Olivere was the more experienced scout of the two. He was taller, broader, and believed himself to be wiser than Derrin. Although, in truth, Derrin was wiser for allowing his senior to believe whatever pleased him. With their fair skin, dark hair, and brown eyes, both men were generally believed to have come from one of Andor’s cities, although it was difficult to guess where exactly. Though not similar, they possessed the kind of face that was easily forgotten, no remarkable feature as a mole or a birthmark.

Derrin’s brown eyes were a shade lighter than Olivere’s though, and other than being the youngest in the search party, he also had the sharpest eyes. Looking into those brown eyes was like staring into a hawk’s. Therefore, when Olivere scouted ahead of the party, Derrin was handpicked to accompany him.

His shadow stretched on the red-tinted snow in front of him as slowed his pace to a mere gallop. The wind whistled in his ear and the snow started falling again. Soon it would be truly a challenge to locate the boys who fired the signal.

[i]“Derrin? Any news?”[/i] Asked one of his brothers. As usual, none of them was willing to waste time in the middle of the desert of ice. 

[i]"If it was war out boys have warned us against, the Capital won't have listened." [/i]

Greymount added, [i]”When was the last time the King paid any attention to the Northern border? We've been forsaken for many years now. Horngul with not stay our allies when summer comes. The famine last harvest will happen again-"[/i] 
 
But he was cut off by Fraym, who had urged his mount to move to where Derring stopped. [i]”Right now, we need to find our brothers and get them safe. If war is on the horizon, the King must be warned.”[/i]

Derrin maneuvered his horse so it turned sideways. “We found somebody hiding with this,” he said, patting the bag that was retrieved. “This belongs to one of us. It might not be war that our brothers warned us about, but that they are in need of assistance.” 

“Rannor and his boys,” mused Greymount. “I would rather that we were roused by war.”

“Liar!” Fraym accused.

Another of the four snorted. “You would rather that we were not roused, Greymount. You’ve been slacking a lot lately, you’ve gone fat and lazy. If it was war that the boys warned us about, that round belly of yours will be the first to spill its contents on the snow.”

“Enough, enough. The two of you, this is not the time to be petty.”

As if on cue, all five heads turned to the sound of hooves on the snow. To Derrin’s delight, it was Olivere, with their guide. “She knows where the others are,” Derring explained. 

Olivere shrugged. “She should. She is carrying with her our possessions.” He regarded Ysabel. “Tell us where to go and I might have second thoughts about selling you off as a slave to pay us for these that you have stolen.”

“You do not know whether I did or did not steal the provisions,” she countered coolly. “But I shall lead you to your unfortunate brothers before another one of them leaves us for good. Forward.”

The light from the flare diminished slowly until it was almost too dark to see again. Ysabel, thankful she somehow remembered the path she followed, managed to lead the other men to the rook where she met the owners of the items she stole. Light from the fire shone through the opening of the rook. It was visible even as a small dot up ahead. “There,” she pointed to Olivere, knowing that the man should have already seen it.

Without saying any more, the horses galloped towards the light.