Ferghus' controlled breaths and light footsteps was drowned by the white noise of an active village at this time of day. Soft whistles of wind and the clattering of branches followed by a sudden draft of cold and unnatural breeze caught the wolf's skin that urged him to follow the path he undertook. It wasn't long until a series od tracks presented itself tattered along the ground like footsteps of army men in battlefield; except the shape of its paws and depth, followed by claws that seemed to scoop the earth as it leapt forward indicated that this was no regular wolves hunting a prey. Among them he too found a single set of small human footsteps-- its intended victim it gave chase to. "A child's in danger." He concluded.

He followed the tracks as carefully as he could-- and upon hearing a frightened horse's neigh, a beast's painful whimper and the clashing of metal to flesh... The witcher's series of fingers formed to cast a protective ward around himself known as Quen as he proceeded to investigate the battle that was ensuing. He felt the adrenaline within enveloping his body as his hand reached the saya of his silver katana.

"Foolish Witchers!" The voice of a throaty pipe smoker was instilled in the mind of the Witcher. Surprisingly fitting for whatever creature that had gained the ability of speech. Many intelligent beasts had uttered the same two words and suffered the fate that befell them for underestimating a Witcher's abilities. This too applied for 'intelligent beasts' known as witchers. Ferghus remained silent and lightly footed in his approach.

Marvels of the Second Conjunction; no doubt. He witnessed before him a large, undead creature with claws that rivalled a gryphon's talons, arms and legs that would even make a werewolf howl in jealousy. Triangular and horned appearance with teeth in dire need of some kind of maintenance and eyes that belonged to an Easterner. He is certain they were stung by bees. Wings adorned this pinkish beast, and it seemed to have learned the ability to take flight with those-- meaning that there was an absolute priority to either sever its wings off or to anchor it to the ground using Yrden. Both were equally difficult tasks thanks to its vampiric nature... They're damn fast.

He had never hoped for a vampire amongst villagers... Especially at this time of day where sunlight was aplenty. Normally this would've reduced vampire's ability to fight immensely enough that they retreat, but to have one brave enough to pick a fight with Witchers in daylight? He cursed himself for not preparing Black Blood or Vampire Oil.

He was also able to observe for three other individuals. The first was the prey identified to be a little girl, with its hunter dead on the ground slain by a fair-skinned beefy woman and a giant with a silver flail for weapon carefully observing the foe in front of them. "Where have I heard that before?" The witcher thought to himself. "May have found the Wraith of Haakland they keep talkin' about." He had hoped that the fleder was still distracted and took this opportunity to do what Witchers do best; improvise. Ferghus returned into a state of stealth and circled around the party in front of them in order to gain an advantage and perhaps ambush this vampire. He drew his silver katana quietly... And proceeded to carefully manuever himself to a position where he was able to overwhelm the vampire from behind or above.

The success of this ambush would depend on whether or not the witchers and little girl in front of him would give away his position by either shouting or looking obviously at Ferghus' position. Then again; if he was noticed by the little girl... That would've meant that he didn't pass his Trials after all.

He was in position and his blade ready. Once he found the perfect moment where the witchers have its attention, he would leap from his position and attempt to eviscerate the enemy in a single downward katana slice in its middle, creating two equal halves of a dead vampire.