Johnathon looked back and forth between the crowd and Adrian as the boy began to lead off into the hills. He would have liked to have made sure they had everyone but it's not like they'd get far before they were seen by Griff. With a few unsure looks, he finally turned and walked off after Adrian. The woods only grew denser ahead, and all around him he felt he could see various shadows and shapes moving within the brush. At least there were a few beaten in roads to follow, but all were eventually swallowed in the woods; no pave layers would ever see this far north in his lifetime. The assumption that the woods were teeming with movement was in all probability not a false one. Multiple groups of rough men were scattering in various directions, their destinations already set and plans made. Their group had no such like: they had a road going west to follow. In Johnathon's experience, however, the open road was the more entertaining route. Slowly, he unfolded the patch of cloth he'd been tightly gripping since walking up to the group in the tavern. He wasn't going to start needling it while walking but picturing how he was going to sew in a picture of this new group gave him something to do on the path to... wherever Adrian thought he was going. He couldn't go wrong pointed west, in John's eyes.