The sight of the man drifting to the ground was befuddling, until he landed and held up his right hand, at which point Radley could spot an extraordinarily thin wire for the strength it seemed to hold: enough to support a man.  It glinted in the low light, and the whir of the spooling was audible above the crackle on fire. An impressive trick nonetheless, and the concealment of the apparatus used was equally so; it must have been the last in a long heritage of designs, compacting and improving each generation, because Radley could not see it. 

Radley listened, attentive to each word, how the syllables fell tremulous compared to the raging winds of nature’s overture, even with the bass of a male voice. Marcus Frost, a traveller long on the road by the sounds of it, much like Radley, however Radley only wandered the road in introverted pilgrimage. A self-proclaimed adventurer; that might explain his curious garb, particularly the clawed gloves, and the wires. Radley’s heart had burnt for adventure, for fame, in his youth, but that had died and a new purpose arose, and still, Radley found himself envying Marcus, that all he sought was an adventure and a warm climate. Many times Radley had wished for a simpler life, one might assume life as a monk was a simple as it came, but the search for purpose and enlightenment created a turmoil and desperation that was at times the most unbearable burden in the world. 

“Well met, Marcus, I am Radley Oerheart, a travelling monk” he leaned his body forward in a half bow, not rising from his sitting position, “I am currently on my way to Starter Town, to see the festival so famed, and do trade with the merchants there.”

At the howl, Marcus shifted his head, the way one would when they encountered something that seized their curiosity. Wolves were surprisingly cautious; Radley had seen many on the road, at the fleeting edges of his vision, but none had ever attacked him. There was another possibility: that in surprisingly cold Southern Winter seemed to be holding on too tightly as spring encroached, and perhaps a Dire Wolf had made its way into the forest. They favoured the Northern Territories, but it was not unknown for them to get lost and wander too far South. They were vile of beasts of half wolf and half, well, something else, a putrid evil that lingered and twisted their very being for the sole purpose of malicious acts of violence. They were also about twice the size of their uncorrupted cousins. 

“Perhaps you are right,” Radley admitted, a little sullen after having set up camp, and now he had to go about deconstructing it. He looked at the rabbit in the skillet. He wouldn’t have time to cure it now, and he wasn’t that hungry after finishing his.

“Feel free to help yourself to more; it would only go to waste otherwise.”

The fire had just about died out, so Radley began the job of packing up, untying the sheet stretched between the trees. Then would come fitting it into his sack.

“It will soon be night, we have but a few minutes of dying light,” Radley observed, “It would be unwise for either of us to travel alone, so perhaps we could accompany each other to Starter Town?”