent slowly but surely trudged up the mountain, steadily making headeay through the harsh blizzard. The bitter cold meant nothing to him; he barely even remembered what warmth felt like. The headwind, however, was a nuisance, as was the gradually accumulating snow. He silently cursed his own leisurely pace for not arriving a day earlier to avoid this annoyance.

Speaking of annoyances, Roze had apparently caught up to him, offering back the gold he had given her and saying something silly. While she had been a welcome distraction in the tavern, the girl was now wearing that welcome rather thin. Vincent's patience was a practically inexhaustible wellspring, but even her could only stand so much from precocious children.

His earlier genial nature gone in place of cold, steely purpose, he snatched the amulet back from her, saying, "It was not wise to follow me. I offer no solace if you freeze to death. Or if you become a warm meal."

He continued to trudge along in silence, but soon happened upon a corpse, half-buried by the snow. Some old man, likely a pilgrim of some kind. The body's presence did not bother him as much as its condition. There were no wounds, even post-mortem. It was a queer thing for wolves to avoid a hot, fresh carcass. He could not have been put here long, as he showed no signs of rot, and other pilgrims buried those that fell on the path when discovered. Something strange was at work here. Vincent felt out the area for any presences, living or otherwise. Finding one, he thought it best to warn Roze, his hand idly making its way to the hilt of his sword.

"We're being followed. I don't know by what, but I know it isn't alive."