“Straight thet away. Cain’t tell yore north from yore south these odd skies.” Karis pointed again, though away from herself this time, drawing a line off towards the horizon that… wasn’t far off from the trees they were supposed to be using as their marker. Well, it was closer than it wasn’t, with so much wide open space to choose from. 

She was used to her companions—speaking generously—having no eye for detail. That Dreefus might have managed, except that he was forever stepping on the tracks she was trying to trace, and she’d long since handed him over to Ol’ Bill to alleviate her frustration. She’d never had much maternal instinct. A lame duck was more likely to garner her sympathy. And then she’d happily make a meal of it. “Ahm seein’ big feet an’ long strides, so isn’t them goats. S’bigger’n ‘em. Cain’t tell much else these old tracks, ceptin’ it’s two footed. Best be getting’ our’n feet for’ard then fore youse two freeze ‘em balls off. C’mon Cat.”

With that observation on their complaints out of the way, Karis turned her attention back to following the trail. Sticking to one side of it, she set off breaking her own trail rather than ruin the tracks more, with the dog following behind her, nose turning into the wind. Unlike the other two, she didn’t have much trouble leaving the fires behind. She’d grown up where winters were fierce and summers were short, and while she didn’t enjoy the cold, she’d rather it and understanding her surroundings than being warm and ignorant and in danger. Of course, there was always the chance it was so cold and dark nothing lived here, but then where’d those trees come from? And she’d heard of even more desolate worlds from a few other trackers sharing notes. If those had trouble on them, why not this one?

Anyway, they had a critter to track and a small bit of world to explore. And it was cold. No way she’d stand around chatting any longer than necessary.

Watching them head out, short, vigourous woman in the lead, Bartrum’s heavy frame obscuring more than half of her from his view, Rundall considered the possibilities of them finding anything. Given the weather and the area, it seemed about half again as likely that they’d find nothing, but following tracks ought to lead somewhere, and if it wasn’t to a frozen stiff making its own snowdrift, then it would be to clues about the world they’d found. He’d already racked his brain trying to remember which worlds he’d heard of that came with ice and snow like this, but honestly… Those weren’t much to go on. Plenty of worlds had winter, or poles, or mountains. And they hadn’t even been around long enough to know for sure this wasn’t just night time. So, yes, he wanted to find the creature that had slipped through the portal. According to Church doctrine, mixing worlds in too carefree a manner had consequences. Of course, they were doing it too, but everything they did was regulated. Regimented. Under their jurisdiction. Made them rich off trade, he knew.

But ensuring there wasn’t any trouble caused by a new portal was only half their mission. He didn’t think many of the others had been around new portals before, but it at least explained why he’d been saddled with poor Dreefus. Rules were, when any Hunting squad found a portal, they had to make a report. And it ought to be worth reading. Rundall never liked doing things half-assed. Sure, he could’ve turned straight around and handed off responsibility, but he liked having answers to questions. Pity, then, that he mostly couldn’t find them for himself. Karis was the best tracker he’d met yet, and Bartrum could keep her safe no questions asked. Werric was for extra security and another set of eyes. But if he could have, he’d have been the third one taking the rear.

When he was younger, Rundall had been an advocate of leading by example. After all, if the nearest authority was willing to do the job, then the men couldn’t complain. They still would, that went without saying, but they’d be less inclined to resentment. In the army, all their grumbling would have been a deplorable breach in discipline. But he wasn’t in the army anymore. Wasn’t so young. Wasn’t so eager. And he wasn’t always capable of leading from the front either. Be a liability, if he got in on any action these days. And he’d only slow everyone down if he went on scouting missions. Still, he was perfectly capable of fetching his own meals. So, when he saw two of the men coming towards him with more than their own share, he couldn’t help frowning. 

The people under him were a ragtag lot, from all walks of life. Most Hunters were. But they all had one thing in common: they’d needed the Church as much as the Church needed them. Few of them were in it for the merit of doing good work. Few cared to put in more effort than was demanded of them. Serving their leader wasn’t on the list of necessary actions. So, he eyed the plate with reasonable suspicion when the first fellow held it out, and didn’t immediately take it. “What’s’it yehr askin’ fer then, Pinter? Ain’t switchin’ ye’s out ‘fore the warm side ‘til time’s up, that’s what this is.”

He'd made a roster, set a schedule, and didn’t care if they were cold. So was he. If they’d had more trackers, he’d have put more of them to use going off in different directions. As it was, he could understand being a bit frustrated with waiting around in the cold, but he wanted the extra force in case any natives noticed them. Or something tried getting through the portal.