The night proceeded mostly uneventfully. A small dinner was held, which Volkimir attended solemnly. Neither he nor his attendants partook in the meal, as none of it was palatable to vampires. Their horses, however, were fed richly on various cuts of raw meat. Volkimir's caravan arrived not long after the quiet, awkward dinner had concluded, and he and his knights spent the rest of the night in their own encampment, rather than in the tower. Though Volkimir didn't really care what any of the other attendees thought of him, he supposed that he didn't want to make them too uncomfortable. Waking up with a dagger in his back or a stake in his heart wasn't something he wanted to risk by alienating his allies.

[i][b]Days Later...[/b][/i]

The snow continued, as it always did. Volkimir rode with his caravan, rather than riding ahead of it with his knights as he had done on the journey to the Tower of Gold. His retinue had taken up the Western flank of the overall procession, whereas' Hopsfield's guard had taken up the East. Given how likely the two were to conflict, this was a wise decision on the part of Hopsfield himself. Even so, this did mean that Volkimir's followers were forced to endure the worst of the weather, facing the Western wind. Though the majority of his retinue was undead and cared nothing for the cold, this was still something of a perceived slight by the caravan's more vocal members.

At the crest of a hill, the caravan stopped. Volkimir halted his horse, which stamped impatiently. Though Volkimir did not show it, he too was made impatient by the crawling pace of this burdensome caravan. Mortals always needed to stop to eat or rest their pathetic horses or warm their shivering bodies. Volkimir had contemplated simply riding off on his own, but he felt as though that would create later conflict. Not to mention that he would merely have to wait at their destination for the others to arrive. A flare went up, the golden light clearly visible against the dreary sky. This was Hopsfield's signal that he wanted to meet with the the "peerage," as it were. Volkimir signalled to two of his knights, who moved to flank their master, and the trio rode off to Hopsfield's covered wagon in the center of the caravan.

Snow collected on the heavy, dark furs that Volkimir wore over his usual cloak and armor. This was less for warmth as much as he did not wish for his leathers to go to rot from the moisture. Luckily it was cold enough that the snow simply accumulated, rather than melting. The going would be far more difficult if they had mud and snowmelt to ride through as well as the perpetual blizzard. His knights, in black armor, cared less for the snow, and let it freely gather upon their armor. The accumulation on their helmets and shoulders gave them the image of statues, and their solemn silence contributed to the image. Soon enough, Volkimir and his riders had found Hopsfield, who stood outside his comfortable, insulated cabin.

Volkimir dismounted, trudging through the snow to the cleric, as his knights kept their mounts nearby. "Would this be about whatever my wolves have been fussing over?" Volkimir knew something odd was going on up ahead, as his pack had been restless and unusually aggressive since they had set off in the morning. Volkimir himself could not tell what it was, as it was further than he could sense, especially with the blizzard blocking out his finer intuitions.