Ysabel pointing to the source of light seemed only a confirmation of what most of the men might have already guessed. There were very few fools to march the frozen paths to Cannor anyway. Fraym was the first to arrive to the site, overtaking Olivere. Following Fraym was Andrel, who had kept his mouth shut throughout the whole trip.

Fraym was met by the putrid scent of rotting flesh. His perpetual frown deepened as he wrinkled his nose, assessing the situation from atop his mount. Gilly, Howan, Roran and then his dark eyes narrowed when he found Rannor making agonized sounds on the floor. A dead Warg was at the mouth of the cave, but what made him curious was the fact that the beast had been gutted. “What happened here?” it was not him, but Andrel who demanded answers. Andrel was a year younger than Fraym and Greymount, sporting a neatly trimmed dark beard that covered half his face. He was a bear of a man with booming voice and authority written all over his face.

The other four came shortly after, muttering comments about the smell. Olivere dismounted, pulling their female captive down with him. She heard the other four do the same. “There are supposed to be five of them, Fraym,” Olivere raised. He then turned to Ysabel. “What did you say happened to the other one?”

She glanced at the three men inside the cave trying to guess what was going on in their heads. They had seen her come to the mouth of their temporary camp and then run away. The other three behind her and Olivere started towards their brothers. “The biggest one died.” She turned her attention back to Olivere. Make it good, she thought, considering the next words that would come out of her mouth. “I believe he was dead before the signal was deployed. I left and ran ahead hoping to come into contact with whoever was coming to the rescue so that I can lead them here.”

Greymount crouched beside Roran and asked, “Do you know what you are doing, boy?” But he didn’t wait for an answer and instead nudged the younger man aside with a command. “Move!” He felt for a pulse on Rannor’s neck, while the others hovered nearby, fighting against the stench that was coming from the victim’s body. 

“He was bitten by a Warg,” Gilly informed. “There were three of them and we managed to kill one.”

Fraym, still sitting atop his horse, snorted. “Did you mean to brag your accomplishment, boy? Greymount, how bad is it?”

Greymount shook his head. “Not good. He will not make it back to Cannor,” he admitted with a sigh. 

“I can help,” Ysabel volunteered before she could stop herself. Damn her compassion. Many had warned her against her being soft, but she had walked out on them once. 

A number of pair of eyes rested on her, questioning and doubting the woman who turned out from nowhere. She cleared her throat. “I was trained as a healer,” she lied. “I can help him if you will let me. Show me what you brought with you.” She was cursing herself even as she spoke. Of course she was not going to reveal her secret to these people, but he needed to help the one in pain. Besides, if she showed them good then they might be more inclined to believe her lie about running ahead to look for help.