There was a loud howling that reached James' ears from where he waded in the ancient pond, a baying that meant only one thing: the pack had found its quarry. Before he could say word one, his three hounds were off to join the rest of the dogs. They were bred to follow, to hunt. If that was where the rest of the pack was going, they could not help but follow, even if it meant leaving their master chilled and soaked in the evening air. All three dogs were quickly out of sight. There was simply no way for James to even try and follow, waterlogged as he was. The muddy bank would be unforgiving if he tried it, leaving him only the opposite direction to head in. 

Remains of a stone ledge connected to the ruins of the wall allowed him to extract his body from the mud and algae, standing upon the ancient rocks to see his horse calmly foraging grass some yards away. James chuckled and shook his head. "Fat lot of good you've done me this day, Ninny," he chided in good humor. "I hope you are enjoying your repast, hm? A nice snack of nettles and long grass to fill you up, you kedge? Well... Not that I can blame you, Ninny. I wouldn't have wanted to jump into that pool either. Not that you gave me much choice, mind!" 

He spent several more moments just standing there, resting and trying to gain his breath again after the exertion of pulling himself out. As Ninny moved about, he noticed how the gelding was favoring his one rear leg, limping slightly as he grazed from nettle to nettle and shrub to shrub. Now he understood why the horse had thrown him! With a bad leg, there was no way the mount would have been able to clear the hurtle and so had stopped short instead, throwing James unintentionally. James sighed to himself, shaking his head. There was no riding out now. And as the baying of hounds had faded beyond his hearings, he was also quiet sure the hunting party had passed him by, leaving him to his lonesome and quite unsure as to where he was exactly. During the chase, he had been so excited that he had lost track of where he had been heading. As the sun was set below the level of the tree tops, frog and crickets beginning their nightly chorus, the direction his house lay in was shrouded in mystery. Attempting to find his home in the dark was a folly he did not intend to pursue. The young man wanted to curse himself for being so silly, curse his horse for its bad luck, curse his dogs for leaving him... and instead, he laughed again.

"Well, Ninny," he sighed, "Looks like we're roughing it tonight, old bean!" The prospect did not dim his spirits. For one thing, home could not be all that far away. This section of woods wasn't so large that it couldn't be crossed in a single day; if he got it right, he would either be home in an hour or reach the country road that wound its way to the village in two or three hours. If he was truly unlucky, James would wander for half a day until he came upon the running stream that cut its way through the forest, a sure sign he was going the wrong way but would allow him to simply follow its length downstream to one of his neighbors. Another thing, James was not a timid man. True, a night under the stars in sopping wet clothes with only a lame horse for company would be uncomfortable, but it would not be unbearable. Especially as he still had a flask of brandy tightly pocketed within his waistcoat! He did have some concern for his guests, that they might worry for his safety, although once they saw him hale and hearty if weathered and worn the next day, they should forgive him as they shared a good laugh. Such were the friends that he had.

As he rested upon the stump of the ancient wall, a memory stirred. The solicitor had pointed out several key features as landmarks, including both this spring and... [i]What was it again? The crofter's cottage! Of course![/i] Supposedly the simple stone house predated both the spring house and the mansion itself, and was last known to be standing intact. If he could find it, that would be a far more preferable place to spend the night than huddled against a tree trunk or curled up on wet moss. Even if the roof was long gone, its walls would at least shelter him from the night's breezes and give him a place to start a fire! Provided, of course, his lucifers would still light...

Checking his pockets, he found the matches had retained their protective wax coating. His pipe, too, was intact and the tobacco miraculously untouched within its leather wallet; he was glad he had followed his late father's advice to line the inside of the pouch with paraffin! Pulling himself up and over the wall, he found his battered hat and headed for Ninny to pick up the reins. "Come on, then, old fellow. Let's see what we can find, hm?"