There was an strangely chilled breeze that brushed down the mountain path, chilling each of the men for a moment. The two others shivered, rubbing their hands across their arms. Roran, being the only one of them who hadn't placed his weapon away, stopped in his tracks. The two others walked past, ignoring the obvious sign. Roran closed his eyes for a second and glanced back behind them. Still nothing.. He furrowed an eyebrow and waited. Nothing. With a audible sigh, he carried on after the others, tucking his now under an arm and over his torso. They walked for a few miles, ever weary of the mountain Wargs and other folk who lived in the pass between worlds. 

"Hey! We thought you'd died!" One man yelled, leaving his wooden seat to greet the others. "Hadvar had best me seven silvers that you'd be dead in the street." He added, helping one of the men with the catch. 

"Perhaps we might of been. Roran reckons Wargs followed us.",The speaking man, one by the name of Theolin, dumped the deer by the fire and sat down, resting his feet against the flames that licked the air. Roran and the second man followed, sitting on each of the wooden love they'd collected. 

"Any signs of travellers?" Roran asked, still consciously thinking about the wind that had shook them not some time ago.

"Nothing." Had at replied, cutting the deer and peeling back its skin. It was strange, to feel such wind yet see no source.