Alvin rarely got the opportunity to travel quite so well protected and provisioned.  It had always been his practice to travel light.  A halfling riding a dog could hide much easier than a man atop a horse, flee nearly as quickly, and if seen would generally present a less desirable target.  Not a lot of meat, not a lot of wealth, unlikely to be anyone of import, not worth the time really.  The loaded wagon creaked and whined behind them pulled along by massive Bretonnian work horses, his compatriots rode along atop sturdy horses of their own or rode within the wagon itself.  Behind them followed the train of donkey's carrying their bedding and supplies.  They were quite the sight.

He made small ticking noises to direct his loyal steed Woof to slow down momentarily and keep pace again with the wagon, Bark picked his head up from his paws in the back of the wagon and stuck his muzzle out for a sniff and a pet before settling back in for a nice nap.  Schartenfeld was gradually growing smaller behind them and the Reikwald loomed ever larger as they rode out.  Shivering from the talk of a Red Crow or Raven or whatever creepy sort of bird it was, some portent of doom, and his own old but suddenly not really all that old memories of the stories surrounding Altern Forest, he looked about and was thankful indeed for the protection of the others.  A strong young man wielding a warhammer and the word of Sigmar, a strong young man wielding a Flamberge and some well worn armor, a young Knight with all the promise that brought, the rather spooky Black Errant, Master Dwarf, and a Healer in case any monsters got past all that beef and endangered poor little Alvin.

Thinking of it, Alvin digs in to his pocket to find his little treasure.  A Dwarven delicacy, boiled wolf hide, a perfect trail snack.  Flavorful (if an acquired taste), chewy (perhaps too chewy), and long lasting.  He made his way to offer it to the others, starting with the one most likely to appreciate it,

"Master Dwarf!," he called out trotting Woof along, looking for his hardy compatriot, "I've something for you."

He'd offer it to each, you didn't need much Traggot, the taste was strong and the hide was stronger, so a little went a long ways.  He'd ask the healer last.  He meant to speak with her anyway, once they were out a bit closer to the woods.  If Woof could pick up a scent from that poor young man's clothing that would likely be their best shot at finding a trail.  Hopefully she had something of the poor lad's, something that might have his scent and perhaps the scent of whoever or whatever had taken him, bird or no.